It reads, in big bold letters, “Who are you fucking?”
I clap a hand over my mouth and brace the other on the door, fear and shock making my knees weak.
What in the world?
My next thought is, Mom can’t see this. Nobody can.
Shit.
My hand shaking, I grab the knife handle and pull with all my strength, dislodging it from the wood and freeing the piece of paper from the blade.
Who could have done this? And more importantly, why?
Who knows I’ve slept with Matt? And who would take offense?
My mind instantly goes to Adam, but… crap, no. He seems like a nice guy, with troubles of his own.
And not to forget… this message is exactly the sort Matt has been receiving—stuck with a knife to the door. Asking questions that this guy, whoever the hell he is, obviously already knows the answers to.
Could it be Ross, like Matt is so convinced it is?
My knees feel weak. Okay, scratch that, it feels more as if someone cut my legs off. I sink down on the porch steps, the knife and piece of paper in my lap, stunned, trying to think what next. What should I do? What does one do in such a case?
Matt called the cops, but then everyone would know I slept with him. I’m not a prude, but it is a small town, not to mention the fact that I’d die if my mom found out about my first time this way, and besides…
Besides I still don’t know what this between Matt and me is.
Nothing, probably. He did just tell me, tonight, before he fucked me, that he isn’t ready for anything more. And I accepted it. I told him I did.
I have to accept it. I have no choice. And now…
Matt. No matter what, that’s who I need to call. He’ll know what to do.
Of that at least I’m certain. It may be the only thing I’m certain of these days.
“What the fuck?” Matt mutters into the phone. “What the fuck—I can’t believe this shit is happening.”
“I know,” I say weakly.
“You should go to the cops. You’re an adult, Tay. Your family doesn’t need to know about this, if you don’t want them to. I’ll go with you.”
I nod, although he can’t see me, relief washing through me. “Tomorrow?”
His voice gentles. “Yeah, tomorrow morning. Are you inside the house now?”
“No, I’m on the porch.”
“Get inside,” he all but barks in the phone, all gentleness gone. “And lock the doors and windows.”
“Matt…” My heart starts pounding again.
“Just do it, girl. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re in your bed with doors and windows sealed. Go on, get inside and lock. I’ll stay on the line until I know you’re safely inside.”
“Okay.” My voice is small, but strength is returning to my limbs with his deep voice in my ear, knowing he’ll drop everything and come find me if anything happens. “I’m going in.”
Glancing over my shoulder with every step I take, I hurry inside the house and close the door, locking it. Then I head back to the kitchen, double check that the backdoor is locked, and then check all the windows, before breathing a sigh of relief.
“All done,” I tell Matt.
“You checked the doors and the windows, latched everything up? Deadbolts in place?”
I let out a soft snort. “Deadbolts? Yes, yes. I locked it all.”
“Good.” A sense of relief comes through the line. “Be careful, Tay.”
Don’t, I tell myself.
Don’t let yourself believe he really cares.
“You think this person’s unstable?” I whisper, standing at the staircase leading up to the bedrooms, not wanting to wake anyone up.
He takes a long moment to reply. “I don’t fucking know, Tay. He sure isn’t the sanest bulb in the box.”
Another snort escapes me. I feel like I’ll start laughing and never stop. Hysterical, probably. Not a good idea. “Jesus. Why would he come after me?” I swallow hard. “Or you?”
“Who the hell knows? Listen…” He sighs. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow, with the kids, go to the police. Then I’ll bring you all back and head out to work. Right before eight, okay? Be ready.”
“Okay,” I say again, still too wired with adrenaline, from the message, and from the sex before.
“Hey, girl…”
“Yeah?” I don’t know why I like it when he calls me that.
Or Tay.
Or just about anything.
Jeez, Octavia.
“Wear a dress tomorrow,” he says.
I blink, confused. “For the police?”
“No, goddammit. For me.”
And he disconnects, leaving me stunned for the second time in the space of ten minutes.
A dress. For him.
Jesus. I should never have let him dictate what I should wear, but the wave of heat washing through my body takes my breath away.
My insides clench, familiar need making my pussy throb, and I can still feel him inside me, feel his cock that filled me up so perfectly earlier tonight. I remember his mouth on my nipples, his fingers inside me, then how he lifted me up and pounded into me, and his face… His face as he came, eyes wide, a growl caught in his throat.
How can a simple command from him, one I shouldn’t have accepted in the first place, make me throb with want? How can one frown, one smile from him have me begging for more? And above all… What does it all mean to him? I wonder. Does it mean anything at all?
Because God help me, it’s starting to mean way too much for me…
In the morning, in the bright light of day, without Matt’s voice in my ear, I debate not wearing a dress.
Call me feminist, but I’ve never done anything just because a guy told me to do it, and it still smarts that he ordered me not to wear my dresses in his house until now.
Lots of the things he said to me are still smarting.
But the way he said it—the command in his voice, that low growl he produces when he’s excited… Like a huge wolf, ready to pounce.
I put on the frigging dress before I overthink it more.
It’s the dress I wore the first time we met, when he didn’t even let me into his house. Same shoes, same everything. Curious to see if he’ll notice, if he even remembers.
His truck stops at the front gate ten minutes late, and I see him from the porch where I’m standing. He’s twisted in his seat, turned toward the back, saying something to the kids.
Then he straightens and glances at me, his hands on the wheel.
My mouth goes dry like every time I see him. Something in the wide set of his shoulders and those bulging biceps, in the intensity of his every movement… It draws me in.
I catch myself wondering what he’d look like without the beard.
One thing’s for sure: he’s more dangerous than a wolf. A hazard to my sanity.
Stop staring at him.
As I walk down the steps and approach his pick-up truck, Mary sticks her face to the window, mashing her lips to the glass like a frog. Cole appears beside her, licking the glass.
I snicker.
Matt opens his door and jumps out, goes around and opens the door for me, like a real gentleman.
I gape at him.
“What?” he grumbles. “I wasn’t born in a barn.”