Page 125 of Fixation
I nod. “I will.”
He holds onto me for a second longer, his face hardening.
And then he takes off. Long, elegant strides. Broad shoulders squared. Dr. Maguire walks like a man built to destroy something. Who fears nothing and no one.
Somehow, though, tonight, he seems wary too. And protective, more than he usually is.
Where’s he going anyway? What’s he going to do? Leave me here until he—what? Canvassed the area? Is he an undercover FBI agent? Is being a doctor a front for something darker? More dangerous?
What’s going on?
Before my thoughtsspin out of control, he reappears in the alley.
A hand on the side of my neck. His lips firm on mine.
I won’t ever be kissed like that. I won’t ever get over how elegant his fingers are. He holds my neck like I’m precious. Like he could snap it at any moment.
“Go home.” He turns me around by my shoulders. “No one’s out there that I’ve seen. But…” It’s sinister, the way his mouth brushes my ear. “You look freshly fucked, kitten. And while I’m wearing my mask and hoodie, while they might never realize it’s me, I’m not taking any chances with you. Soon, though, the whole world will know you’re mine.”
“Who arethey?” I try to turn my head. He pushes it back to where it was with his hand, controlling my movements. “You have to tell me. Do I need to hire security?”
“No need. I’ll be the one protecting you from now on. Go home, Harper, before I decide to take you with me again.” His low, rugged growl does the worst, unspeakable things to me. A second later, I feel the weight of my phone in my pocket. “Oh, and don’t you dare wipe my cum off your thighs.”
With his last gentle push, I start walking.
I don’t look back.
But I do look out the window once I’m home.
Because would you look at that, I’m the stalker now, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
Something, anything.
Anderson never shows up.
I’ve never regretteda single decision or a single step I’ve taken in my entire life.
My mistakes are a part of who I am. They’re what makes me human.
Take one of my bestselling designs, for example.
Three years ago, I picked up the wrong hammer and ruined the texture. I tried to fix it by sawing it in a wave shape—I was a California girl, so it only made sense that the ocean would come to my rescue.
Right?
Wrong. I hated it. I was about to throw it away.
Mom walked in when I was holding it over the trash can.
Wait. What if you bend it a little? Yes, like that. Make a ring out of it. Add a gemstone or a few cyan crystals.
Together, we sat at my workbench. She encouraged me while I turned it into a piece I could be proud of.
So, yeah. Mistakes are good. They teach you about life.
Letting Anderson catch me out there in the street is another mistake I’ll never regret.
I toss and turn in my bed, my blankets twisting around my body worse than before. They cling to me, right where I’m sore.
