Room Four

Chapter 1

ONE

Sunny Pines Motel sat at the end of a long winding road, surrounded by trees and miles and miles of national forest. It was forgotten—a place people went when they had nowhere else to go. Or were lost.

No one sought Sunny Pines Motel out.

But you did.

That night was like any other night—I was alone, and it was dark, and the radio in the corner was quiet and scratchy.

I couldn’t bring myself to turn it off, though.

It was my only company on a night like that.

The road that ran in front of the motel was less traveled now that they’d built a main highway through town.

People never ventured out this way, and if they did, they used the parking lot to turn around. They didn’t stick around to check things out. They were on a mission to a five-star hotel in the heart of downtown, overlooking the snowy mountains and swaying pines.

But every so often, some people, people like you, preferred the scenic route. You wanted to get lost on a dark winding road and pull into the first motel you saw for the night, then tomorrow, do it all again. You longed for quiet and beauty in a too-loud world.

My boots were kicked up on the desk, laces untied, and shirt wrinkled.

But I was clean. I thumbed through a magazine.

Women tied up in ropes and wearing thin strips of leather were on every page, blindfolds covering their eyes, or mascara running down their cheeks.

But I hid the truth in an old travel magazine—I couldn’t let anyone know what I was truly looking at. They’d think I was a freak.

It was easy to get lost in the fantasies conjured up in my mind by that magazine. That’s why I had to start acting on them a few years ago. Looking at pictures wasn’t enough anymore. Watching guests wasn’t enough.

Hiding my true nature was fracturing me, and it was painful. I know you’d never want me to be in pain, so you have to understand why I did what I did to all those women. I didn’t have a choice.

I was just being true to who I was.

And that was what everyone always said to do, wasn’t it? Be true and you’ll be happy?

You want me to be happy…don’t you?

Headlights panned across the office, and I lifted my gaze to the window. There were no curtains, and the glass was clear, not a speck of dirt or fingerprint smudges on it. I didn’t move from my reclined position. I was used to watching people turn around and go back to town.

But instead of speeding out of the parking lot, the car came to a stop. For a moment, you just sat there. What were you doing? What were you thinking? Were you looking for directions to get back to town? To reverse and leave my little corner of the forest forever?

But then you shut your headlights off, and the darkness was almost painful.

Then I heard your car door shut. Quietly. Almost timidly, like you were scared to make a sound. Just a little doe in a big forest, scared of her own shadow.

That was who you were when I first saw you.

I finally got up, and my boots thudded against the hardwood floor as I made my way toward the window. My heart was erratic in my chest—I hadn’t had a visitor in a while.

Your eyes were wide as you looked around, but there was something I couldn’t place in them. Maybe it was the smudges beneath or how swollen and red they were.

It wasn’t fear that radiated from you. Looking back, I think it was intrigue.

I think it might’ve even been excitement.

But at the time, I didn’t understand what I was seeing.

I didn’t know what you were feeling. That look in your tired eyes made me believe something was wrong…

and maybe there was. Just not in the way I thought.

Your lips, so full and juicy, were pressed tightly together, and I wondered what you looked like when you smiled.

Really smiled. Not the half-hearted, polite one I knew you gave people when they looked at you too long.

I wanted to know what your eye-crinkling smile looked like.

What shade of white your teeth were or how healthy your gums were.

I wanted to know the ins and outs of your body, of your mouth.

There was a voice in my head telling me that your smile belonged to me. That I owned your smile.

That I owned you.

You pulled a bag from your backseat, and it took all I had not to rush out and take it from you. But that would’ve been crazy—a man rushing out to take a heavy bag from you?

I didn’t want to scare you.

So I let you carry it yourself.

I couldn’t peel my eyes away from you as you walked across the parking lot, toward the office.

Toward me.

Every step you took was mine. Every breath, mine. Every flick of your eyes…mine.

I went back to the desk, and I stood there, and I waited. I picked at my thumbnail with my index one until it split. My cuticles were dry and cracked, so I picked at them, too. My throat was raw, closed up in a way I’d never felt before.

And then the door opened.

Slowly, at first, like you were unsure of yourself, like you didn’t know if you were in the right place.

My hands curled into fists, my nails digging into my palms as I watched you push the door open all the way.

You were so lost, my little doe. So frightened. So…unsure.

You walked into the office, and the room felt a million times smaller. You sucked all the air from it, shrink-wrapping it around me, demanding attention from every dark corner, every set of eyes on the walls.

