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If my phone hadn’t been sitting on my desk at work, I would have called her then.
Still smiling, I took the little portrait into the bedroom, and as I set it on the nightstand, I spotted my wallet, keys, and phone. Not only had he broken in again after he’d left me, he’d also broken back into my office to get my things.
Creepy, yet weirdly thoughtful? That was Leduc in a nutshell, going by what Tarryn said about him.
I showered, letting the hot spray soothe some of my aches even though it felt like hell on my scraped knees and shins. My pants were a complete write-off.
After I toweled off, I called Tarryn.
“Sir! I was wondering if you’d call me back tonight.” At the other end of our video chat, her eyes were concerned.
“It’s a long story, which includes getting chased through the park across from my office, being caught, then having to walk home.”
“Oh no.” She frowned. “Was it…fun?”
We stared at each other. It was mid-morning there.
“I don’t know how to answer that. It was interesting. Now I feel—empty. Used.” I laughed. “He left me a nice bottle of whiskey, some daisies, and this.” I showed her the miniature portrait he’d painted of her.
“Oh…wow.”
“I love it. It’s going on my nightstand.”
She scrunched her nose at me. “Have you been drinking?”
“It was that or take a couple of painkillers. How did you put up with me learning how to do anal on you?”
“Luckily, anal never lasted very long back then.”
I laughed. “Brat.”
“It’s not bratting when it’s the truth,” she said sweetly.
Gingerly, I crawled naked into bed. The feel of the sheets on my skin felt weirdly personal tonight.
“He threatened to kill me.”
She gasped. “He didn’t!”
“He did, but it was heat of the moment. I don’t think he meant it.”
She was quiet for a long moment, probably wondering how safe we were with him. Although he acted like society’s rules didn’t apply to him, I didn’t think he’d do anything to harm us.
Or was I making excuses for him because the world had a hard time reconciling the idea that beautiful people could be evil?
But he wasn’t evil, was he?
“He told me he murdered someone.” I rubbed my feet together, trying to warm them. “I think he was fucking with me.”
“He seems to love playing mind games.”
“Exactly.”
We were examining each other’s expressions.
“If he crosses a line with you and makes you feel unsafe, tell me and we’ll end things with him.”
“He doesn’t get rough with me like he does with you,” she said. “Even so… Doyoufeel safe?”
