Chapter 13
He’s too close. Especially in the silence, Jed is too close for me to do anything except stare into his blue eyes and take one deep, almost-shuddering breath after another. Why had I said that? Why had I said any of that to Wren?
Because now that he’s gone, it’s like the buffer is gone from between us. I can’t do anything but look at him; focus on Jed. When Wren was here, at least, he had some of Jed’s attention on him, so the chainsaw-killer couldn’t look at me like this and make me feel…
Well, I definitely don’t like thinking about how this makes me feel.
“You’ve obviously done a pretty good job of it already,” I point out, glancing down at the scant amount of space between us and taking a breath.
“You told me why you did it, and Wren seems believable.” But neither of those things is why I feel less than terrified when I’m standing here with him so close, and I’m worried I’m not the only one who knows it.
At the very least, he doesn’t call me out on the not-quite-honesty of what I’d said.
Instead, I see his hand move, his fingers twitching closer to me like he wants to touch some part of me before he aborts the movement and jams that hand into his pocket.
The other still hangs at his side, and I wonder what he’s thinking.
As always, Jed is inscrutable. I couldn’t even fathom what goes on behind those eyes.
I wouldn’t even know where to start. Especially when I look up from his hands and find him still looking at me.
Gaze calculating and unsure. He doesn’t look as afraid of me running away as he had, at least. He looks at me less like a terrified deer and more like a person.
But I don’t know if that’s good or bad for me.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I look right back into those blue eyes, and I can’t help self-consciously tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
He follows the movement, like he can’t help it, and his other hand comes up just enough for me to know he wants to do it himself.
“I’ll do anything to convince you that I’d never hurt you,” Jed murmurs, breaking the silence between us.
“Would you, if I were someone else?” I can’t help but ask, but now that the words are out, the question is one that I need answered. If I weren’t me. If he wasn’t attracted to me for some reason I definitely can’t fathom, would he still be so careful and be so adamant about not hurting me?
“Would I…?” His brows furrow and he glances down, then back up to my face. “Would I what, if you were someone else?”
“Would you have hurt me? Would you have killed me, too?”
“No.” The answer is immediate, and followed by a shake of his head. Then, unexpectedly, his expression turns sheepish. He turns away from me, glancing at the floor as he continues. “But I…would’ve handled things differently.”
“How?” I’m already in this far. I definitely need to know what ‘differently’ means.
A tiny, rueful smile hitches at his lips as his eyes dart back up to mine.
And even that is enough to send butterflies into flight between my ribs.
Just a look from him shouldn’t do it, and my fingers tighten on the sofa’s cushioned back behind me.
Yet again, I wonder how it’s fair for a serial killer to look and act like him, when he seems to be anything but.
“I would’ve called Wren and told him to come over before you were awake. He would’ve done the convincing. Made offers, whatever. Instead of me trying to convince you and being honest about what had happened.” He tilts his head as he speaks, and yet again I wish I could tell what he was thinking.
“Then…why do it differently with me?” This time I know the answer. At least somewhat. He likes something about me, though it can’t be any of the things I see when I look in the mirror. Maybe it’s my winning personality and penchant for dad jokes.
Maybe he needs new headshots.
This time he tilts his chin forward, eyes sharpening as they stay on mine.
“You’re really asking?” He seems somewhat surprised, if I’m reading him even close to right.
Especially when his brows climb toward his hair that’s still as tousled as it had been when he’d messed with it earlier.
A big part of me wants to reach up to run my fingers through it, so I tighten my grip even harder on the sofa to remind myself that is not an option.
“I’m really asking,” I reply, quieter than I mean to be. My heart pounds in my chest as he just…looks at me. And from the corner of my eye I see his hand leave his pocket, fingers curling into his palm. “Will you really tell me?”
“If you need to hear it.” His voice is suddenly lower, rougher, and my stomach jolts as I realize I might have gotten myself into something that I’m not so ready for.
“Though I figured Wren was pretty clear when he was here.” I think back to Wren’s words.
About his surprise at Jed cooking for me, and suddenly I can’t meet Jed’s gaze.
I look anywhere but at him, which is difficult when he’s this close to me.
