Chapter 7
Prudence
“These are beautiful,” Rowley says. I turn to see him holding one of my grandma’s angels, the white figurine so small and intricate in his large palm.
“Oh, the crochet angels! My grandma made four every year, two for her and grandpa, one for my mother even though she never came, and one for me. I always hung them on the Christmas tree.”
“And this?”
He pulls out the salt dough reindeer I made when I was sixteen. The paint has chipped in places, but it still looks good. I smile and take it from his hand.
“I made a lot of stuff from salt dough over the years,” I explain, turning the heavy figurine in my hands. “See? It’s mine.”
My name, Prudy, is scratched into the reindeer’s belly.
Rowley leans in to see, and a shiver races down my back, because he’s so close, again.
I don’t think I’ve ever been aware of another person’s proximity like this.
It’s as if I can instinctively tell the distance between us at all times. It’s weird.
“Prudy?” he asks with a wide grin. “That’s so cute.”
I shrug, a bit pleased, a bit sad. “Yeah, well, my grandparents called me that. To anyone else, I was simply Prudence. Not popular or notorious enough to get a nickname.”
He looks up from the reindeer without moving away, and I have to swallow a sudden gasp as my stomach fills with a fluttery sensation. It’s not very pleasant, yet I can’t move away.
“Can I call you Prudy?”
I nod before I have a chance to think it through. The question seems odd, and I take a moment to analyze why as I turn away from him, my mind getting clearer when I’m not drowning in his warm eyes.
Why would he care what he calls me? Whatever happens between us, it will end come morning. He’ll disappear as soon as it’s safe to go back to his criminal ways, and I… I’ll survive. Somehow.
“Why do you care?” I ask, pretending to be engrossed in unraveling a long strand of Christmas lights. “What to call me?”
He laughs, and I risk a glance. God. Why is this man so beautiful? Even worse, why does he seem to get more and more attractive with every passing minute?
“Of course I care, silly,” he says with a fond shake of his head. “It’s your name. It’s important.”
Something melts in my chest, and I look away as if burned, not liking the wave of vulnerability that surges inside me at his words.
Important. Truth be told, I never thought of myself this way. Wherever I went, I was just a part of the background, insignificant, often invisible. The world never cared whether I existed or not. I was probably important to my grandparents, but with them gone… I lost my significance.
And now he, a killer, gives it back to me like it’s no big deal. I’m scared to accept his gift, so I just shrug and head to the kitchen.
“Want some tea?” I ask without looking at him.
“Yes.”
When his confident steps follow me, I bite my lip and turn to face him. Tea was just an excuse to get away.
“Why are you following me?”
He cocks his head to the side, folding his arms. The muscles shift and bulge under his tight sleeves in an absurdly distracting way. I am so unused to being around men, he strikes me dumb with the smallest things, and it’s annoying.
“Because I like being around you,” he says, a hint of a smile playing in the corner of his mouth. “Show me how you like your tea. I’m very curious.”
This is too much. I stomp my foot, wincing when my heel explodes with pain. The effect is underwhelming with no shoes on.
“Look, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you can stop now,” I hiss, the pain fueling my anger. “I helped you, didn’t I? So please, just leave me alone for five minutes. What would I do, anyway? You have my phone.”
He regards me seriously, and I have trouble holding his gaze despite my fury.
His scrutiny is almost like a physical sensation.
No one has ever looked at me so closely, as if trying to uncover something hidden deep within.
I wait anxiously, wishing I hadn’t said anything.
It would be so much better if he just ignored me.
“I’m not playing games,” he says at last, each word weighed carefully before it’s uttered.
“But I understand. I came into your house without invitation, threatened you with a knife and tied you up, and now I’m acting in a completely different way.
You’re scared and confused. I’m sorry. I messed it all up. ”
Before I can stop it, my anger drains out through the soles of my feet, and I am left confused and all aflutter. I wish I was furious with him, but he has the uncanny ability to disarm me.
“I don’t understand,” I confess quietly through my tight throat. “What do you want?”
