Chapter 2
PARIS
I can’t sleep. I’ve been lying on this super soft mattress for an hour—it’s so much more comfortable than the ratty one in my apartment, which my pinchpenny landlord refused to change—and I keep tossing and turning.
With a groan, I stare at the ceiling and interlace my fingers over my stomach, going over everything that happened today and why I’m feeling extremely restless, with more anxiety bubbling under the surface than usual.
My boss, who also happens to be the editor, could have sent a million voicemails by now. He expected the article before the day’s end, but I didn’t count for being lost in the cornfield.
I’m probably about to lose my job, a job I worked so hard for the past three years.
I can’t remember where I parked my car.
I don’t have any inclination or desire to finish the article.
I’m currently under the same roof with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.
I grab the pillow, press it against my face, and let out a growl. I remember the first time I laid eyes on him in the cornfield. My initial reaction was fright because what if I was about to be sacrificed by a cult. Then, I felt relieved.
But it’s not until he brings me into his house that I really see him.
And holy guacamole. He’s … gorgeous in a raw, feral kind of way that should be illegal in at least thirty states.
His long-ish dark hair is slightly wavy, pushed back like he ran his hand through it too many times.
He’s got a full beard, thick and sharp along his jawline, and dark gray eyes that look like smoke and steel.
His frame filled the doorway when he walked in—broad shoulders, massive arms, chest straining under a white Henley that hugged every inch of muscle. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, thick veins visible along his forearms, making my mouth go dry every time I caught a glimpse of them.
I felt hunger like I had never known before. A hunger that rolled around my belly and settled in my core.
Even now, I’m hot and horny for him. He looks like someone who’d be rough in bed, and I wonder just how coarse he’s willing to be … for me.
It’s almost ten at night. I heard him leave earlier, but I didn’t hear him come back in. He did tell me he would periodically check the maze in case someone else got lost.
Thunder cracks above the house, and I jolt, already feeling the familiar creep along my skin.
Back in the city, in my cramped apartment, there’s always some kind of noise to keep me company—neighbors having their nightly screaming match about whose turn it is to do the dishes and why the other didn’t have the common sense to take the garbage outside, sirens wailing, drunken twenty-somethings shouting Taylor Swift lyrics outside my window at 2 AM.
In this small town, Silverwick Valley, it’s way too quiet and open. So easy for someone to stand and stare just outside the window, just beyond the corn, just … out of sight. The thought makes my skin crawl, and I wish I hadn’t watched all those horror movies about possessed scarecrows.
Another rumble rolls through the sky, and my heart rate speeds up.
I need to find Parker fast. I can’t explain it, but I know he’s safe.
I trust my gut because it saved me more times than I can count, warning me about sketchy guys at bars and too-good-to-be-true apartment listings, and it tells me Parker’s a good guy …
despite his perpetual scowl that seems permanently etched onto his stupidly handsome face.
Not to mention how hot the guy is. Although, to be fair, I don’t need my sixth sense for that. His size alone is enough to make me feel tiny, and I'm not usually one to get all fluttery about tall men. God, how is he single? In the city, women would be lining up around the block for a guy like him.
“Parker?” I call out, voice thin against the rain.
No answer, only the sound of water pounding the roof, the windows, the porch, drenching everything in thick, wet silence.
I step closer to the screen door and squint through it, but it’s useless.
The yard’s a wall of darkness. The cornfield is just a black blur.
I can’t see a damn thing, not without my glasses, which I left back in the car.
Dear Lord, this is how horror movies begin.
A woman alone in the house, with no idea of the monsters lurking in the shadows.
One by one, they step into the light, and she has nowhere to go, no way to defend herself.
Just like that scene from that slasher film I watched last weekend—the one that gave me nightmares for days.
If that’s the case, then the least I can do is continue searching for Parker. After all, if there are any monsters out there, they’d have to get through him first. The thought of his intimidating presence makes me feel slightly better, even if I can’t see him right now.
Swallowing back my fear, I open the door and step onto the porch, the wood cold under my bare feet.
My breath fogs the air, and the temperature drops fast. I wrap my arms around myself and take a few hesitant steps toward the edge.
“Parker, are you still out here?” I try again, louder now.
Thank God I can’t see beyond five meters, so if there really are monsters out here and I’m about to become their next meal, I won’t know until they’re right in front of me.
Maybe they’ll cut off my scream as they chomp bits and pieces of my?—
A shape looms suddenly to my right, and I freeze, the scream trapped in my throat.
My lungs go tight. My eyes sting from the wind and the rain and the not knowing. My knees almost buckle, and I know I’m gonna be one of those characters in the movie who dies because they can’t move.
“Paris? What are you doing out here?”
Relief washes over me in waves as I realize it’s just him. I let out a strangled laugh—half relief, half nerves, like my body doesn’t know whether to cry or kiss the ground Parker walks on.
“Jesus,” I breathe, hand to my chest. “You scared the hell out of me.”
His forehead scrunches. “You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute.” I breathe through my mouth. “No, I don’t know.”
Lightning flashes behind him, painting his face in sharp white light, and I see a streak of dark red, smeared across his sleeve, fresh and wet and jarring in the storm light.
I gasp. “You’re bleeding.”
My hands reach for his arm, searching for the source.
“I’m fine,” he says quickly. “It’s not mine.”
I blink up at him. “What?”
He nods toward the field. “There was a bird. Dead. It must’ve hit the wire. I didn’t see it until I’d already grabbed the fence rail.”
My fingers hover near the dark stain, but I don’t touch him this time.
Because that’s when I realize how close we are. His chest rises just inches from mine, heat radiating off his soaked shirt, that scent of rain and earth and something inherently him curling in my lungs.
I look up, and suddenly everything narrows to his mouth. The hard shape of it. The faint, hairline scar just above his top lip. His lashes are wet, his beard glistening with rain, and all I can think of is how badly I want to feel his mouth on mine.
It’s reckless. It’s impulsive. It’s not me.
I’m the girl who overthinks everything, who maps out the safest route, who never moves until she’s sure the ground won’t collapse beneath her.
But right now, the only thing I’m sure of is him.
Desire licks softly in my belly, and the way he looks at me calls to the baser instincts in me.
My hands move before my brain catches up, curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling myself up on my toes. When my mouth finds his, the world falls completely silent.
Oh my God.
The kiss is full and hot and breathless, and it steals the air from my lungs. Parker gets over his shock in no time. One arm wraps tight around my waist, and the other pushes up into my hair, tilting my head so he can go deeper into the hot recesses of my mouth.
I let him, and I’m no longer the same person.