“I’m not a very good roommate,” I mutter, trying to relieve some of the tension of the situation.
I can feel my heart beating in my throat, just as intent on this conversation as the rest of me.
Every single inch of my body feels like it’s on alert, and I feel like I’m stuck in limbo, waiting for whatever he’s going to say or do. “I took your bed.”
“I gave you my bed,” Jed points out. “It’s not like I’d let you sleep on the couch.”
I suck in a breath. “I tried to take your chainsaw.”
“You…certainly tried,” he agrees, and I swear there’s a hint of amusement in his tone when he says it. But that’s not what I’m focused on. Suddenly he’s closer than he had been, and I’m stuck scrambling in my brain to figure out when he got this close to me.
Where did all that space between us go?
“I threw up when I saw your slaughter-shed,” I add in a rush of words that come out almost jumbled.
“Wren almost threw up the first time he walked in as well. That’s not the insult you think it is.
” It should be impossible for him to sound this good when it feels like he’s quietly laughing at my words.
I can’t see the floor between our bodies anymore.
Instead, my vision is consumed with his front, and the borrowed shirt that hugs my curves too-tightly for me to feel anything but uncomfortable.
The thought makes me lift my hand, and I pinch the fabric with my fingers, trying to pull it away from my hip without doing much good, though I can’t help but repeat the movement on the other side as well.
“You don’t need to do that,” Jed murmurs, eyes training on my movements.
“Especially if it’s because you think something bothers me.
Nothing about you bothers me, Saylor. Except how you’re afraid of me.
But…” He doesn’t continue until I look up at him, just in time to see the dark, tempting grin curl over his lips.
“If you want me to convince you, then I’ll take all the time you need to reassure you that you never, ever need to be afraid of me, or think I’m going to hurt you.
I just need you to be willing to convince me you won’t tell anyone what I did.
What we do. Can you do that for me?” I’ve never heard him talk like this.
I’ve never heard him sound so confident, or so tempting.
He takes that last, small step to close the rest of the distance between us and my breath catches in my throat. I can’t move when his hand comes up to cup my cheek in his warm, calloused palm.
He’s going to kiss me again.
And I’m more than willing to let him.
One of his knees presses between mine as my mind scrambles, trying to figure out how the hell we got here.
How the hell I’m suddenly more okay with this than I was earlier.
He’s so fucking hot, so sweet, and the red flags that litter his metaphorical yard are suddenly looking like my favorite color in the whole damn world.
But fuck, this is not right. He’s a murderer. A killer. I see it in him every time I look at him and every time I close my eyes.
When Jed catches my gaze, I know he sees it too. The indecision. The memory that I can’t stop playing over and over and—
“It’s okay,” he breathes. “I know we’re not quite there yet. I know you don’t trust me like I need you to, and you still can’t open your mouth and tell me, without a doubt, you won’t be tempted to tell anyone, can you Saylor?”
As if to prove him wrong, I part my lips, words ready on my tongue…
only for me to find that they won’t come out the way I want.
My stomach sinks and I realize that he’s right.
I don’t trust him like he wants me to. I don’t think I can promise him I won’t find myself at the local sheriff’s station the moment he lets me leave.
And what in the world does all of that say about me?
I feel panic rising in my throat, along with the worry that he regrets not letting Wren make me an offer to keep me from going to the police.
I’m sure it’s more trouble than it’s worth for him to do this himself, considering he isn’t offering me money or a car or a job or whatever.
Nor is he threatening me, past the obvious part of still being kidnapped and having no real idea where I am.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Jed murmurs, his free hand resting on my hip. “You always have a way out of this. I won’t make you do something you don’t want.”
“I can’t tell you what you want to hear, though,” I remind him, feeling almost disappointed in myself for that fact. “I can’t say—”
“I know, Saylor.” There’s a definite hint of amusement in his voice.
A very audible chuckle as he gives me the softest, sweetest smile that covers something much less tender, but no less affectionate.
“I’m not dumb. And you’re not that mysterious.
You were literally on your hands and knees throwing up because of what you saw in my backyard.
Do you really think I expect you to announce your overwhelming trust in me now?
Do you think even if you promised never to tell, never to say a word, I’d believe you after I know what you saw?
