Page 8 of Stalker

Maybe a tiny part of me didn’t care.

He started the engine and the rumbling between my legs created a series of inappropriate images.

“Where do you want to go, little butterfly?”

“Why call me that?”

“Because you’re delicate and beautiful. Sadly, easily crushable if found in the wrong man’s hands.”

“Are you that kind of man?”

He chuckled. “I think you can answer that.”

That was the third time he’d called me beautiful. It had been a very long time since I’d felt that way. “Thank you. For the compliment and for helping me.”

He waited and I realized he was allowing me to tell him where to go.

“Take me anywhere else. Maybe a bar. I’m not ashamed to admit I need a drink.” Oh, good. I’d just given him the keys to taking me to his house if he wanted. Where he could do anything with me. Why didn’t that sound as terrifying as it should?

The simple nod was the only answer provided.

I sat back, struggling with a vast array of emotions, but the anger kept me on edge. I’d been dead inside except when at work. I’d lost myself in nothingness for half my life.

He remained silent as he drove. While unnerving right now, it felt good to sit in silence, wallowing in the anger that I’d allowed to get the best of me. Every minute or two, I glanced in the stranger’s direction. The fact neither one of us had attempted to exchange names was a testament to the fact we both preferred being alone.

But honestly, the last thing I wanted was to be alone. At least not tonight.

“Why?” he suddenly asked out of the blue.

“Why what? Why a drink?”

“Why agree to marry that slug?”

I would ordinarily be furious with anyone judging a person I cared about, but not right now. I burst into laughter. “To be honest with you, I have no clue.” While I continued to amuse myself, he did nothing more than turn his head, locking eyes with mine as he’d done before. “I think it seemed natural. You know. You date for almost three years and that’s the next step. Only he didn’t love me. Who fucks their boss when they’re expecting their fiancée for a dinner date?” The sound I issued was almost mournful, but I didn’t really feel that way.

Just angry.

“God, I hate David.”

The stranger chuckled in his dark, deliciously velvet tone. “As you should. Where do you live?”

“Wicker Park.” Why had I just told him where I lived? Yes, it was a large enough area, but I’d narrowed it down for him and for all I knew, he could be a stalker or worse.

He didn’t answer, nor did he offer where he lived. He made a turn and I realized he was heading toward the area of town where I lived. Sighing, I leaned against the door, placing my head on the window. So much for that drink.

The hum of the engine nearly put me to sleep. When I felt the vehicle slow, I was immediately jolted into being fully awake. It took me a full thirty seconds to realize why he’d slowed down.

Chicago had plenty of fancy restaurants and bars, with dozens of hotels claiming to have the finest lakeside facility in the Midwest. Only he opted for a tiny corner bar that even I’d never been to before.

Not that I’d had time to spend in bars as of late. The recent case had kept me working fifteen-hour days for almost two months. I shuddered from the realization all that work could be tossed aside.

He parked alongside the curb, surprising me once again when he opened my door and held out his hand. I wasn’t used to this from David or any other boyfriend I’d had in my life. Not that there’d been many to compare it to. I had to face it. I was a workaholic. I’d spent more time with my friends than my boyfriend.

Maybe my instinct had been the reason why.

When I touched his hand, a tremendous spark rolled down my arm, immediately shifting between my legs. The shock to the system forced me to involuntarily curl my fingers. He changed his hold, placing his hand on the small of my back instead.

The gentlemanly gesture sent a chill straight down my spine.

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