She screams, losing her balance.
I act on pure instinct. One moment I’m leaning against the wall, and the next I’m there beneath her, catching her as she falls.
She lands in my arms with a surprised squeak. Her arms wrap around my neck as if I’m her anchor in a storm. As soon as she realizes she’s safe, her cheeks blush a pretty pink. Her gaze locks with mine.
“T-thank you for catching me.” Her tone’s breathy.
“You should be more careful. You could have broken your neck,” I chastise, my heart pounding against my ribs.
She swallows hard, her gaze flitting to my lips before returning to my eyes. Suddenly, I don’t want to put her down, she feels much too good in my arms. Like she fits right here against my chest. Of course, I do release her.
The next day I order a new ladder delivered to the house, but I keep away for a solid month. Elena’s the kind of temptation I don’t want or need. She’s rousing feelings in me that I’ve never felt before. I don’t like it.
Shaking myself from that memory, now I wonder. What if…
I scroll back through the story, stopping on the description of her villain. Wavy black hair, bright aqua eyes, and a devilish smirk. Tall, broody, and intense. It’sme. Isn’t it? Did she describe me on purpose, or is this a coincidence?
Scrolling again, I find other passages that are all too familiar. Little things, but memorable ones. Like when she almost caught me gazing in her window one night. In this story, it turns out to be the male lead and she does catch him, only to give him hell for it.
She used me for inspiration. But… did she do it on purpose? Am I her love interest and her villain in real life, or only as a fictional character? Does she consciously even know that she cast me as this role in her book? As the villain-lover.
The princess she writes about is quite obviously her, a sassy, feisty side of Elena that I know, but no one else does.
Curiosity gnaws at me as I continue reading, now with a whole new perspective on the characters and their story. This isus. Whether she wrote about us on purpose or subconsciously, there’s no denying the truth. Either way, a new ray of hope blooms in my chest. Maybe she doesn’t hate me as much as she wants me to believe.
My mission now is to find out. How far do we take this? I can role play as much, or as little, of this as she likes. Inspiration comes to me, and I spend a while jotting down notes in my phone before continuing to read her book with a keen eye.
As midnight passes by, I tear myself away from Elena’s words and go in search of my bed. Tomorrow will likely be another long day. At least I have some new insight, and with it, hope that my failed proposal isn’t the end.
As I’m passing Elena’s room to get to my own across the hall, I hear a strange whimpering sound. I stop, straining my ears. Did I imagine the faint noise?
A moment later, soft cries and murmurs come through her bedroom door. I lean closer, resting my face to the cool wood surface. Another whimper shreds my heart. Is she crying? In pain?
I knock. Wait. No answer.
I try the knob, only to find it locked. Of course it is. She doesn’t trust me enough to sleep with an unlocked door, why would she after that filthy threat I sent?
To be fair, she shouldn’t trust me. I’m not the type of man to leave much to chance, and I certainly won’t let a locked door stop me from entering. Going back to my office, I grab the key to her room, then give another knock before I enter.
It’s dark, the curtains drawn mostly shut against the city’s ambient light. They let in a luminous sliver, just enough to seethat Elena’s curled up in the middle of the mattress. She’s lying still, and I think she’s sleeping. A soft, hurt sound emerges from her parted lips.
Something’s wrong. Adrenaline courses through my veins.
Instinctively, I start toward her, only stopping myself when I realize my presence is more likely to scare her than chase away her nightmares. I should leave her alone. Clearly there’s no immediate threat, she’s safe in her room. I take one step back.
But then her eyes open.
She stares straight at me andscreams.
CHAPTER 9
Elena
Iwake from my recurring nightmare with a start. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle as my eyes adjust to the dim light. I sense a presence in my room, like I’m not alone. Someone’s in here. Which should be impossible because I locked the door before I went to bed. I’m sure of it.
As the room comes into focus, my gaze collides with Maximo’s. He’s standing right beside my bed, staring down at me with a terrifying intensity. He’s still wearing his evening clothes, but without his suit jacket. He’s tense, his muscles coiled like a predator ready to pounce. How did he get in here? He shouldn’t be here.
Panicked, I scream.
