27. Ian
27
IAN
Six restraining orders in ten years, all from women who were harassed to the point of having no choice but to involve the police because they were scared for their lives. That's the person who Sarah's brother is.
When he accosted me at the bar earlier tonight, I paid him no mind until he started speaking.
There's a level of confidence a person like him has, and you’re forced to give them your attention. The way he was speaking, I could tell he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
Of course, he tried to play the good cop but lasted for all of ten minutes before he got frustrated at my unwillingness to help. So he left.
It wasn't him leaving that spooked me though. It was what he said as he was leaving.
“Soon, both of you will come to realize that I'm a man who often gets what he wants.”
After he left, I finally went to search his Facebook page, and what I found did not only leave me uneasy, but it had also me calling one of my friends who’s a private investigator to help me look into him.
He got back to me in an hour, and he had nothing good to say about Peter.
One of the women claimed he once hit her, but he was never charged with anything, which could only mean two things. He either had a shady lawyer defend him or he knows someone in a place of power.
Regardless, he is someone Sarah should be very careful of, which is why I came here to begin with. But she's not believing me.
“What are you talking about Ian? Peter is my stepbrother, not some dangerous guy,” she says irritatingly as she takes a seat.
I remain, my anger rising at her easy dismissal of the fact that her brother may be up to no good.
“What if he is?”
“He's not.”
“What do you know about him? What's his middle name? Where does he live? What job does he have? Is he in a relationship?” I throw at her.
I'm trying to make a point, and she knows it.
Glancing at me in annoyance, she speaks. “You know I don't know all these things, but I'm guessing you have a point.”
“Damn right, I do.”
“Okay, and what is this point?”
“Six restraining orders in ten years, all from the women he used to date,” I say.
Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she speaks again. “How did you find that out?”
I scoff. “Is that what you really want to focus on? How I found out that your stepbrother is a serial offender or the fact that you need to be very careful of him?”
“Okay. I heard you. I'll be careful of him.” She says it so flippantly, I know she doesn't mean a word.
It makes me angry that she's been so nonchalant. I don't know if the guy would exactly harm her, but he looked desperate earlier, and I personally know what desperation can make a person do. I've seen a fair share of desperate acts and people in my line of work.
She needs to take this more seriously than she is. But I know she's not going to listen to me right now.
So what do I do?
There's no way I'll be able to sleep a wink tonight when I know that asshole is in town.
I also don't want to have to spend a night here.
If I ask her to come to the house with me, she wouldn't agree. And she'll ask so many questions anyway. Questions I am not ready to answer. Not when I don't even know where things stand with us.
That leaves me with one option.
Damn it.
“I'm going to spend the night here, just in case he finds out you're here and decides to come.”
“Ian, I don't need you trying to?—“
“That's perfect, Ian. I'll go make the guest room for you,” her aunt says, cutting her off.
I turn to look where she's standing at the entrance of the kitchen. I didn't even know she was listening to us. The way she left when I came in gave me the impression that she didn't want to talk to me. Why is she letting me stay here against Sarah's will then?
Except she sees my point.
Nodding, I acknowledge. “Thanks, Sheila.”
“No, thank you. I'll go get the room ready, and then maybe you can freshen up and come out for dinner? I'm making chicken soup.”
I want to tell her I had dinner hours ago, but I don't say it, not wanting to be rude. It's only ten p.m., anyway.
I nod at her, and she gives me a small smile before she walks away.
When we're alone again, I look at Sarah, and I find that her gaze is now on me.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For?” I ask.
She shrugs and then walks away.
I remain in the living room, walking through the moderately wide space to see how intact the windows are. I check the door lock, too. I'm about to go check the kitchen door and window when Sheila walks in, a concerned look on her face.
“You really think he'll come here?”
I shrug. “There's no saying. Something tells me it's only a matter of time before he finds her, though.”
She nods, a thoughtful look on her face. “And that's a bad thing?”
“I don't know,” I tell her truthfully. “I'm not a person that gets scared easily, but something about the look in his eyes as he delivered his last words tells me he's not going to go away easily.”
“I'll show you to the room.”
