Page 31 of Temptation
“Uh, Josh, got to ask, have you lost your mind?” Debra asked, cocking her head. Joshua was her nephew. Her favorite nephew, but she looked distinctly alarmed as he tossed panties on the porch.
Joshua grabbed what looked like a small calendar. A manila file. And…
“Here!” Joshua shoved the calendar at Debra. “She was stalking him! Tracing his movements. Following him! She isn’t some victim. Don’t buy that BS. Do not. This woman set up Preston! She arranged his kidnapping. She is freaking in on it!”
Sloane’s hand slid away from Preston’s arm.
A cold wind seemed to blow over his skin. His jaw locked. I nearly fucked her last night.
She’d come against his mouth.
She’d slept in his arms.
She’d…
Attempted to kill him?
No, no, she was buried in the grave with me. She?—
“Miss?” Curt. From Debra. “Miss, is this your property?” She clutched the calendar in her hands.
“Yeah, it’s hers. And so is this. Look!” Joshua tossed the manila file toward Debra. “She had pictures of him! She’s a stalker! A straight-up stalker. You know Preston gets those every now and then. Some are harmless. Some are dangerous. She is clearly dangerous. Arrest her! Arrest her!”
And, sure enough, a picture of Preston fell out of the file and fluttered to the ground.
A soft sigh escaped Sloane. “This looks bad, doesn’t it? Like, very bad.”
It didn’t look great, that was for sure. Preston realized that, instead of rage, at first, he just felt…hell, disappointed. Because he’d wanted her to be more. Because he’d started to feel more with her. Started to think that maybe there was someone out there who could understand him. She’d faced the dark with him. She’d tried to comfort him in the dark.
He’d held off on fucking her the night before because he’d been afraid to go too fast. Afraid to ruin something that could be precious.
But she’s just been stalking me?
Joshua was right. He did get stalkers every now and then. Sometimes, women stalked him because of his money. They thought they’d seduce him. Convince him to fall head over heels for them.
Impossible, of course. He’d long since discovered he couldn’t love.
But for just a moment, with Sloane…
No. No. He shut down the thought, and the strange tightness in his chest eased as rage began to coil beneath his skin.
Sometimes, he had stalkers because they’d learned about his past. They wanted to poke and prod at his old wounds and ask what it was like to be the survivor of a serial killer. They wanted to know every single, gory detail.
Sloane had already told him that she was a psychologist. Abnormal behavior. Maybe the truth had been staring him in the face.
“Yeah, whatever you’re thinking,” Sloane told him, “it’s wrong. You and I need to slip away and talk, privately. I can explain everything.”
Why hadn’t she explained sooner?
“Oh, you’re gonna need to talk, all right.” Debra glanced up from the file and the calendar. “I’m gonna want you to come down to the station with me,” the sheriff told Sloane. “I want you to talk with me.”
“Is that an invitation?” Sloane’s expression had gone blank. “Because I believe I may want to decline that invitation. I’m not dressed, and I’m pretty sure that my bra is tossed around near your feet.”
“It wasn’t an invitation. You’re about to get cuffs slapped on your wrists.” Debra’s eyes narrowed on Sloane. “What the hell did you do? Stalk him and then fuck him last night?”
Because Sloane stood there, looking tousled and sexy in his shirt. Only his shirt.
“Okay. Clearly, I need to get dressed. Let me get some clothing from the bags—” Sloane reached for one of her bags.
