Chapter 22
Instinct roused me awake. My eyes snapped open. Adrenaline flushed through my limbs, my fatigue evaporated, and my heart raced a storm in my chest.
I scanned my dark bedroom with steady focus. The door was closed. There was no movement, no sound, but I just knew. Someone was inside with me. My hand slinked up under my pillow. My fingers wrapped around the grip of my gun.
No one had ever dared attack me in my sleep before, and that deviation shot pure exhilaration through my bloodstream.
Either I ended this quickly, two shots to the chest and one to the head—boring—or I let it play out.
See what my attacker chose to do. Toy with them and drag out this sensation as far as it could go.
The latter was the far more enjoyable option.
My intruder shifted in place. There was a slight swish and a muffled titter. They took cautious, shambling steps closer from the left corner of the room. Skeleton shafts of moonlight outlined a feminine shape. A whiff of spiced floral perfume hit me.
Ah, now I knew exactly who invaded my space. My little stalker was more daring and more foolish than I’d given her credit for.
The bed dipped to my left.
“I know you’re awake, mon mari chéri.”
Her whisper held a husky, sultry edge, enough to drive a man over the edge. I licked my lips. She was in my bed again. Close enough to touch, close enough to hold. My cock eagerly twitched, and I tightened my hold on the gun. This woman was a menace.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
The bed creaked, and the sheets pulled taut under her weight. Her breath fanned my cheek, and her hair tickled my forehead.
“Leave.” Before LK knows you’re here. Before she counts this as round two. Somehow, that killer always knew.
“You still holding that gun?” Again, that damn sultry voice.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, my stiffy turned firmer than a flagpole.
I pounced and flipped her onto her back. My body pinned hers down, wrists above her head, as my gun jabbed at her temple, but the madwoman in my bed chuckled under her breath.
“You still don’t know what’s good for you, mo síbhean.”
“What if this is exactly what I wanted?” She twisted free, and her arms wrapped around my back, her legs around my hips. She rubbed up against my dick. “I’m not worried.”
Either she was brazen beyond belief or…Shit, the gun felt light in my hand. No bullets. In fact, it wasn’t even my gun. Mine had a deep nick on the bottom of the grip where a knife scraped it in a fight two years ago.
“You switched my gun.” Now that impressed me.
Her nails scratched up my nape. “I’m smarter than you think.”
“That can be argued.”
“Oh?”
Her hips rolled, and that little pressure launched me into orbit. I hissed a groan and shoved the reaction down.
“You forgot to check everywhere,” I countered.
I slipped my hand between us and unclipped my folded karambit knife from the built-in ring in my boxer lining. My teeth pried the blade free of its lock.
“You sleep with a switchblade? T’es complètement barjot.”
The spine of the knife ran along her jaw, and I snickered at the way her teeth gritted. “What does that mean?”
“You’re completely fucking crazy.”
“No, sweetheart. You chose to crawl into bed with a cutthroat.”
Her arms no longer wrapped me in seduction. Her hands held my shoulders, not quite a shove, not a pull either.
“You came to play.” I nosed her neck and sucked in her piquant scent. “That’s twice you’ve invaded my space. Twice too many. How do you think you should pay for that?”
Her breathing quickened. Her pupils widened, and her fingers curled into claws, long fingernails prickling my skin.
“Should I bleed you?”
The tip of my knife nicked her jawline, and a sharp gasp escaped her. A dark spot welled and trickled down her neck, then around to her nape. I thumbed the blood around her pulse point and pressed down. Her heartbeat rammed against my finger.
“Should I cut you open and see what you’re really made of?”
My cock nestled against her core, I trailed the blade’s spine down her chest to her trembling belly. What was it about her that held me in a chokehold?
“I wager I’ll enjoy your pain more than you enjoyed toying with me. And I’ll win. No one makes sport of me. Not even you.”
The knife’s tip hooked and sliced through her dress from navel to collarbone in seconds.
The sides fell apart. Her breasts heaved under her bra.
With a little tug, the bra ripped open, and her breasts spilled out, just like her shaky whimpers.
My mouth latched onto one pert nipple, suckling, licking, nibbling.
The taste of her, a mix of strawberries and shea butter, drove me into euphoria.
My cheek rubbed along her skin, expecting yesterday’s warmth.
