More stomping precedes the supermodel now wearing an appropriately sparkly blue dress that hits her mid-thigh. “You tell that asshole that he’s a real class act. And maybe you should rethink being his exit man since it makes you even scummier than him.” Another window shaking slam of the front door this time and Ted and I are alone again.
“Whoa,” I say quietly.
Ted scrubs a hand down his face. “She’s right. I’ve considered moving and forgetting to give JJ the address, so he has to set up his sin shop elsewhere and leave me the fuck out of it.”
I pat his arm and tease, “Yes, but the neighbors are so nice, dear. You mustn't let him drive you out of such a sexy and convenient situation.”
Ted lifts his head, meeting my gaze with a perplexed line drawn between his brows. I can’t help but burst out laughing. “You poor baby.”
After our late breakfast, the day stretches on when we end up back in his bed. One would think we’d had enough kissing, touching, talking, but I’m addicted.
I’m obsessed.
No, that’s not right. Obsession for me is one sided and comes with a white knuckled grip around the thing I'm trying to hold on to.
But with Ted there is no anxiety, no question mark about what he’ll do next, about what he wants. He simply tells me. And any time I even think of trying to suppress my instincts about what I want to eat, do, or even what I’m thinking, he sees straight through my façade and calls me out. I was convinced that I had been living my life as authentically as possible, until Ted showed me otherwise.
After we’ve burned far more daylight hours than I intended, I finally insist to Ted I need to go home to change into real clothes and get a little housework done. Despite his rather insistent suggestions that I stay in the silky lace nightgown for the rest of my life, I veto him and flounce off in the direction of my house. He yells after me that he’s only giving me a ten-minute start.
Stepping up to the porch, I go to open the door where JJ installed a programmable lock. It’s ugly as sin against the beautiful Victorian, but he swore up and down he’ll change it back to the lovely original door handle once things get more settled. Though I feel things are already turning around. Or maybe it’s because Ted makes me feel so safe and. . . and. . . that word. That word I refuse to bandy about anymore because I totally swore off men, because I don’t need a man.
Rationalizing to myself that I don’t need Ted but I certainly want him, and certain parts of him in particular. Still, that word, the big one starting with ‘L’ hovers around my periphery. I’ll keep it out there as long as I can, but I don’t know how long I’ll last before it body slams into me, refusing to leave.
As soon as I close the door behind me, an awareness tickles my senses. I instantly register that I'm not alone. The safety I felt moments ago, shatters into icy shards that slice into me.
“Hey there, sugartits, I haven’t been able to get you off my mind.”
Chapter34
Obsession In Snakeskin Boots
TED
The familiar scent of oily snakeskin cologne hits my senses as I reach the landing of Goldie’s porch. My head whips around, looking for evidence ofhispresence.
There it is.
The sun catches off the hood of a black Lincoln Continental that’s been pulled off the road, so it’s mostly hidden in the brush.
Eddie’s here.
My fist pounds against the door. “Goldie,” I yell, fear wrapping around my throat like a python.
I pull out my phone and text JJ, demanding he tell me how to override the doorknob. Every piece of technology must have some kind of workaround.
When he doesn’t respond in point five seconds, I resort to other means. My arm shifts and I release all that panic and fear on the doorknob, smashing it right off with a pathetic beep of protest. Kicking the door in, I start forward, but an invisible barrier knocks me back.
The warding crystals.
I can’t pass the threshold as long as they are placed on either side of the door. I can’t stick my hand in to move them, though they are so painfully close.
“Goldie,” I yell out, my fingers digging in and cracking the wood on the door jamb.
She’s fine. She’ll be here in a minute to move those witchtitting warded crystals to let me in and assure me everything is okay.
But my gut tells me better. He’s here, I can smell him. An oily musky scent mixed with corruption and blood shoots up my nose, floods my mouth.
“Goldie,” I yell for what feels like the hundredth time in minutes. I need to hear her voice, see that she’s okay.
