I mutter a low curse as I glance down at my pants. Now I’ve got a goddamned hard-on.
The blow-dryer in the bathroom switches off. With the time I have left, I open her camera app and take a selfie in her bed, leaving it in her gallery.
I toss the phone back onto the nightstand. A second later, the bathroom door swings open, and Gabi walks out.
When she sees me sitting on her bed in the black balaclava, she freezes.
Her eyes wander over me in search of something familiar, but there’s nothing for her to see. A polycarbonate visor obscures my eyes beneath the mask, seamless and reflective, like the faceplate of a motorcycle helmet.
“Eros?” she squeaks.
“Expecting any other masked men in your bedroom?”
The modulated voice draws a shaky exhalation from her chest.
She lingers there, way too far out of reach for my liking, wearing nothing but a tiny pair of shorts and half a top with a little bow on the front.
“Scared of me, little shark?”
She hesitates, long enough for me to consider a hundred different ways to tell her I’m not a complete psychopath. But also—don’t fall in love with me. Just in case.
“Should I be?” she asks.
If I were being honest, I’d tell her yes. Not because I have bad intentions, but because I can’t guarantee anything when I lose control. Over the years, the episodes have decreased, but I’ll never eliminate them entirely. It’s impossible to predict what could set me off, and being alone with Gabi is a risk I shouldn’t be taking. But I can’t fucking stop myself.
“Would it make a difference if I told you that I never want to hurt you?”
She thinks about it and takes a tentative step forward. “How did you get in here?”
“I have my ways.”
“Are those the same ways that helped you figure out where I was the other night and how to get back to the penthouse? Or what I order at my favorite bakery?”
“Possibly.” I shrug.
“So you are stalking me?”
“I prefer the phrase courting you from afar. It sounds less creepy.”
That cracks a smile from her, and I think we might be getting somewhere. She bites her lip as her eyes roam the length of me—from my black hoodie all the way down to my boots.
“Did you kill them?” She swallows.
I scoot to the edge of the bed and swing my legs over the side. “Come here.”
When she obeys me, it sends a shot of need straight to my dick.
I pull her closer and graze the back of her bare thigh. I’ve never felt anything as soft as her skin, and it irritates me that my glove is in the way.
“What are you wearing?” I groan, gripping the half-exposed cheek of her ass.
“Pajamas?”
“These are barely even underwear.” I drag my finger along the hem, fighting the urge to slip it inside.
“Don’t get distracted,” she says. “Did you kill them?”
I consider lying to her, so I don’t scare her away. But Gabi’s too smart for that, and I don’t want to do that to her.
