I keep breathing. I don’t want to say more. It’s too painful to confess my sins.
He doesn’t press me. He simply mirrors my breaths, encouraging me to continue until my head clears a little.
“Come on,” he urges gently. “I’ll take you home.”
We stand, and my hand twitches towards his before I can think better of it.
His fingers brush the back of mine regretfully.
“Not here,” he says in an undertone.
He’s already held my hand for too long while I was crying. Anyone could see us here and get the wrong impression.
Actually, they’d get exactly the right impression.
We’re not being discreet enough.
My hand fists at my side, and I force myself to maintain a foot of distance between our bodies when all I want is to mold myself to him for support.
I straighten my spine.
I’ve managed to hold myself together on my own all these years. I won’t start falling onto a man for support now.
Not even a man as strong and alluring as Rand.
We walk across town in silence, neither of us daring to speak. If I open my mouth, I’ll start saying things that I shouldn’t in public.
He seems to share my concern, because his jaw remains tight, as though he’s locking in what he wants to say to me too.
Finally, we reach my apartment block and climb the stairs to my flat.
When I go to unlock the door, his hand enfolds mine. My skin tingles, just like it did when we first made contact.
“Can I come in?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “I want you to.”
He nods tightly, his entire body rippling with the need to hold me.
I hastily finish opening the door so we can finally be alone.
We step over the threshold, and something crunches under my sneaker. I bend down so I can toss the mail out of our way, but my heart stops when my eyes fall on the letter.
It’s addressed to Karolina Taylor.
I rip open the envelope in a burst of pure terror.
I crumple the paper before Rand can read my real name, but it’s too late to hide the words on the letter inside.
I know who you are. You don’t have any secrets from me. Not anymore. You’ll tell me everything I want to know, or I’ll fuck the truth out of you. I’ll tear your tight little cunt until you scream for me.
Rand snarls, and he snatches the sick letter out of my hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask, reeling with nausea.
“I’m going to find out who sent this.” His voice is guttural, barely human. “They’ll be the one screaming.”
I look up at Rand. His eyes are wild with panic.
