Page 39 of Text Me, Take Me

“Is it over?” I ask.

“We’ve had no contact from The Vultures. We’ve searched half the caves in the state, it feels like, but so far, no sign.”

“So, why are you here?”

“I’ve decided to let you live upstairs,” he says. “But I need you to put this on.”

He reaches into his inside jacket pocket and brings out a bracelet of some kind. After a moment, I realize what it is.

“That’s what they put on convicts when they’re under house arrest.”

“If you leave the estate, I’ll get an alert. It’s for your own good.”

He flinches slightly as I approach, as if my presence is dangerous.

I know the feeling. A week after the intense heat we shared, being near him feels like a recipe for soul-aching temptation.

“It’s this – or you remain down here until I’ve found The Vultures.”

“How long until he expects the cash?”

“Three days,” Dom says coldly.

Well… sort of. It’s more like he’s trying his best to remain cold because he knows where the opposite will lead.

“Maybe I’ll wait down here for three days,” I murmur.

“It might not be over then. When that lowlife doesn’t get his cash, he’ll come after me. Who knows how long that will last? You must be getting bored down here. If you put on this anklet, I’ve got something to show you – something to keep you occupied.”

I’m curious, make no mistake, but if I put the anklet on, it means accepting that I’m his prisoner. But if I don’t put it on, it means staying in this panic room withzerochance of escape. If he’s in Century City and I’m here, will he be able to make it back in time even if he gets an alert?

I take the anklet from his hand. Our fingers brush, and that familiar electric feeling flows through me. He feels it too, taking an exaggerated step back as if he’s afraid of what he’ll do.

“Fine,” I say, leaning down and snapping it around my ankle before I can come to my senses.

He sighs in relief. “Thank you, Evie.”

“No more ‘Keepsake’?” I say.

He smiles tightly. “I thought you might be done bantering me.”

“I’m not letting you off that easily.”

He gestures toward the stairs. “Shall we?”

He seems so stiff and formal compared to before. On the surface, at least, but I sense the smoldering depths he’s trying to conceal.

With Meatball trailing after us, we walk up the stairs, into the garage, and then outside. I breathe the fresh air, the late-day sunlight feeling pleasant on my face. Shutting my eyes, I turn to the sun, letting it glow red on my closed lids.

When I open my eyes, I see Dom looking longingly at me. He quickly turns away.

I want to throw my arms around him and share a kiss, but maybe this is for the best. Maybe, from this point on, things will be simpler. We won’t muddy the waters with our unhinged lust and confusing romance.

“This way,” he says, leading me around the house.

I resist the urge to ask if he’s had any more nightmares, if he’s missed me, if it was as difficult for him not to text me as it was for me not to text him.

He leads me to the rear of his house, then opens a glass door. “I hope you like it,” he says, gesturing inside.

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