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I pull him down on top of me, my legs still wrapped tight around him.
I hear him whisper again. “Louisa.”
I can’t catch my breath. We need to take care of the condom soon. And my feet are tingling painfully from lack of circulation.
But I wouldn’t change a thing.
This is different from the other night.
This wasn’t fumbling together in the dark.
This is real.
This is us.
All of us.
He knows me completely—everything I’ve ever done, everything I’ve ever been—and he still wants me.
Right now it feels like he always will.
7
The next morningI wake up in my own bed. All alone.
I’m not surprised or particularly worried since I remember going to bed the night before. Caleb walked me to my doorway. Leaned down to kiss me gently. Then murmured, “Good night, baby” before he went to his own room.
So I was happy going to sleep at last and I’m still happy waking up. The kind of giddy where I want to giggle and hug myself.
I try to be mature and reasonable and remind myself that nothing is settled yet. There’s still a stalker out there, and Caleb has made no promises. We’ve had sex twice. We’re not in a serious relationship, and any number of things could happen to pull us apart.
None of my wise lectures make much of a dent in my mood. The only thing that does is when I go out to look for Caleb and discover he has some business to do away from the house this morning, and so he’s not even here. Trey will be driving me to my health club to swim.
I manage not to overreact to the news or assume it’s a sign of Caleb pulling away again. Especially since Trey’s tone and expression indicates there’s a real and potentially serious reason Caleb can’t be here this morning.
Since I won’t know anything more until he returns, I try to put the worries away so I can focus on swimming. Trey is a nice guy, and he’s easy to chat with on the drive there and back.
My mood is still decent when I get back home, and it perks up immediately when Caleb comes out the front door as Trey and I come up the driveway.
“Is everything okay?” I ask him after jumping out of the car and hurrying over.
I want to throw myself at him in a hug, but I restrain the impulse. He reaches out and touches my hair before he appears to remember himself and withdraws his hand.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Sorry if you were worried.”
“What was going on?”
“I found the hotel where Montaigne has been staying this past week, so I drove over to check it out.”
“Is it close?”
“Yes. Within thirty minutes. I was hoping I could lay eyes on him, but he’s being careful. Evidently he’s away from his room during the day and only comes back at night.”
“So you think he’s stalking me?”
“I think that’s the most likely scenario. Since we haven’t seen him yet, he’s either a lot smarter than we gave him credit for or he hasn’t gotten very close yet.” He’s frowning. His eyes are distracted—like he’s not really seeing me.
“You’re worried.” When he starts to object, I continue on, “I can see it on your face. You think he’s about to do something?”
