Page 19 of Temptation
He didn’t look at her. “I was worried about you.”
Oh. That was nice of him. Still didn’t mean that he got to treat himself to a peepshow, but worry was good.
“I called your name. You didn’t answer. I…I thought maybe I rushed you out of the hospital too soon, that something could have been wrong and I—” Preston broke off. Cursed inventively. Then his shoulders straightened. They’d already been pretty dang straight. “I yanked open the door to the bathroom because I needed to see that you were okay.”
She shoved her hands into the deep pockets of the robe. “I’m okay.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “You won’t be.” Very, very certain. “The minute you close your eyes, you’ll be back there. Going forward, you’ll want to keep lights on when you sleep. You’ll hate tight spaces. You’ll want windows open. You’ll want to breathe fresh air. You’ll wake from nightmares and be convinced that you’re trapped again. Covers will feel like dirt, weighing down your legs. You will visit hell over and over again for a long time.” He turned to face her fully. “All because you decided to save me.” His hands were loose at his sides. “Future reference note, I’m not worth saving.”
Oh, screw that. She rushed toward him. Her hands flew right back out of those pockets. Since she clocked in at five-foot-seven, he towered over her. Sloane just pushed onto her tip toes, and she poked her index finger into his chest. “I happen to think you are…” Another poke of her finger against his shirt front. “You are very much worth saving.”
“And why would you think that? You don’t know me. You know nothing at all about me.”
So untrue. She knew more about him than he probably knew about himself.
“We’d never met before I woke up and you were on top of me in that grave.”
Yes. They hadn’t met. That didn’t mean that she hadn’t been watching him. That she hadn’t traveled to the Cashiers, North Carolina, area solely for him. Because she had. Preston had one of his many homes in Cashiers, an enclave that served as a retreat for the wealthy. The quiet mountain town was known for its gated homes, its sprawling mountain-view estates, and for the complete privacy that it could offer those looking to escape.
Preston often escaped in Cashiers. He’d been escaping there since he was fourteen years old. The sheriff was a close friend of his family. Someone who assured him of his privacy. The people in the town treated him like royalty. Mostly because he owned much of the area. He controlled pretty much everything there.
She was pretty sure he’d viewed Cashiers as his safe haven.
Someone had destroyed that illusion of safety.
Now she was in his home. A place that had to easily cost in the six-million-dollar range. Way, way outside of her own restrained budget. She was wearing the big robe. He was standing in front of her. All tousled hair, turbulent eyes, and intense sexiness. And this was not how she’d planned to discuss her, ah, situation with him.
“I don’t know you,” he said.
“Sloane.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Sloane. Pretty sure we’ve been over this a few times.”
“Didn’t happen to catch your last name.”
She’d given it to the staff at the hospital. And to the sheriff and deputies who’d talked to her. There was no reason not to give Preston her last name. Not like it would mean anything to him. Besides, a man with his power and reach would probably just be able to pick up the phone or do a few taps on his keyboard and get someone to pull up a full background check on her.
Soon enough, he’ll learn all about my past. Just as Sloane was sure the sheriff and her deputies would learn about her past.
“We are strangers,” he rumbled. “Two strangers who met under the worst possible circumstances.”
“We should change that situation, huh?” She flashed a quick, casual smile even as she dropped her hand. No more poking him in the chest. “Armstrong. Armstrong is my last name.” A pause. “Sloane Armstrong. ” Her smile had to project warmth.
His gaze drifted over her face. Again, he did not look pleased by her smile, and maybe she should start to get offended by the way his face hardened when he looked at her grin. The man clearly was not pleased by what he saw.
His hand rose and his knuckles skimmed over her left cheek. “That jerk left a mark on you.”
Her breath rushed out. Not because he’d hurt her. He hadn’t. Preston’s touch had just made an electric surge of energy pulse through her body. What an unusual and, frankly, unsettling reaction. She hadn’t anticipated having any physical reaction to him. Sloane had certainly not expected the lust that liked to race through her veins when he was close. What was up with that? “I think it’s the adrenaline.”
“No, angel, it’s a bruise. He punched you. I’ll kill him for that.”
Her jaw nearly hit the floor.
Another careful caress against her cheek. “Don’t get me wrong, I also plan to kill him because he buried us alive. It’s sort of a package deal punishment.”
She backed away from him. The belt on the robe seemed to be coming undone. Maybe she’d never tightened it enough in the first place. With shaking hands, she grabbed it. Twisted it. Tightened it. Tied it more. Nearly knotted the crazy thing. “You shouldn’t make jokes about death.”
His intense expression never altered. “Who’s joking?”
“The sheriff—the deputies…” There was no police department in Cashiers. Not some specific municipal department because the town was too small. Unincorporated—all of that red tape stuff. The Jackson County Sheriff’s Office took care of the city. But, in this case, she knew the sheriff’s department would be in way over its head. “The Feds will come to town. They’ll take over the investigation.” It was just a matter of time.
