Page 79 of Temptation
The rain blasted down. The storm was so strong. Some of the mountain roads would be impassable. The big storm had been predicted for days. Just a matter of time before it crashed down upon them. Preston couldn’t help but wonder if the bastard hunting out there had deliberately chosen to spring his attacks before the storm. A better way to eliminate any potential evidence that he might have accidentally left behind.
He heard the creak of the staircase. His shoulders tensed as he glanced toward the sound.
Sloane. Beautiful Sloane. Dressed in a silky, black pajama set. Black shorts. Black top. Her fingers trailed over the banister. Her steps were slow, certain.
“Knew I’d find you down here,” she said.
He’d screwed up with her during the drive home. Did the words he’d given her count as a confession? Not really. At least, not one that would stand up in a court of law. Then again, not like anyone had ever tried to pin the crime on him, anyway. Years had passed. He’d gotten away with it.
But there wasn’t a body before. Mitchell Donahue had just vanished.
No body, no crime.
He’d never told a soul what he’d done. You told Sloane. Or, at the very least, he’d almost told her.
Mitchell Donahue had been different. Mitchell had loved to tell the world about his crimes. Part of his MO. He’d abduct his prey. Bury them. Then, twenty-four hours after the abduction, he’d call the families of his victims. Tell those grieving individuals that their loved ones had taken their last breaths. Then he’d rattle off coordinates.
And wait for the bodies to be dug up.
“I did check the guest room first.” Sloane’s voice drifted to him. “The one next to my room. Or, should I say, the one right next to your bedroom.”
He’d given her his bedroom again.
“By the way, you need to stop giving me your room.” She’d reached the bottom of the stairs. Her bare feet pressed against the rug near the staircase before she began advancing toward him. “I am sure there are a gazillion rooms in this mountain mansion you have here. There is no need for you to sacrifice your own bedroom for me.”
He didn’t move as she came toward him. No makeup. Hair tumbling over her shoulders. Looking soft. Sexy. Stunning.
Not dead. Not still and pale in a grave. Not me thinking I’m too late, that I can’t be too late.
The EMT—Adam East—he’d broken at the crime scene.
And Preston had thought…Would I break if Sloane was the one in the ground? He’d just met her. He should not be feeling this deep, intense connection with her. He should not be thinking…
If she dies, she’ll take all the light with her. Then I’ll be alone in the dark again.
Such bullshit to think. He didn’t have light in his life. He had darkness and secrets and a past that would never let him go.
Or, at least, he’d had all that. But then…
He’d woken to her.
Something inside of him had felt different ever since that moment.
She stopped in front of him. Brought her sweet strawberry scent with her. Someone from the sheriff’s department had delivered Sloane’s bags to the house. Her strawberry shampoo or body lotion or whatever she used must have been in that bag.
She’d showered. He’d showered. Washed away all the mud. Out in the woods, she’d been drenched. Her white shirt had clung tightly to her. He hadn’t even realized how soaked she’d become, not until he’d seen a few men glance at her, eyes widening.
They’d nearly lost their fucking eyes.
He’d hauled a blanket from the back of the Range Rover. Wrapped her in it.
“You don’t have to give up your bedroom for me.”
I’d give up one hell of a lot more than that for you. A dangerous thought. Then again, his response to her was dangerous. When he was with her, he just wasn’t the same person.
He…wanted.
He…needed.