“Many things.” He takes a step closer, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. I stare at his eyebrows, each hair dark and shiny, and perfect. To look into his eyes would be to fall. “What I want the most is to make you happy. You saved my life. It’s a big deal, you know.”
I give up and lower my gaze. He… smolders at me. His eyes are soft and hooded, and when his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip, leaving behind a shine of wetness, I don’t move away. I can’t.
He hesitates, his mouth open as if to speak. There is something in his eyes, something yearning. I’ve seen that look before—in the mirror.
I yearn for things, too. Things that always feel just out of reach, attainable for others, but never for me.
I’ve almost lost hope that I could have them some day. But what if I can?
Would it be so wrong to fall? Just for one night? It’s Christmas, after all. Everyone deserves a gift.
“Do you know what else I want?” he asks, his voice dropping into a husky cadence that strokes the insides of my ears like velvet. “To kiss you.”
I blink once and don’t say anything. I think I forgot how to breathe.
“Will you let me, Prudy?”
The seductive rumble of his question sizzles over my skin like a caress. I still don’t breathe. This can’t be happening.
“Please. Just a little kiss. I’d like to taste you.”
When his lips press against mine, I realize my head nods on its own, without any conscious direction from my brain. The first breath I take is full of his air, warm and male, and I make a sound, something pitiful and small. He moans in response.
His lips slide against mine, careful and slow, and I’m frozen, gasping out faster and faster breaths.
My first kiss. From a killer.
When he pulls away, it’s just enough to speak. His lips brush mine with every word, and I’m frozen, unable to leave, unable to kiss him back.
“Shh, sweetheart. It’s just a kiss. I’ll hold you like this, see? You’re completely safe.”
His arms come around me, huge and inescapable, and that’s when I realize my legs are shaking. I’m weak, so weak, I’d slide down to the floor if not for his embrace.
“And I’ll kiss your cheek now. That’s innocent, isn’t it? Just a little peck.”
His warm lips press to my left cheek, and I jolt with a muffled sound deep in my throat as his hot breath races across my skin. The kiss isn’t innocent, not in the least. His lips are too hot, too male.
“And now, I’ll kiss you here. Another small peck. Nothing to be afraid of.”
His lips travel to my temple, brushing my skin along the way. My face seems suddenly enormous, all my attention focused on every inch of skin he touches. It’s like a landscape, and his kisses paint a map.
“And there’s nothing more innocent than a forehead kiss, is there?” he says, and there’s a hint of a smile in his voice, but he’s not laughing at me. He’s just… I don’t know.
Happy.
The warm, soft lips press to my forehead and stay there as his arms tighten around me. My face is turned up, up, up, and he’s so big, and it should be awkward and uncomfortable, but somehow, my head is angled exactly right, and his words make my breath flutter into a softer, easier rhythm.
“And we can’t neglect the other side of your beautiful face, baby. There.”
He kisses my right temple, slow and careful, and then slides lower to kiss my cheek. I jolt in his arms with a gasp of understanding, because I know what comes next, there’s only my mouth left, and I don’t know if I can handle it. My head is spinning.
“And now, come here. Breathe. Just breathe.”
My face is buried in warm cotton stretched over solid muscle, and I breathe in the scent of roses.
He holds me to him, hiding me from the world.
My blood roars in my ears, and yet, I distinctly hear his deep sigh of pleasure.
His chest moves under my cheek, broadening with the deep inhale, and then shifts again as he releases a long, content stream of air.
He’s so fascinating. I think I’d like to see him breathe without his clothes on. I’d like to press my hands to his ribs and feel them expand and contract, and then, I’d like to feel his stomach, and… and see what being a grower is all about…
He rests his chin on top of my head like I’m the perfect height for him as his open palms slide over my back, their breadth ridiculous. He can hold so much of me just with his hands, and as my last tense breath whooshes out of me, I finally trust his words.
You’re safe. Nothing to be afraid of.
And yet, I’m not happy. There’s a little pang of disappointment buried in my chest, and as Rowley hums, his body vibrating with the sound, I realize why I feel this way.
He didn’t kiss me again. And I really wanted him to.