I looked around with you, as if it were my first time.

Wood-paneled walls with deer heads and animal portraits hanging on them, large windows, low tilted ceiling.

The lighting was a soft yellow, creating this cast over you that was almost angelic.

The carpet had been ripped out years ago, replaced with dark hardwood.

And then your eyes landed on me. I wondered what you saw, what you thought when you first looked at me. You took me in from across the room, and for a moment that was all we did—stare.

Then I remembered how big I was—tall and broad—and I knew my size was probably scaring you. It seemed to intimidate everyone else. So I made myself smaller. I shrunk down, not allowing myself to stand at my full height, forcing my shoulders to round in so my chest didn’t seem so wide.

I didn’t want to scare you.

Your hair was braided to the side, and the strands caught in the dim golden light, cascading down your shoulder.

You moved like a ghost, like you were floating instead of walking.

But I saw you take each step, watched as you lifted one foot then the other, over and over and over until you finally stood before me, only the desk separating us.

“Hello,” you said, and I swear it was like the world cleaved in two. Like the birds sang for the first time, like I was finally able to see color, like I could finally breathe after years of being starved of oxygen. “Do you have any rooms available for the night?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice hoarse from disuse.

You smiled, but it still wasn’t the real one.

It was the one that belonged to strangers—I deserved the real one, and you weren’t giving it to me.

Why? Why were you hiding from me? “Just one night?” Your lips twisted to the side as you looked around, as if you were trying to decide if you wanted to spend more time here.

And then you smiled again—a little more real, but still not the smile.

“Yes,” you said softly. “Just tonight.” I nodded, but I didn’t move. Not yet.

“You traveling far?” I asked, and you shook your head.

“I just needed to get away.”

I tilted my head to the side, watching you. “Why?”

A soft, breathy laugh tumbled from your lips, and you reached up, tucking a fallen piece of hair behind your ear.

“I have some work to do, and I can’t be distracted.”

“Work?” I asked. You adjusted the strap on your shoulder. “What kind of work?”

“I’m a writer.” You looked shy admitting that, and I couldn’t help myself—I smiled at you. It was a closed-lip smile, but I didn’t hand those out to just anyone.

You were everything I’d been waiting for. Shy and quiet and lovely. You were exactly what I wanted.

“You’re a writer?” I let out a low whistle, and a blush crept into your cheeks. “That’s impressive.”

You lifted your shoulder and looked away, like you were embarrassed of the praise and attention.

So sweet. So modest.

So perfect.

“Have I heard of your work before?”

Again, you shrugged. You bit your lip, as if keeping yourself from fully falling into this conversation with me.

“Maybe,” was all you said.

A mystery.

That’s what you were to me.

Maybe I’d pegged you wrong—you weren’t a shy little doe. You were keeping secrets.

And you know how much I hate secrets.

“Can I have your name?” I asked, and when you looked startled, I softly added, “For the room.”

“Oh, right.” You laughed breathily again. “Lily Greene.”

I rolled your name around my mouth, letting each letter slide against my tongue like honey.

“I’m Aaron,” I told you, so you wouldn’t feel so exposed. “I own the place.”

Your brows lifted like you were surprised. You looked at me differently then, like you were seeing me for the first time.

“It’s nice to meet you, Aaron.”

I nearly fell to my knees when you said my name like that.

We did the awkward dance of getting you checked in, and then you reached across the desk to hand me your money. Your fingers lingered against mine, a soft caress against my palm. We stayed like that for a moment; our gazes suspended in eternity.

But then you pulled away, and air filled my lungs again. You were such a tease that night. You left me speechless and dazed as I watched you walk across the room, the key for room four dangling from your fingertips like the leash to my collar.

“Will you be here all night?” you asked, and it took my mind a moment to catch up to your words.

I nodded. It was all I could do. My heart was racing too fast for me to speak.

A not-real smile curled your lips. “Could I come back…if I can’t sleep?”

“Of course,” I said, nearly tripping over my words—that was what you did to me. The effect you had on me. You made me stupid. “I’ll be here.”

You bit your lip again, and it took all I had not to leap across the desk and suck it from between your teeth.

To taste you.

You didn’t say anything else; you just dipped your chin and disappeared into the night.

For the next half hour, I just stood there, waiting. I never took my eyes off the door, never let myself breathe too deeply, never moved an inch.

I waited for you.

I waited and waited and waited for you to fulfill your promise of coming back to me.