I don’t know why I’m showering. My skin is so clean, it’s gleaming like I’m vying for a part in Twilight.
It’s a pity soap can’t clean my insides just as well.
The whiskey heating my veins has me feeling fearless, but the shake of my hands started long before alcohol scorched my throat. When I walked into my apartment this evening, the same odd feeling I got at Substanz years ago bombarded me. Instead of validating my intuition, I brushed it off as a consequence of my botched attempt at seducing Alex. I thought my lack of mojo had me misreading the facts but I should have known better. My intuition has never led me astray. Not with Luca. Not with Alex. And not now with the deranged person who wants to cut off private regions of my body and send them to hell where I supposedly belong.
Angry women I am used to. No matter how many times I pledge that taken men are not on my radar, they never believe me. I'm not out to steal your husbands, ladies. Even a faint discoloration on the ring finger has me running for the hills. So if your man is out trawling for a date, project your issues onto him instead of the poor, unsuspecting victim he wants to buy a drink. I didn't ask for him to sit next to me, just like I didn't ask for you to call me every derogatory name under the sun. We women should stick together when it comes to lying pieces of shit who pretend they’re single the instant they leave home, not drag each other down. We are sisters, so how about we start acting like it?
Although I’ve dealt with my fair share of ill-informed women. I am fairly sure tonight’s incident isn’t a revenge-seeking wife. It had a personal edge to it, like the assailant knows me better than half the people in my inner circle.
What gives it away?
The fact they called me Rae. No one calls me Rae anymore—not even my dad. The instant he discovered it was my "stripper" name, he went back to calling me Regan. Even though I assured him multiple times that cabaret dancing isn't stripping, he claimed the amount of cleavage on display made it seem as though it was.
So that only leaves one person who calls me Rae: Alex. You'd think that would make him suspect number one. But for some reason, he isn't on my hit list. Although stupid to admit considering I hardly know him, I trust him. He reminds me a lot of Isaac. He's protective, stern, and has a heart bigger than Texas. He also doesn't want to touch me with a six-foot pole.
Whining at my inner monologue, I remove the suds from my body before stepping out of the shower. The knocks keep coming when I realize I forgot to bring a towel in with me. I could use my satin slip to dry myself, but then what will I sleep in? It's freezing in here.
“Alex!” I shout, hoping there's a magic way he can bring me a towel without seeing me naked—again!
My hands dart up to cover my breasts when Alex answers not even two seconds later. His voice is so clear, I swear he's just outside the bathroom door.
My suspicion is proven spot on when I notice a shadow under the door. He either bolted to the door the instant I called his name, or he’s been standing behind it the entire time I’ve been showering. Recalling his snooping ways in the hospital months ago, I’ll go with the latter.
“Did you need something?” Alex asks, shocked by my delay.
“Uh.” I scan his bathroom one more time to make sure I haven’t missed seeing a towel. “I need a towel.”
“Uh-huh. Do you want me to bring it in?” Hope rings in his tone. . . or is it wit?
Wanting to test a theory, I reply, “No! I’m naked. Just leave it by the door.”
Alex groans. “Okay. Party pooper.”
His shadow doesn’t budge an inch—not even for a second—before he says, “It’s by the door, waiting for you.”
“Thanks.” I grimace, having no idea what to make of this. I wait for Alex’s shadow to disappear. It’s a long and cold minute.
“Alex?”
“Yes, Regan.” He answers me in the same manner he did when I shouted his name. It's virile and hot, and it makes me squirm.
Hating the lust-crazed idiot I’m becoming, I snarl, "I can see your shadow under the door, you nincompoop!"
The need for a towel is lost when Alex replies, “I know.” His voice is laced with self-assuredness.
People see confidence as a bad thing. I do not. Games, on the other hand, they piss me off something major. I don’t play games. . . unless I’m the one instigating them.
After throwing my satin slip over my bone-dry body, I toss open the bathroom door with just as much force. Alex is standing on the other side, looking as smug as a lion in mating season. He keeps his eyes locked on my face, but I know he doesn’t need to lower them to take in the whole picture. The snarl of his top lip is all the indication I need to know he is disappointed about my covered frame.
