Page 20 of Coveted By Cupid

The shadow rises from the bed, huge and daunting. I bite down on my lower lip to stop myself from whimpering.

The figure moves slowly toward me. I shrink against the wall as if I can make myself smaller and disappear.

The buzzing starts, stops, starts, stops…and then nothing.

A sickly sweet-smelling sweat creeps across my skin, pluming the surrounding air with my fear and chilling me to the bone. “What do you want?”

“To play,” a deep, rough voice says easily, sounding oddly familiar. “Question is, are you going to run away this time?”

My fight-or-flight response finally kicks into overdrive, and I bolt for the front door. I don’t make it a few feet before a steel arm snakes around me, dragging me against a solid, muscled body.

Before I can scream my head off, a heavy palm clamps over my mouth, silencing me.

“Shush, Vanessa,” the strong, familiar voice purrs. “We don’t want to wake the neighbors.”

Hearing his voice again, I stop struggling. There’s no way it’s him.

“Good girl,” he croons, feeling me go limp in his arms. “That’s right, relax. I won’t hurt you.”

For a moment, I get lost in the soothing voice of my trespasser, breathing in the spicy notes of leather and musk coming off his muscled body.

My intruder removes his hand, spinning me around to face him. I strain my eyes in the muted light filtering out from the bathroom to see the face I have been daydreaming about all day.

Cupid smirks, leaning in close enough to my face that his warm breath washes over my skin. “Did you miss me, Psyche?”

I shove against his hard chest, attempting to put distance between us, but he doesn’t budge an inch.

“You asshole!” I shout. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Naw. I don’t believe little Miss Terror on Wheels scares easily.” He chuckles, releasing me. “Where’d you learn to ride like that, anyway?”

His question catches me off guard. “My grandpa. He was a mechanic in a garage. Bikes were his specialty. He had me riding dirt bikes before I was twelve, motorcycles by sixteen.”

Cupid nods like he expected my answer. “He raised you?”

“Yes,” I clip, hating the trajectory of his probing, yet unable to stop myself from answering.

“And your parents? Where are they?”

“Dead,” I say flatly. “They overdosed at a friend’s party when I was a toddler. My dad’s dad took me in and raised me like his own. He was all I had.”

Cupid’s hard face softens. He glances at my shelves filled with psychology books and old photos of me with my grandpa, eyeing them as if he’s putting the pieces of a puzzle together.

“Sounds like your granddad was a good man.” He takes a step back, giving me room, yet does not leave me alone.

The surrounding air feels cool without his warmth near me, and I shiver.

Suddenly, I’m hyperaware I’m standing in front of him in my underwear.

“Jesus,” I mutter, lunging for the emerald blanket on the back of my couch and wrapping it around me like a burrito. “You couldn’t have made your presence known sooner, like before you watched me undress?”

Cupid shrugs, unashamed. “I wanted to see if you could sense my presence.”

“Bullshit. You wanted a peep show, you pervert,” I accuse heatedly.

“That, too.” He gives me a broad grin, his eyes trailing over my now covered body. “It was a fabulous show while it lasted.”

I huff, tightening my grip on the blanket around me like it’s a shield of security. “Why are you here?”