Feeling kind of like a creep, I unzip her puffy jacket. The zipper gets stuck at the bottom, and I have to use two hands to hold the zipper together and tug it down. Finally it comes undone, and I shimmy her coat off one arm. Her head lolls to one side, and I shoot my hand up to catch her. Her cheeks are still so cold.
“Fuck me,” I mutter.
Sir Fluffy, watching me from in front of the fire, meows with deep judgement.
I finally get her jacket off and toss it to the side. Underneath, she’s wearing a tight long-sleeved shirt, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take a second to admire the way her shirt is snug against her breasts. And when I pull her arms behind the chair and secure the zip ties, that does an even better job of showcasing her tits.
I’m not a pervert, so I don’t let my gaze linger as I secure her legs. This situation has not arisen because I think she’s hot—which she obviously is—it’s arisen because she was on my property. But it has been a long time since I’ve even had a conversation with a woman I’m remotely attracted to. There aren’t many eligible women under the age of sixty in Lake Savage, I don’t go to Portland searching for hookups, and I’m not into online dating like Noah.
The last time I let myself get involved with a woman was several years ago, and she didn’t appreciate the way I kept her safe.
By tracking her, obviously.
But that woman looked at it in all the wrong ways. Late one night when I was following her, I realized she was meeting up with another man for a drink. We weren’t exclusive, but I was furious anyway. Furious and hurt. After their drink—during which I lurked in a dark corner of the bar, anger swirling inside me—they came out and walked down a quiet side street, then ducked into a dark alley. He pushed her against a building and began kissing her roughly. She was into it at first, and I probably should’ve walked away. I shouldn’t have watched. But I stayed, hidden in a shadow. And she’s lucky I did, because then she was pushing him away, and he wasn’t stopping, and they were in a dark, isolated alley so what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there? My temper got the best of me, and I intervened. Everyone walked away from the incident, some in better shape than others.
She did not thank me for protecting her.
“There. Done.” I stand, then kneel to acknowledge Sir Fluffy as he walks over and purrs against my leg. Then he meows.
“Yeah, I know, her head is totally tilting to one side.” I tug Callie’s black beanie off her head, setting free dark, wavy hair that hangs halfway down her back.
She’s really beautiful. I have to clench my hand to stop myself from running my fingers through her locks, because that would be even creepier than this situation already is.
I’m not a creepy guy. Not really, anyway. But she’ll definitely be concerned when she comes to.
I sigh and drop my head.Focus.I stand and watch her forsigns of waking up. Nothing yet, but her neck will not feel good if she stays in that position for much longer.
I don’t normally worry about the people I zip-tie getting a neck ache, but she’s different. Most aren’t good people and don’t have much of a future.
I shrug off my jacket, hang it on the hook by the front door, and pull my hoodie over my head before striding down the hall to my room. My airplane pillow—which I was in too much of a rush to remember to grab for the Florida trip earlier this week—is sitting right on top of the small suitcase in my closet.
Back by the fire, Sir Fluffy watches as I adjust the pillow around Callie’s neck and fuck—I really am a psychopath, aren’t I?
Then her eyes flutter open.
I’d seen pictures of Callie during my online stalking, but the depth of her dark brown eyes wasn’t obvious in any of the images. Gorgeous.
“Hello.” Best to start simple, right? Maybe if I act normal, she won’t freak out.
Callie’s eyes widen. Nope, definitely terrified.
Then she screams.
It’s so loud and piercing that I wince and cover my ears. I guess I should’ve gagged her or duct-taped her mouth, but who knew she’d react like this?
Me. I did.
“Help. Help! Heeellllp!” Then she starts her piercing scream again, and I’m so fucking happy there’s no one within screaming distance of my cabin. Sir Fluffy zooms out of the living room and disappears down the hall.
“Hey. Hey!” I wave my hands in the air.
But Callie doesn’t stop. She shakes her body, moving the chair inch by inch.
What’s she gonna do, fling her zip-tied self out the front door? She locks her eyes with mine and then I realize she’s not just scared—although there’s definitely a layer of fear there—she’s also furious.
I stride into the kitchen, find a thin dishtowel, then dash back and attempt to wrap it around her head. She’s whipping her head back and snapping at me like an agitated alligator. Even the airplane pillow falls to the carpet.
“What the fuck?” Now I’m sweating, but I finally get the dishtowel tied and the volume of the noise coming out of her decreases greatly.