His eyes return to my face when I bark, “I don’t play games, Alex. Haven’t since I was a child.”
I barge past him and storm into his room, only to remember halfway there his room has no door for me to hide behind. Peeved, I spin back around. Except for the cozy living room on my right, there's nowhere for me to go, and Alex knows it. His smile is stretched ear to ear, his chest puffed high.
“Is this why you brought me here? To add to my torment?” He physically shunts from my snappy tone, but it doesn’t stop me saying, “I’ve been fucked around multiple times tonight, so unless you intend to fuck me for real, leave me the hell alone!”
“Hey, come on, this wasn’t my intention,” he replies when he spots stupid moisture looming in my eyes. “I thought a little playfulness would loosen the tension between us, not make it worse.”
“Well, you were shit wrong!” I push out through the lump in my throat.
I hate dramatics; I’m just too scared by tonight’s events to reel in my feelings. The hate in the note scrawled across my vanity mirror scares the shit out of me. A madman was in my house. If Alex hadn’t showed up when he did, who knows what would have happened.
“Obviously, I have a lot to learn when it comes to comical acts,” Alex remarks, stepping closer to me.
“Clearly.” I’m shocked at his submissiveness. He took the reins so well tonight, I would have never guessed he’d hand them over just as quickly.
While he bridges the distance between us, my eyes drift to the wall, hating the sympathy brimming in his. “What’s going on, Rae? You were in that shower so long, I was growing worried you had escaped via the exhaust fan vent.”
A smile cracks my lips. His question was laced with worry, but there was pure panic in his last statement. He truly believes I’d crawl through a vent to elude him. Apparently it isn’t just his comedic schtick needing some work—my flirting skills also need some. I’m not running from him. I’m struggling not to chase him.
“I tried to escape.” I rub my cheeks with my hand to ensure no tears have fallen. They haven’t—thank god. “The hole wasn’t big enough for me to squeeze through.”
Alex shakes his head, barely concealing his smirk. I flinch for the quickest second when he raises a towel to my shoulders to dry the water puddled there. Although the heavy decline of his Adam’s apple discloses he noticed my cowardly response, he acts oblivious.
Once my shoulders are as dry as my throat, he switches his dedication to my hair. While he pampers me as no man ever has, I take in another slow breath. I study him carefully, confident he will not only protect me—he could utterly destroy me. Before him, I didn’t care if my actions were seen as slutty. I was who I was. Nobody was going to change me. But as I stare into Alex’s endless dark gaze, my thoughts turn dangerous. I want more—I deserve more. He just doesn’t seem willing to give me what I want.
My eyes stop dancing between Alex’s when he asks, “A penny for your thoughts?” His old saying leads to the first genuine smile on my face all night. That's an adage my great grannie always said. She was the light of my life before she lost her battle with cancer two years ago.
I answer Alex’s suggestion in the same manner I always did to my gran, “My thoughts are worth more than a penny, so I’m inclined to counterbid.”
His oceanic eyes drift around his clean but bland apartment. “Look around, Rae. I’ve got nothing but pennies to offer.” His saying seems more directed at the thoughts I kept in my head than the ones I vocalized. When he returns his eyes to mine, he adds on, “Unless all you’re after is an ear? I’ve got two of them.”
For the first time tonight his voice sounds genuinely sincere. “Is this on the clock, or. . .?” I leave my question open for him to answer how he sees fit.
I can see myself talking to him as a friend. I have a lot of male friends—way more than female—but if our chat is part of the secret life he doesn’t want to disclose, his offer will be a no-go for me. If I want someone to rush in and save me, I’ll call Isaac. I don’t want that. I want someone willing to help me sort through my confusion, not eradicate it on my behalf.
Although Alex’s to and fro routine frustrates me, the fact he knew I was in a low place without asking what crawled up my ass proves he could be the man for the job. He just needs to decide if he’s man enough to accept the challenge.
