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I shift my weight to my other foot. “No, not really. I feel like that's what most people would ask me though.”
“Well, that's your first mistake, baby girl. I'm not most people. Don't worry, you'll get used to it.”
He pushes the door open with his index finger like he didn't just drop some panty-melting line like that. It was the confidence, the intensity and eye contact. And his looks sure as hell didn't hurt either.
Bane St. James looming over me in a dark hallway after he literally rode in to save me, telling me I'll get used to him?
I feel like I need to fan myself a little bit.
“Is this where you've been sleeping?” He asks, walking inside the room, oblivious to me having a minor heat flash over here. I let go of his hand and wander inside the room behind him.
“Only the last few nights. Well, last night, but not the night before that. But then maybe like two before that?” I ramble like it really matters. “Mostly because it has a nice en-suite bathroom. Nana Jo loved a good soak, and she had a killer clawfoot bathtub put in there. It's like straight out of a home and garden magazine or something.”
I feel like I'm walking that line of being a little too chatty. I'm blaming the adrenaline.
“This yours?” He jerks his chin toward a box in the middle of the bed.
It's a pale-blue rectangular box, about the size of one of those small fancy decorative boxes at gift stores. I stop in front of the bed and see the white design etched across the top, and I recognize it then.
“Oh, yeah. That's mine, but . . .”
“But what?” Bane prompts, standing next to me.
My brows crowd together on my forehead and I curl my hands into fists to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing it. “But I left it in my storage unit when I packed up my stuff. Before I came here a few weeks ago.”
I tilt my head to look at him, noting the way his mouth is pinched at the corners.
“You sure you didn't pack it?”
I nod slowly, looking back at the box. “I'm sure. It was a stationery set my mother regifted me for Christmas. I hated it but I couldn't bring myself to throw it away.”
I give in to temptation and reach over the end of the bed to flick the top of the box off. The lid pops up, exposing a single letter inside the box. Without thinking, I pluck the letter from inside the box. It's folded into thirds, my name scrawled on one side. There's something familiar about the handwriting, and for a split second, I wonder if I did pack this in my car and take it with me.
I shake my head, dismissing the thought as soon as I have it. I know I didn't bring it with me to Rosewood. And even if I did, it would still be tucked away in one of my many boxes in the garage that I haven't unpacked yet.
“Maybe I should read it?” Bane offers, extending his hand.
“It's fine,” I say, shaking my head.
I unfold the letter, and the scent of gardenia wafts out. “Did someone spray the paper?” I murmur.
The mystery of the scent is long-forgotten as I scan the letter. It doesn't take me long, only a few sentences. But I stare at that piece of stationery with its pastel floral cluster on the bottom right corner for several minutes, trying to understand what the hell is happening.
Evangeline,
One, two, three, four.
I won't be ignored.
My eyes flicker to Bane's, seeing the same confusion and concern etched into his features. The letter feels heavy in my hands, the handful of words so much more ominous.
“What the fuck is this?” I whisper, shaking the paper a little.
“I don't know,” he murmurs. “When was the last time you were in here?”
I drop the letter in the box and wipe my hand down my leg, like I can physically rid myself of the bad vibes it gave me.
“Uh, I don't know. I ended up crashing on the couch earlier, and I went into town this afternoon.”
