Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
“Maybe I will.” If her father doesn’t kill me for the mere suggestion. But I really would marry her for her gravy…and all the other things I’ve come to adore about her. But now, I need to take care of her. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”
When her smile fades, I have to dig my fingers into my thighs to stop myself from comforting her. But being this near her for this long has decimated my restraint. If I touch her at all, I’ll drag her onto my lap, lay my mouth over hers, and fuck the consequences so I can fuck her.
“Calmer than I thought I’d be a few hours after having an intruder in my house.”
Because she’s on the verge of being tipsy. “Good. Drink up.”
When I nudge the wineglass a little closer, she lifts it and complies. Her easy acquiescence, along with the sight of her graceful throat working, does something to me, probably because the soft line of her neck leads straight to the swells of her chest, flushed and flashing a hint of cleavage over the V-neck of her T-shirt. And her tits underneath…
The stuff D-cup dreams are made of.
Focus. Her safety comes first.
After swallowing another amazing bite, I clear my throat. “Can you think of anyone who might want to break into your house and why?”
“No.”
“Has Paul given you any reason to think he’s that kind of creep?”
“He’s harmless.”
I suspect she’s right, and that’s unfortunate because the alternative is much grimmer. “Have you had any other trouble lately with anyone? Or noticed anything unusual?”
She finishes nibbling a biscuit. “No. It’s been quiet around the neighborhood. The Abbotts next door have been on a cruise. Mrs. Crafton is always here. She sees everything. She mentioned a guy from the gas company coming by this afternoon but—”
“Did she have any detail?” Can it really be a coincidence that a meter reader and an intruder prowled around her place on the same afternoon?
“No, but I didn’t ask. I can call her…”
I shake my head. “We’ll deal with it tomorrow. It’s getting late.”
She glances at the clock on her microwave and her eyes go wide. “Is it really after nine?”
“It is.”
“It’s a good thing I don’t have any homework tonight. I couldn’t concentrate. I go to night school,” she clarifies.
I nod. “Too rattled?”
She tries to suppress a smile but can’t. It’s damn cute. “And too tipsy.”
We finish dinner in relative silence, except the moaning I can’t quite seem to check. Once we both push our plates away, I see she’s consumed a second glass of wine. I fill her up one more time. I suspect she’ll need it—along with a couple of aspirin—before bed.
When she starts clearing the table, I wrap my fingers around her arm. “I’ll get the dishes. Why don’t you take a shower and get ready for bed?”
“It’s a lot of dishes. I hate to leave you to—”
“I’m fine. Trust me, being one of the younger kids in my family, I did a lot of dishes. Only my younger brother, Ridge, had it worse,” I say to see her reaction.
She pales. “O-okay. If you don’t mind. I’ll just go and…”
“Sure. Why don’t you let me sweep your bedroom and bathroom one last time, make sure it’s clear and that your uninvited guest didn’t leave any surveillance gizmos behind.”
“Didn’t think of that. Good call.”
Vanessa resumes clearing while I haul ass down the hall to prowl around her bedroom. It’s obvious the intruder got in through the sliding glass door. It’s old, like the rest of the place. The latch on the door is so rickety, the intruder probably wiggled it loose and slid right in. I’ll fix that tomorrow.
But that doesn’t explain how the dirtbag managed to disengage her alarm.
There are about a dozen phone calls I could make to start getting some answers, but I shouldn’t incite panic and jeopardize the larger mission. It would be premature, and I’m equipped to handle this situation. Vanessa’s father knows that or he wouldn’t have put me in St. Augustine to watch his daughter. I need to see what develops.
But for safety’s sake, I’m going to assume the threat is credible, not random, and instigated by a professional.
Fuck.
I don’t have the equipment needed to truly sweep the house free from cameras, bugs, or other crap meant to surveil Vanessa, but I’ve been doing this for years. I can almost guess where anyone with half a brain would try to hide such devices.
A few minutes later, I’m satisfied. I didn’t find anything, so I assume that if her intruder intended to spy on her, he got interrupted and fled. But she’s a job to him, so he’ll be back.
I’ll be waiting.
After making sure her windows are locked, I manage to find a discarded metal curtain rod at the back of her closet. I would rather have had a broom to break its handle, but I only saw a cordless hand vacuum. At least the rod fits into the track of her sliding glass door. Not a perfect solution, but it will work for a night. I’ll MacGyver something more secure and permanent tomorrow.