Her heart soared then plummeted. Would he still want sex or had she scared him away from that? She imagined his lips on hers, and the remembered sensation suddenly seemed...uncertain. Maybe, he'd kissed her weakly because he didn't want to kiss her at all. A swallow lodged in her throat. She was flawed, after all.
After Van's repulsion to her offer for sex, she felt used and unclean. She cracked her knuckles not really feeling them. Her insides twisted in knots. Sleeping with Zach had lost its appeal, but she had nothing else to offer him.
She wouldn't be so dependent if she'd gone to the mailbox while soaring on liquid courage. But no amount of tequila would help her conquer the fear. She didn't want to conquer it, because she needed it, the adrenaline rush and the lung-squeezing pain. Like an addiction, the fear fed her, made her feel alive, and gave her something to focus on. She was so messed up.
The phone dinged with a new text. will u keep the lights on this time?
An onslaught of trembling tightened her muscles. If she said Yes, it would be a new low in her desperation. If she said No, she would lose the one person she had to depend on.
Is this the man you want the lights on with?
Unbidden, Dr. Michael's words filled her mind with another man, one with a seductive smile and a perfect scar.
With visions of a sleeping Amber teasing the surface of his mind, Van pushed the key into the deadbolt on her front door. The key he'd swiped from her kitchen drawer the prior night after he'd sneaked back in.
He’d tried to stay away, but it was a compulsion. Coming to this neighborhood. Watching Liv. And now, he had an even more compelling motive to stop by.
Strange how Amber hadn't moved the drape on the door and checked the lock before her alcohol-induced haze. He knew this because he'd used that unlocked door to slip back in after she'd passed out. Apparently, the agoraphobia thing had a stronger hold on her than the OCD. If not the agoraphobia, then it had to have been him knocking the little compulsive-order-checker off her game.
Whatever the reason, it worked in his favor. He'd crept back in after she'd passed out, locked it behind him, and quickly located a house key.
His pulse thrummed a calming tempo as he closed the front door soundlessly behind him. Just like the night before, he'd listened through her windows with the mics and ear buds, tracking her movements and waiting for her breathing to fall into an even rhythm of sleep.
A grin stretched his lips as he recalled her slurred monologues. She'd been wildly entertaining. Even more satisfying was knowing he had driven her to drink. Because let’s be honest, she was entirely too uptight to drink for no good reason. So when he'd found her snoring with a bottle of mixto tucked beneath her arm, he'd left tracks in the carpet just to mess with her little hungover mind.
Tonight, she'd fallen asleep sober. Tonight, he would be more cautious. Besides, he was only there to run reconnaissance and return the key—now that he had his own copy.
He wore his quiet-soled sneakers, which dampened his footfalls as he crept through the house. In the kitchen, he placed the key in the kitchen drawer, rotating it to lie exactly how he'd found it.
He entered the hall, his path illuminated by the lamp in her bedroom. There was a chance she might've woken in the short time that had passed since he left her window, but it was worth the risk. He needed to see her, to attach her tangible body to the fantasies he'd been envisioning all day.
A sudden realization halted him midway down the hall. He'd taken the same backyard stroll that night he'd taken every night for the past six months, yet he hadn't even considered setting up the mics on Liv's windows. He pushed a gloved hand through his hair and stared at the light from her bedroom, watching for a flicker of movement.
Amber was a conundrum of distraction. In one night, she'd managed to divert his obsession from Liv. For the first time in eight years, he'd woken without the burning need to beat and fuck his former slave. But Liv was a crucial component in obtaining his daughter. Monitoring her conversations with the slaves she'd released would eventually reveal if Liv had any cartel or FBI connections and if she could use them to stop him in his pursuit of his daughter.
Heavy pressure pushed against his chest. He fumbled through the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a toothpick, certain he should walk away from Amber and utterly perplexed by the fact he wouldn't.
He'd spent the past ten hours investigating the fascinating beauty queen on the Internet. He was already in too deep, his focus unwaveringly set on the outcome. Especially when he reached her bedroom and took in the view.
Long, blond hair spread out in waves around her head. She lay on her side, facing the door, her tiny hands curled beneath her chin. A thin sheet draped the curves of her thigh and hip, stopping just below her bare shoulder. Christ almighty, was that firm ass accessibly bare beneath the sheet? Would her cunt feel as tight as the rest of her?