I follow her through the house to the room she’s arranged for me. I thank her as I enter, internally wishing I'd driven my truck. I would have had something to change into if I had.
Regardless, I strip my clothes off the moment the door closes behind Sheila and enter the bathroom, where I find a convenient large bathtub.
I run water and step inside when it's warm enough for me. I've not had decent sleep in a long while. Last night was a semblance of what I really needed. I won't be able to sleep if I'm keeping guard. Which is why I put my head under the water for a few minutes and remain there.
I stay in the bath for over thirty minutes and only step out when I hear a knock on the door.
Stepping out of the water, I start to drain it and I grab a towel, which I wrap around my waist.
When the towel is in place and the water is all out of the tub, I enter back into the room.
A knock sounds on the door again.
“Yeah?”
“It's me.” Sarah's voice comes from behind the door. Glancing at the clothes I had on before, I debate about putting them back on.
I'll have to wear them eventually when I leave the room, but I still want to enjoy the little bliss I got from the bath and not immediately ruin it by putting clothes on.
Sarah has seen me with fewer clothes, anyway.
“Come in,” I say.
The door opens, and she enters with a tray in her hands. Feeling stupid for making her wait with that in her hand, I approach her and immediately take it.
“You could have just let me take it to the table,” she murmurs, her eyes everywhere but on my body, making me acutely aware of being behind closed doors with her despite all the issues between us.
“It's fine.”
She nods and starts to look at the door. Not wanting her to leave just yet, I strike up a conversation with her.
“What's in it?”
“Chicken soup.”
Hmmm.
“Well, it smells nice.”
“It tastes better. You're going to be begging for her recipes by the time you're done,” she boasts, a smile tugging at her lips.
I laugh. Finding the idea that I'll love food to the point I'll beg for the recipe is ridiculous.
“I doubt that. You realize that I'm a good cook myself.”
“Is cooking something you love to do?” she asks challengingly.
I let myself think about her question. Cooking is not something I would particularly say I love doing. I don't hate it, either. I find it fun, and I do it once in a while when I feel like doing something to keep myself busy.
“I guess,” I finally say.
“Well, while you have to think and then come up with I guess as a response, my aunt doesn't have to guess or think before she answers. She loved cooking way before I was born.”
“Well, not before I was born.”
If Sheila is older than me, it's probably going to be by a decade or fifteen years, tops. I don't particularly care about the age gap though, except when it's regarding someone I'm involved with. Something that was a problem between me and Sarah back in the day.
As if she could read my thoughts, her eyes darken, and she looks away from me.
“We get it, you're an old man.”
There's a teasing to her words, but there's also some bitterness. It's almost like she's remembering all the times I turned her down because of our age gap.
“You're not so young anymore yourself,” I say.
She looks at me, a questioning look in her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“I'm just saying that you've grown more beautiful in these past years. I know I don't say it much, but you're fucking beautiful, Sarah.”
Our eyes lock at my words, and she stares hard at me, searching for I have no idea what.
She cuts off the look and stares at the floor.
“I should go,” she mumbles, but she doesn't move.
Her eyes flit to me and quickly move away, but not before I see the direction of her gaze.
I have an erection.
And now that she's made me aware of it, it's not just growing. It's hard.
“Why?” I challenge.
She blows out her breath, sparing me a glance but she looks away again.
“You know why.”
I do.
And now I'm seeing that while her mouth may be saying one thing, her body is telling an entirely different story. I move toward her.
She lets out a shaky breath when I'm finally in front of her, and I start to use my body to lead hers to a wall.
“Ian,” she tries to say in protest, but it comes out more as a plea.
She wants this, too. She wants me.
“Shhhh,” I whisper, bending my head to her neck now that her back is to a wall. I kiss her neck, my tongue diving out to explore her soft skin. She goes limp.
My palms go to her chest to find her plump breast with her hard nipples.
She whimpers at my touch, her body pressing into me for a relief she won't admit she wants. I work her nipples for a while, making sure she's very horny before I speak again.
“Do you still want to go?” I ask her, my heart pounding hard in my chest.
If she says yes, I may not be able to make her stay. As much as I want her, this has to be her choice, too.