Page 54 of Renard's Deliverance

Well, why change his routine, right? If he was gonna be a stalker, might as well be a good one.

He needed to forget her.

Maybe you should just fuck her. Get her out of your system.

Except that didn’t feel right. And he was worried that once wouldn’t be enough. He’d want more and more until he was addicted.

His head was thumping as he sat and stared at the television he never used.

Fuck.

Why was she under his skin? It didn’t make much sense. She was about as prickly as he was. Defensive. Secretive.

She could lie with the best of them.

Something he hated.

Yet, there were times he caught glimpses of vulnerability. And when she gave a genuine smile?

Lord, it was like the clouds opening on a gray day and a ray of sunshine falling on him.

And he wasn’t a poetic, mumbo-jumbo sort of person. But that was simply the plain truth.

He liked that she didn’t give a shit what people thought of her.

Yet, he wondered if that was always true. Because he’d seen a flash of hurt on her face a few times.

He wanted to know her better. To spend more time with her.

And that scared the fuck out of him.

Maybe he needed to go to the club and find a masochist. People came from hours away to go to Saxon’s. It was safe. People could feel free to be themselves there. Something they might not be able to do in their own hometowns.

Yeah.

Maybe he’d go to the club tonight.

Right after he drove past Opal’s place and made sure everything was safe on her street.

Not that it ever wasn’t.

As far as he could tell, nothing happened on that street except for her neighbor getting into other people’s business.

He drove slowly past her house, then parked a couple of houses away on the other side of the road.

Something seemed . . . different.

Instead of being dark, there was a light on in the living room.

Could she not sleep?

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.

Hell, it was only eleven on Saturday night. She could still be awake.

But there was no movement.

Aww. Fuck.

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