Page 39 of Forbidden Confessions: Vol. 2
His grip on my arms gentles. His heat warms me. “Yeah. What’s going on?”
As far as he knows, we’re acquaintances by virtue of working under the same roof. My horrible high school embarrassment aside—one he seems to have blessedly forgotten—we’ve rarely spoken more than a passing greeting. Why is he at my house now? How did he find out where I live? And why is he staring at me as if he knows what I look like naked?
Then I realize that, other than my transparent bra and tiny, soaked panties, I am.
Heat splashes across my cheeks, and I thank god for the dark. “W-what are you doing here?”
His big fingers slide down my body to clutch my hips. He tugs me closer, his skin burning mine. Immediately, I know three things: He’s one giant slab of muscle, his heart is beating quick and strong, and his cock is steely hard between us.
Suddenly, I can’t think.
“That will wait until you’ve told me what’s scared you. Talk to me.”
Normally, I’d be dying to know what could be compelling enough to make my work crush hunt me down at my place on a Friday night, but I have a more pressing issue. “Someone’s been in my house.”
Instantly, his demeanor changes. He tenses. Every sense goes on alert. “You’re sure? Did you see anyone?”
“No, but?—”
“Has something been tampered with?”
No one trashed the place or robbed me blind but… “Everything.”
As I whisper the rundown, Rush scans our surroundings, even more watchful. I have the distinct impression he also feels me trembling, that he knows my body is covered in goose bumps. I’m sure he can tell my nipples are painfully hard, too. “That’s all I noticed.”
“Were you changing when you realized what was happening?”
I shake my head. “I got caught in the rainstorm, and I came in for dry clothes but…”
“You realized your house had been breached and left. Have you given your alarm code to anyone? A friend or neighbor?”
“No.”
“Handyman?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Lover?”
I don’t have one of those, either. Is he asking because he suspects someone I’m seeing is unhinged? Or because he wants to know if I’m taken?
Stop being ridiculous. He’s head of hotel security; he’s doing what he’s trained to do.
“No.”
“Is your intruder still in the house?”
“I-I’m not sure.”
“Have you called the police?”
I shake my head. “I was coming out to my car to do that.”
Suddenly, he’s got a gun in his big hand. “Call now. I’ll search inside.”
The second he nudges me aside and steps over the threshold, standing alone on the porch in the dark while mostly naked doesn’t seem wise. “I’ll go with you.”
He hesitates. “Tell you what, I’ll search the perimeter first. You stay right behind me and call nine-one-one.”
