“I’ll need to leave you on your own for a little while.” He softens the blow of his words by wrapping his arms around me and holding me tight.
He’s wasting his time if he’s trying to calm me. His shirt scraping my still-taut nipples has me more interested in sex than any potential attack by Ralph. As if sensing this, he pulls back while still holding my upper arms.
“Phoebe, listen to me.”
Only when I’m looking at him properly does he continue.
“He’s already failed to get over the wall, and I’ve locked the sliding doors. He can’t get in through the tunnel, so you should be safe until my return.”
“Should be?”
He then shows that he’s thought things through more than I have. “I doubt he’ll trying scaling the wall again. If he does and smashes his way in, lock yourself in the bathroom. There’s no way he can get in there.”
I stare up at him open-mouthed for a second. “And no way that I can get out!”
“Take your phone with you and call me immediately. I won’t be far away.” He rubs his hands up and down my arms. “I’ll grab us some lunch while I’m over at the main building.”
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me with a sense of dread that it’s only a matter of time before Ralph turns up. He always does.
This effectively kills off any remaining arousal and sees me dressed in a flash. If Ralph turns up, I don’t want him to find me standing there in my X-rated lingerie.
Instead, I’m in my usual chain store underwear, jeans and a t-shirt with MERMAIDS DON’T HAVE THIGH GAPS splashed across the front. After wrapping my hair in a towel, I pull on a pair of Chucks in case I need to kick someone. Finally, I tuck my phone in the back pocket of my jeans.
A couple of minutes of standing in the middle of the living room on high alert, and I’m a nervous wreck. I can’t keep this up, but neither can I fully relax.
As I look around the living room, I’m struck by the lack of personal touches. Despite its bordello overtones, it’s like hotel rooms the world over in that it’s not one person’s space.
Well, I can soon fix that, with this something I’d normally have done on first moving in. I guess it’s no surprise that my libido being hijacked by Wyatt had me forgetting my usual ritual.
After arranging the framed photos of my parents, grandparents and extended family atop the vintage sideboard, I step back to admire my handy work. Despite the rift over my career, they’re still my family, and I take comfort in having them close by.
This done, it’s time to explore the villa, because it can’t simply be a living room, bedroom and bathroom. Even in its heyday, they’d have needed the means of making a cup of coffee or cocktails, wouldn’t they?
It’s on my third sweep of the living room that I find the sliding panel. “Ah ha, I knew it.” A fine layer of dust covers every surface in the small kitchenette, evidence I’m the first person to enter here in a long time.
I’m running my finger through the dust on the counter when I hear movement out in the courtyard. I’m sliding the panel shut when I hear someone—it has to be Ralph—attempting to open the patio doors.
The sound of smashing glass soon follows.
My heart thunders in my chest. I’m trapped in here, with no lock in evidence. I’m stepping from foot to foot, my flight or fight in full flow, when my wild gaze spies a large chopping board on the counter.
If I can jam it between the end of the panel and the wall, it’ll stop the panel from sliding open and Ralph won’t realize it moves. Instead, he’ll assume it’s a panel like any other in the room.
Heaven knows, it had taken me pressing and prodding all the walls to find it. Meanwhile, I breathe through my mouth and move as quietly as possible.
There’s no point barricading myself in if he knows I’m there. With the chopping board in place, I slide my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans. After killing any alerts, I send a text to Wyatt.
HE’S HERE. HE’S INSIDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My phone on the counter so I can see any replies, I grab a dusty bottle from the wine rack. Thus armed, I stand at the ready because I am not going down without a fight.
Not this time.
Never.
WYATT
Simon and I wander around a standard room on the first floor. We’re alert for something that will point to the guest’s true identity.
