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What if it isn’t him?
It had to be him. No one else made heat blaze over my skin at their presence.
On pure instinct, I jumped out of bed and hid behind the door. Adrenaline replaced my blood, jolting me alive and awake and ready to run.
I could have waited in bed. I could have stayed under the covers while he climbed in behind me. I could have curled into his warmth and been perfectly content.
But I didn’t want content, and neither did he.
It felt wicked and intense and thrilling to hide from him.
“Eve?”
He was in the doorway.
I held my breath.
I didn’t want him to find me.
I wanted him tochaseme.
He said nothing as he stepped deeper into the room, stopping beside the bed. He was covered in blood. His shirt was drenched in it. I hoped it wasn’t his own. His wet clothes clung to him from the waist down, where he’d walked across the stream. His boots left wet footprints on the wood floor.
He turned, not looking directly at the door. His eyes flashed as he cocked his head the slightest bit. Then, his lips spread into a wide grin and everything I thought I knew about him fractured and split.
He wasn’t all malice and spite.
He was beautiful.
He was the man in my dream. His soul found me before his body did.
Find me again.
“Oh, this is what we’re doing?” His smooth voice licked through the air and ran over every inch of my skin. “Okay, I’ll play.”
And he did.
He walked out of the room, then disappeared into the darkness. His footsteps echoed down the hallway. Once he was far enough away, I bolted.
I ran into the bedroom across the hall and ducked into a closet, leaving only a small crack in the door. A rush of excitement shot down my spine.
It was quiet. For long minutes, there was only the sound of my ragged breaths and beating heart.
Then, there were footsteps, only they weren’t as heavy this time.He took off his boots.
His silhouette appeared in the doorway and my body shuddered. He took slow, calculated steps into the room, trailing his fingertips across the dresser as he moved.
And then he stopped.
His back faced where I hid in the closet. “Sweet, Eve. You think you can hide from me? This is my house. I know every corner. Every room. What’s behind every door.”
I heard the smirk in the last word.
He knows where I am.
There was a wooden door between us. I couldn’t see his face. He couldn’t see me. But the pure, carnal need was a visceral presence.
He reached around to his front. His arm moved up. Then down. His head fell back and he growled. It took all my willpower not to fling the door open to see what he was doing.
