Ryker
PRESENT
Technically, I’m not stalking.
I’m not one of those guys. Not with Gianna. I don’t want her to justsenseme close by, wondering when I’ll emerge out of the shadows. I want her to suffer the sting of our pull, to taste her own surrender right before she breaks. Experience the pulse between her ribs that isn’t her own heartbeat, but something more. I want her toseewhat’s coming.
It’s not stalking because I know where Gianna lives, since I escorted her home after she became a trembling mess at the sight of that cursed silver mask on the vet clinic’s doorstep.
It’s alsotechnicallynot a break and enter if the front door is unlocked.
Besides, between learning that the Mustang is being targeted and chasing that fucker in the trench coat, I need to make sure she’s safe.
I twist the brass handle and step inside, instantly smacked in the face by her scent. On a small table, a diffuser wafts jasmine and vanilla into the air. Over the soft click of the door shutting behind me I hear the clacking of toenails against tiles. Chuckie appears and jumps all over me, his wild, wagging tail smacking into the wall.
‘Gianna?’ I call out, leaning down to give Chuckie a rough pat.
No answer.
The soft melody of ‘Moonshadow’ emits from the record player in the corner of her living room. The large window has the starlight filtering through, and her lamps blanket the space in an orange hue.
I look back down at Chuckie. ‘Where’s my baby, huh?’
He leads the way through the kitchen. The clicking of his nails stops when we reach the carpeted space of Gianna’s bedroom. Her bed’s unmade, the palm-tree-patterned duvet a twisted mess. I don’t even stop myself, straightening the fabric out and inhaling deeply, because I can’t help but fill my lungs with her.
On the floor is the skirt she was wearing at Paws on the Coast. A hint of paper peeks out through the pocket. I open the scrunched-up note and see an address scrawled in black ink. It’s the address of the drift race. This is the paper that blond fucker slipped her.
I pocket the note before continuing to follow Chuckie to a closed door, the sound of a shower running behind it. And there’s the gentle hum of Gianna’s voice as she murmurs a few lyrics.
I should leave. I only came to make sure she was okay, and things seem fine.
But my feet are frozen.
I listen until Gianna’s humming fades, and I instantly feel her absence. I press my ear to the wall, willing her to start again. Then I’m hit with something better: a gentle moan.
‘Fuck,’ I mumble, my senses on high alert. ‘No fucking way.’
I can’t believe my luck.Maybe I heard wrong.Then another moan. I drag my hands down my face. Gianna’swhimpers and the thought of her dripping wet and naked set my blood on fire.
My cock is already rock hard.
I’m about to step back, I really am. Because I meant it when I said I want her to see me. I’m not a fucking stalker.
Then my favourite word passes through her lips in a whispered moan. ‘Ryker.’
Well, fuck me.
Every cell in my body blazes an inferno, screaming with want. No, with need. And the thing is, when she calls, I come.
I fling the door open, its bang against the wall drowned out by her shriek. If I thought I loved the sound of her singing, I’m mesmerised by the sound of her scream.
‘Ryker, what the hell?’ Gianna scrambles with the faucets, cutting off the water before reaching for the towel that’s flung over the glass. Even though the condensation clouds the view of her perfect little body, I still curse that there’s even more in the way.
She steps out of the shower, securing the towel around herself. Small puddles collect underneath her feet as she tilts her pretty face back. I push hair away from her face to see the defiance in her eyes.
I keep my tone low. ‘It’s a magical thing when what you imagine in your mind lines up so perfectly with reality.’
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she squeaks.
