Chapter Twenty Blake
Chapter Twenty
Blake
I woke up, and in a second everything came back to me. I gasped and rolled over, then deflated.
Creighton wasn’t here. I thought . . . I woke during the night and thought he was here. It should’ve enraged me. I just slept better.
I groaned, falling onto my back, and raised my hands. Balling them into fists, I pressed them to my forehead.
What was I doing?
I told him to stay away, but fuck. Fuck! How he looked at me and how I looked at him.
I wanted him.
I’d felt this need for him the first night he came to me, and it’d only gotten worse each night after except fear accompanied it. Fear because good Lord, that would change everything. Was I ready?
Except last night, I hadn’t cared. I’d been two seconds away from doing something about it. Yanking him to me. Pressing my mouth to his. I’d had such a physical and visceral reaction to him. It took everything out of me not to lunge at him, and he saw it. I know he saw my reaction.
Creighton and me.
I blew out a breath.
That was nuts.
And yet I couldn’t deny the ache that was building in me again at merely remembering last night.
I was lying here, more upset about my lack of control with Creighton than I was about being kidnapped. Fucking. Kidnapped.
Again.
A soft sigh left me.
I’d been so furious last night, blaming Creighton, which was valid. Everything was his fault, but dammit . . . My head was swimming.
Okay. New plan.
Day by day. I’d figure things out as I went and hopefully find a solution so I could . . . I didn’t know, but my body was heating up and calling myself a liar. I was trying to delude myself.
Was that what I was doing?
I got up out of bed, heading for the door, when a pile of things on my desk caught my eye.
My heart stilled, and my mouth opened an inch.
A phone. A wallet. A set of keys. All mine. Like, not new items. They were mine from when I’d been taken last night.
I was staggered.
Creighton left them.
That meant he’d been given them.
He knew. Had he known the whole time? Before he saw me? After he saw me?
I snatched my phone up and googled for the crime report for the area where I worked. When it came up and I scrolled through it, tension eased in my chest. No shootings. No bodies found. No fires.
Creighton hadn’t retaliated yet, but he would.
God help us when that happened.
I sent a quick text to Spence.
Me: Effective immediately, I quit.