I wasn’t good with awkward silences, never had been. But the truth was, I didn’t know what to say at that moment. Ask him if he meant for me to stay the night? Ask his name? Ask if he meant to kill me? Make me his sex slave for the evening?
But of all the things I could have asked him, I, Louise Sloane went with—
“Are there no lights in this place?”
A few seconds passed before a faint click, followed by a dim light in the kitchen. That was what I was granted. A stove light in a house the size of an airport.
At least I could see his outline again. The Man, as I’d named him, was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, staring directly at me.
Watching my every move.
Dear God, please forgive me for my sins…
I dropped my bags next to the door, a loud clunk against the tile.
Keeping my eyes on the silhouette, I lowered to the cold, slate floor. I leaned against the wall, the lip of the windowsill poking into my shoulder blades. Silence wrapped around me like a straitjacket as I stared at him, staring back at me. Although I couldn’t see his face, I memorized every line of his body in case I needed to meet with a sketch artist later. The man was definitely north of six foot, and heavy. Based on the way his round shoulders faded to a V at the waist, I assumed his size was from muscle, and that he was shirtless.
Seconds faded into minutes without a single word spoken between us.
The Man didn’t move. Simply stood in the shadows, watching me as I huddled next to the exit with my bags at my side.
What the heck did he think I was going to do? He had to realize I had zero options.
Minutes faded into an hour.
Exhaustion gripped me but I didn’t dare close my eyes.
I always wondered what it would be like to have a man watching you while you slept. In my fantasy, though, the guy had done it with little hearts dancing in his eyes, not a pistol in his hand.
I leaned my head against the window. Frozen glass against heated skin.
Why the hell was the house so cold?
I pretended to close my eyes while watching him through the slits.
I didn’t know who this man was, where I was, or if I’d even make it through the night, but I knew one thing for certain—
I was totally, completely, one-hundred percent unwelcome in this house of ice.
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