” He shakes his head at me, and something in me unfurls, loosening like a too-tight knot.
It shouldn’t make me feel better, because it means he’s not about to give me my keys and phone and let me waltz on out the door.
“I’m trying,” I say instead, letting out a disappointed breath. “I’m trying. But you’re a killer, and I’ve never exactly sat down and had a pep talk with myself about what to do when you’re kidnapped by a serial killer.”
“Serial killer is a strong accusation,” Jed interrupts, snorting, though he doesn’t move away. “You’ve seen me kill one whole person.”
“Are you saying I’m off base?” Some part of me grows hopeful, my chest lightening.
“Oh, no, not at all. No, I’m definitely by all definitions a serial killer,” he promises, still amused. “I just wanted to point out it’s a jump from knowing I killed one person to knowing I’ve killed a lot.”
Oh. Well, then.
I can’t stop the small scowl that pulls at my lips, or the way I glare balefully at him. He chuckles deep in his throat, as if he can’t help himself, and presses his thigh more firmly between mine, holding me against the sofa unless I’m willing to backflip over it.
But even then, I might end up just getting pulled back up, or dragging him with me.
Which brings a lot of inappropriate images to my head; I work to beat them back with a stick, for all the good it does when I know I’ll see them again the moment I fall into his bed and press my face against the pillows that smell just like him.
“Fuck, you’re adorable when you do that,” Jed murmurs, once more in that rough voice.
“Do what?” I ask, snapping from my thoughts. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Oh, yeah, you are.” Jed chuckles, leaning closer to me.
“You should see your face when you do that. When you try so hard not to think about whatever it is that you can’t keep out of your brain.
” A smile splits his lips, his eyes dancing.
“What are you trying so hard to ignore this time, Saylor?” he asks, while my heart races against my ribs.
You. I don’t say it. I can’t say it. Yet somehow I reach up, my fingers curling in his shirt seconds before I yank him the rest of the way to me and seal my lips against Jed’s in the stupidest, hottest move I’ve ever made in my life.
And fuck, it’s just as good as I knew it would be.
He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t even stop to question as his hand shifts from my face, falling to grip my opposite hip so he can hold me exactly where he wants me.
I barely have control of the kiss for a few seconds before he takes it from me, his teeth nipping at my lower lip and the edge of my tongue before he’s tasting and exploring every inch of the space between my lips.
But I want more from him than this. I need more of him, to see what’s under his clothes and run my hands along every inch of him. As if he has the same idea, his hand slips under the edges of my borrowed shirt, dragging it up my body along with his fingers that are splayed against my skin.
I can’t help the soft sound of protest, the small movements I make as all of my insecurities and self-deprecating nature come rushing back full force. But Jed shuts it down with a soft growl against my open mouth.
“No,” he insists, harsher than I would have expected he was capable of. “Don’t you do that, Saylor. Don’t you dare try to hide any part of yourself from me.” The words make me shudder, and all the heat that burns in my face shoots instantly between my thighs that are clamped around his.
I need him. I need—
A loud rap on the door makes us spring apart, and my eyes are wide as I stare at him, panting from between sore, bruised lips.
“Fuck,” Jed growls, rucking his fingers through his hair. “Why is he back?” It occurs to me he means Wren, and I let out a groan, falling back against the sofa’s sturdy back. Of course Wren would show up now, just when I was getting what I shouldn’t have.
Well, maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.
“Just let me see what he wants,” Jed sighs, crossing around the sofa and heading for the door. His pupils are blown, eyes feverish, and his movements are jerky as he tugs at the bottom of his own shirt to make sure it’s back in place.
Had he been as turned on as I was before the knocking had been enough to throw a metaphorical bucket of cold water over my head? From the way he adjusts his clothes before touching the door, it definitely seems like it.
I walk around the couch as well, belatedly registering that I’m hungrier than I’d realized, and slide down to the sofa. I rest my head in my hands as I hear the sound of the front door opening on its hinges.
“Mr. Shaw?” That’s not Wren’s voice, and my head snaps up at the sound, eyes darting for the open space between the doorframe and the wall.
“We have a few questions. Could we come in?”
It isn’t Wren standing at the door.
It’s the police.