Page 47 of Catch My Fall

“I’m um… gonna head to bed, I’m finally feeling sleepy.” I reach up and place a kiss to his cheek, letting my lips linger on his stubbled skin a little longer than I should, but nevertheless, it feels good. I rise from the chair and head for the back door, tossing a glance over my shoulder to find his eyes on me. “Goodnight, Alec.”

He smiles softly. “Goodnight, princess.”

Back in my room, I drift off into a deep, nightmare-free sleep with the image of Alec’s body next to mine, the musky scent of him on my cardigan hugging me in an imaginary embrace, almost as if he were here with me himself.

I only wish he was.

19

It’s been a few days since we arrived in Maine, and as far as I can tell Sierra has settled in well, despite the occasional nightmare that plagues her dreams. Her entire demeanour has changed since we got here. She’s smiling and laughing more, she doesn’t have that same weight pulling her down like she did back in Halston, and it’s a sight I can quickly get used to.

Yesterday, while I set to work making a couple of minor repairs around the house, I looked out of the window to see her lying flat on her back on the small platform at the end of the boating dock, swinging her legs back and forward with her feet in the water.

I don’t know how long I watched her for, lying there happily with her eyes closed tight under the warm afternoon sun, but I could have easily watched her for hours. I could look at her for the rest of my life and never tire of it.

I’m still finding ways to make the house more secure for her. The fire alarms have been swapped out to top of the range ones that send an alert to the local fire department should they be triggered and not disabled after five minutes. The security cameras are motion sensor activated, set to send an alert to my phone should the sensors be set off, and the burglar alarms have been fitted to every door and window of the house. Every possibility has been covered.

This morning I set about making sure the various weapons I brought along will be easily accessible should the need arise to use them. I’ve learned not to assume anything or take things for granted, and where Sierra is concerned, I’m not taking any chances.

I’m in the garage at the side of the house, where my father’s boat still sits completely intact. It’s a small white cabin cruiser he spent months fixing up. He’d let me help out on the odd occasion until finally it was ready. He took me on his very first trip out when I was eight as we went for a ride around the islands that make up the gulf. Somehow, it has managed to survive two decades living in the garage, largely untouched, and only got a spattering of surface rust to the bodywork.

I know my uncle Ray has kept the boat and the house in good condition, probably hoping I’d return at some point, and making sure they were ready for when I did, and I have to thank him for that.

This boat was my dad’s pride and joy and it holds so many memories of a life that was so long ago, it almost doesn’t feel like my own.

It’s a hot and humid day today, the weather report saying the humidity in the area was going to top seventy percent, but it feels closer to one hundred as my grey t-shirt clings to my clammy skin, my entire body is covered in a sheen of sweat.

Heading back inside, I strip off my shirt and head upstairs to change into a fresh one, but the sound of running water and a tune I’m sure is Taylor Swift catches my attention.

It’s coming from the bathroom directly opposite my bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, a thin mist of steam filtering out through the gap.

What is she doing?

I’m about to carry on towards my bedroom when my eyes snag on a visual that has my cock like a steel rod in a second.

Jesus Christ.

Through the crack in the door, I can see the outline of Sierra’s naked body standing under the hot spray of the shower, the glass enclosure fogged up with steam, obscuring my view.

Why is she not using her en-suite bathroom? But more importantly, why the fuck is she showering with the door open?

Did she do it on purpose in the hopes I’d see her? Was it an accident?

Her head tips back, a wave of long raven hair cascading down her back as her hands trail over her body, over her breasts, her stomach and lower…

My palm hits the door frame and I release a groan, picturing what she would look like up close, as if I was in there with her, all hot and wet beneath my touch.

Guilt claws at my throat. I shouldn’t be thinking these things given what she’s endured. I feel like a creep. A fucking pervert for looking at her like this, spying on her like some sick voyeuristic bastard.

A part of me feels like the sick fucks who preyed on her and it makes me sick to my stomach. I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s so beyond wrong but I can’t stop. She’s mesmerising and so incredibly beautiful it hurts. Every part of me wants to strip off my clothes and join her, kiss every inch of her body and make her come over and over again, worship her like the queen she is. I want to be the man to erase every single painful touch of their hands from her body. Replace every scratch and bite and burn with delicate kisses.

I want to be the only man she remembers on her skin.

But as much as I want that, I don’t think I’ll ever be the guy to do it. That’s reserved for the man she one day falls in love with, the one she will one day marry. To look at her body would be a privilege, and to be able to touch it would be the greatest honour any man could bestow, because Sierra Hudson is everything.

Before I dishonour her anymore by spying, and before I make a fool of myself and come in my pants like a horny thirteen year-old boy, I tear myself away and barge my way into my bedroom.

I toss my shirt onto the floor and press my forehead against the wall, blowing out a long breath, thinking about anything and everything that will make my dick die down.

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