Except it was cool, dewed in a sheen of sweat, and trembling.
Her hands fisted the air near her shoulders, her body a long line of tension. She goggled at a point above my head and sucked in shallow breaths as she shook more and more uncontrollably.
“Alice?” I shifted over her to get a better look at her face. “Fuck. Síbhean, can you hear me?”
I tossed the knife to the other side of the room. It clattered to the ground, but the noise didn’t draw her attention. My gut wrenched, and I took her face in my hands.
“Oi, Alice, look at me. You’re alright. I’ve got you. The knife’s gone.” I held her against me and rubbed her back. She was still nonresponsive and laboring through inhales. “Talk to me. Tell me what you need. A hospital? Water? Clothes? I’ll get you a shirt.”
She gripped my wrist as I twisted around to rise off the bed.
“No. Hold me,” she croaked between wheezed breaths.
“What?”
Tears glimmered in her trembling gaze. “Hold me.”
I passed my tongue over my bottom teeth. “Tell me this isn’t a game.”
“Please.”
That little word blasted through every protective layer I’d built around me over the years. It sounded so broken, wet, and painful. This, I recognized. I understood. I sympathized.
Scooting back under the covers, I gathered her close, her arms crossed between us.
She pressed her head against my chest and slipped her leg between mine.
For long minutes, I held her in silence, sweeping my hand up and down her spine.
Slowly, her shivering settled, and her breathing evened.
Her body thawed, and she snuggled deeper into me.
It felt good, as if my arms were exactly where she belonged. That was a dangerous thought.
“Thank you,” she mumbled into my shirt.
“Wanna tell me what happened?”
She avoided my eyes. “You’ll think I’m silly.”
“You found comfort in my arms. I don’t think silly is the word to describe what I think of you.”
She squirmed out of my hold and turned away, clutching the bedsheets.
“I don’t need your mockery.”
“If I wanted to mock you, I’d turn you out into the street right now.”
The silence stretched between us as she curled in on herself and released a long, shaky sigh.
“I get panic attacks.”
“I gathered.”
“They’re usually not this bad anymore. It’s just…you caught me off guard, and I don’t usually let myself be blindsided. If I expect the worst of everyone and everything, no one and nothing can ever surprise me. Life is kind of perfect that way.”
I’d only known her for a matter of weeks, but this woman always swallowed up space.
She entered a room or a conversation and took charge of it.
There was no other option but to look at her and stand in awe of the force she commanded.
But right now, she was small and weak. Someone in need of protection.
Strong but frail, proud but insecure. Those dichotomies called to me, no matter how irrational it was.
“Perfection is overrated,” I said as I trailed a finger down her spine. “You’re better off not trying.”
“I don’t know if that’s an insult or advice.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“I don’t like being like this, you know. I wish these didn’t happen. I tried treating them, and it’s better than it was, but they never really stopped.”
“Like in the car two nights ago?”
She dragged her palms down her face. “I don’t drive. Ever. Just in case.”
“Because it’s happened before?”
She nodded. “My best friend died because of me.”
“You going to tell me how?”
“I don’t talk about this.”
“Then don’t. Or do. Your choice.” I huffed and flopped an arm over my head.
Her shoulders shook under the strain of her choppy breaths. “If I tell you, will you look at me differently?”
I searched her face. “No, it won’t change a thing.”
Again, she nodded, head turned over her shoulder as she gnawed on her lip, seeming to consider that.
“I was seventeen,” she started slowly, voice almost a whisper. “I shouldn’t have been driving, but Lea and I had to go to this party our friends were calling the party of the year.”
I scooched closer, for her sake. To give her comfort, that was all.
“Lea’s parents were working, so mine were supposed to drive us, but I’d been grounded for something that wasn’t my fault earlier that week, and I refused to put up with it.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
She coughed out a strained chuckle.
“So you snuck out?”
The sheets rustled against the bob of her head. “My father had been teaching me to drive since I turned twelve in case of emergencies, so I thought, eh, why not? I deserved to be able to go.”
“And you took his car.”
A choked sob whistled through her throat, and I dabbed the wet trails of tears around her nose with the sheets.
“We were halfway there with the music blaring, laughing at the stupidest things. Until we hit a pothole. The back tires skidded. The wheel locked, and my panic hit.”
I swept her hair off her face.