All I know is, my eyes crack open and I’m abruptly awake, heart pounding, senses on high alert. Ignoring the stiffness of my neck, I glance around the dark room. It’s the middle of the night. There’s no sound from the street, no light except the pale moonbeams shining through the skylights in the vaulted ceiling overhead.
I give my chafed wrists a halfhearted tug and find —shocker!— they haven’t magically loosened while I slept. I’m surprised I managed to fall asleep in the first place, propped up like this; I typically have a hard enough time dozing off each night in my plush king-sized bed.
A loud creak from outside makes my mind go blank. My head whips around toward the sound, eyes widening as they study the large bay window where a set of gauzy white curtains flutter gently in the breeze. I tell myself it was just the house settling. Or maybe a raccoon in search of some dinner in the neighbors trash bins.
Don’t panic over one squeaky floorboard, Shelby.
My attempts at mollification go up in smoke when I hear the porch creak again, louder this time. This is no nocturnal critter. Someone’s on my porch, just beyond the view of that window. My heart lurches into overdrive as I hear yet another groan — anotherfootstep, I realize belatedly.
I can’t move, can’t run. Can’t even scream. All I can do is wait for my own worst nightmares to be confirmed.
It doesn’t take long.
He steps into view a few seconds later — a large, man-shaped silhouette, clear as day through the thin curtains. There’s no doubt in my mind it’s a man; one well-trained in stealth, judging by the way he moves. Even from here, I recognize the coiled power of his muscles, the utter alertness of his body, the broadness of his shoulders.
That’s not Paul,I think, picturing my husband’s lean stature. And it’s definitely not Righty or Lefty. They wouldn’t be back already. So… who the hell is this guy?
My heart is pounding so hard, I fear it heart might explode as the man hesitates just outside the open window. A thousand possibilities about burglars and rapists and murderers spin through my mind as I watch his large hand extend outward to the frame. As he slowly pushes the opening wider, thoughts clang around inside my skull like a pingpong balls of panic.
If he’s a burglar, he’s in for the surprise of his life…
His leg straddles the sill, his head ducks down, he scrambles nimbly across the cushions of my pretty window seat…
And then, he’s in my house.
Ten freaking feet from me.
Big and scary and, let’s face it, more than likely up to no good. (In my experience, people rarely climb through windows in the dead of the night without nefarious intentions.)
Breaths coming in short bursts through my nose, I struggle to hold off a panic attack as my eyes move over the shadowed stranger. He’s tall.Verytall. So far over six feet, he makes me look petite at five foot seven. And he’s muscular. Not in the steroid-induced manner of my earlier assailants; in a way that tells me he knows his way around a weight room and probably doesn’t have a single ounce of extra body fat lurking beneath that black, fitted t-shirt he’s wearing.
It’s too dark to make out his facial features, but I notice he’s got one hand resting on what seems to be a gun holster as his head sweeps from left to right, scanning the room. He jolts visibly when he spots me.
“Christ.”
His tone low and smooth as velvet. Just that one word sends a not-altogether-unpleasant shiver down my spine.
Shelby! He’s probably here to murder you! Now is not the time to be turned on!
Before I can blink, he’s across the room — kneeling before me, his face a half-foot from mine. He reaches out and I barely have time to brace myself for imminent death, let alone attempt to struggle away when he peels the tape off my lips in a sharp tug that makes my skin sting like a bitch.
“Ow!”
Cursing like a sailor, I blink back tears as I haul desperate gulps of air into my lungs. Hours of breathing through my nose have left me oxygen-deprived. It takes a long moment before the light-headedness abates and I’m able to breathe normally again.
“Are you all right?”
At the sound of his voice, I glance up sharply — straight into a set of the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen. I suck in an unsteady breath when they lock on mine. They’re like two bottomless pits inside his face. A face which, now that it’s so close, appears remarkably familiar.
And remarkably handsome.
Mind reeling with adrenaline and shock and something else I can’t quite name, I squint at my savior in the dim light, trying to place him in my memories. Try as I might, I can’t recall where, exactly, I’ve seen that chiseled jawline or that aristocratic nose or that lush mouth surrounded by that seriously sexy scruff he’s got going on… but I’d swear on my life I’ve seen this man somewhere before.
Maybe in a fashion magazine because,hot damn, those are some serious cheekbones…
His jaw is clenched tight as his gaze moves over my features, scanning for visible signs of trauma. I realize his large hands are still cupping my face, stroking my chapped skin with callused fingertips as if to erase the pain caused by the tape. That sensation — gentleness in the wake of violence — is enough to make the breath catch inside my throat.
“Are you all right?” he asks again, after a long moment.