He proves it without a doubt when he pledges, “I’ll never be on the clock with you, Rae. Ever.”
His reply seems more detrimental to him than me. I don’t know why?
His interrogation starts before I’ve had time to prep for it. “Do you have an inkling on your stalker’s identity?”
Disappointment darts through his eyes when I shake my head. “No, but I’m reasonably sure he’s from my past.”
"What makes you say that?" He continues drying my hair as if it's a perfectly normal thing for him to do. It's a smooth move on his behalf. His subtle nurturing is relaxing me so I can address his questions.
"Did you recognize him? If you saw him, a sketch artist could compose an outline of his face. You'll be amazed by the details unearthed when someone is asked to describe someone. Husbands recall things they failed to notice in day to day life when they depict their wives."
“All I saw was a blur.” The defeat in Alex’s eyes is pushed aside for hope when I quickly add on, “But the message left on the vanity mirror is more revealing than his face.” I swallow several times, hoping it will help me ease out my next set of words. “He addressed me as Rae. No one calls me Rae anymore.”
“Except me,” Alex fills in the words I couldn’t produce.
When I nod, he asks, “Are you suspicious of my intentions?”
The caution in his tone makes my lips furl. “No. Not at all. Even Superman couldn’t take up residence in my bathroom in the short period of time between our kiss and you breaking down my door. Although, I’m a little skeptical about a few things.”
I can see he's dying to ask me what I’m doubtful about, but he doesn’t want to push me. That has me opening up to him more easily than usual. “Why did you come back?”
I realize an hour long shower didn’t eradicate my tipsy state when Alex’s tongue delves out to replenish his lips. I’m in the process of the first deep and meaningful conversation I’ve had since Luca’s death, and all I’m thinking about is how I can get another taste of Alex’s mouth. What the hell is wrong with me?
My eyes lift from Alex’s mouth to his eyes when he says, “As I said earlier, I wanted to apologize—”
“Bullshit,” I shout, calling him out as the liar he is, while also praying he’ll mistake the conflicting emotions in my eyes as anger. “If you wanted to apologize, you would have done it over the phone. That’s how all liars cover their asses.”
When I push off my feet to head into his room, he shadows me. “We’re not done with our conversation, Rae.”
“Yes, we are. I’m too tired to handle this right now.” The way I emphasize “this” assures him I’m not referring to my home invader. “You should have just kissed me and left.”
"And let him hurt you? No!" The brutal shake of Alex’s head makes me dizzy.
I throw down the duvet on his bed with force. “What do you think you’re doing, Alex?”
He takes a step back, shocked by the devastation in my tone. He isn't the only one. I'm not needy. I don't cling to men and beg for their scraps. I'm fierce. I'm independent. I'm so fucking drunk on this man, he's more damaging to my senses than the whiskey I guzzled to forget his brutal rejection.
After folding down the covers to match my side of the bed, Alex discloses, “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
Honesty rings in his tone, but it doesn't stop me from saying, "By treating me like I have an STD. I'm clean, you know. You can't catch a disease from a dildo."
When he fails to respond to my taunt as I hoped, I stomp my foot down as if I am a child. “Why won’t you touch me?!”
“Because I can’t!” Alex shouts, his voice so loud I hear it twice when it bounces off the stark walls of his room. “I’m not a normal man, Regan. I have responsibilities, an oath to serve—”
“Believe me, I know you’re not normal,” I interrupt, hearing only what I want to hear. “Normal men don’t knock back the chance to bed a woman like me.” I freeze when a notion I haven’t considered before smacks into me. “You’re not married, are you?”
While cursing under my breath, I scan his room for evidence of matrimony. I can’t believe I was so caught up studying his super long eyelashes and devastatingly handsome face, I didn’t adequately evaluate his relationship status as I do every other man I’ve “dated.” I guess my lapse in procedure can be excused. We’re not dating. We’re not anything, really.
The color stops draining from my cheeks when Alex wiggles his ring finger in the air. There isn’t the slightest discoloration to be seen.
I wait for relief to engulf me.
It never comes.
I’m more confused now than I’ve ever been. If he’s not married, why is he holding back? I can see he is struggling as much as me, and his naughty thoughts aren’t being encouraged by alcohol either. I’m certain the heady scent of lust doesn’t solely belong to me.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
Anger fades from Alex’s face before he shakes his head.
“A semi-casual hookup?”
He continues shaking his head. “No, Rae. It’s nothing like that.”
I twist my lips to hide the sly grin I shouldn’t have before questioning, “What about a boyfriend?”
Alex glares at me, making me sticky enough for another shower. “I’m not gay.”
I know he isn’t; I’m just perplexed by why he looks at me as if he wants to devour me and curse the day he met me at the same time.
Realizing a woozy head won’t get me close to unraveling a man as complex as Alex, I slip between the sheets on his bed. I don’t know why I thought whiskey would be the answer to my confusion. I’m a cosmopolitan girl for a reason. Hard liquor causes a direct hit to my senses, making me more unhinged than usual.
“Is this bed even a double?” I grumble when my feet dangle off the mattress. I’m tall for a girl, but I’m still a few inches shorter than Alex. “How can you sleep in here? Your knees must be around your ears.” An alcohol-inspired giggle rolls up my chest. “Oh. Now it makes sense. Why let a woman please you when you can do it yourself?”
My faint giggle turns into full-blown laughter when Alex hooks my ankle to yank me to his side of the bed. He leans over me, bringing him and his six-feet-plus glorious body parallel with my suddenly aching frame. If he weren’t holding his weight off me with his elbows, vital parts of our bodies would fit together perfectly.
When our eyes lock, something changes between us. His gaze is hot enough to burn Satan and cold enough to freeze water. I don’t know how it's possible for him to have conflicting responses, but there's no doubt he’s torn.
I stare at him, doing my best to plead my case without words. My pleas will stop altogether if he’d just answer one of them—the most important one. The one thrumming between my legs.
My endeavor to seduce Alex without words is lost when he mutters, “Quit your whining. You’re not a baby. This is a bed. You sleep in it. That’s it.”
“Sleeping isn’t the only thing you can do in a be—”
He cuts off my sentence by pressing his finger to my lips. The zap of his touch could light the country for a week. “Sleep is the only thing you can do in my bed.”
If I could cross my arms over my chest, I would. Instead, I glare at him. Asshole!
He smirks as if he heard my inner monologue. Good. If his finger wasn’t glued to my mouth, I’d throw a few more choice words into the mix.
Believing he has me subdued, he returns to a standing position. He's discreet, but I don't miss his quick glance at my bare thighs. If I were a lady in waiting, I’d yank my negligee to a respectable level. Pity for all involved, I'm anything but modest.
Even more so when Alex murmurs, “Sleep, then in the morning, you can make me breakfast.” An arrogant wink finalizes his stone age statement.
“I’m not making you shit.” I sound like a spoiled princess. Rightfully so. I am one. My daddy treats Raquel and me as if we are royalty, so why shouldn’t every other man in our realm?
Alex continues speaking as if I never spoke, “Then, once you’ve cleaned up, we’ll go through the evidence Brandon gathered—together. If we put that big brain of yours to use, you might stop listening to its evil counterpart.”
I shouldn’t smile, but I do. Usually, it’s the guys who are accused of thinking with the head between their legs instead of the big one on their shoulders. This is the first time I’ve been accused of it. I like it.
When Alex gives me one final glance before heading for the door, the thrust of my lungs doubles. He's not being a bigoted pig because he's a narrowminded idiot stuck in the fifties. He knows there are only two options when it comes to tackling someone as defiant as me. He either fights me into submission or fucks me into it.
Before I can advise him I’d much prefer the latter, he mutters, “Goodnight, Rae.” His voice is mired with disappointment.
Not waiting for me to return his farewell, he exits his room without so much of a backward glance. I would go after him, but my limbs are weighed down by confusion. All I can do is stare at the tiny strip of flooring separating us. It's only a few feet in width, but it feels bigger than the ocean.