Page 122 of Reckless Vow

“I thought my instructions were clear,” he warns.

Putting his hands into the pocket of his pants, he saunters down the three steps and crosses the vast space toward me.

He’s so handsome and commanding, prowling to me like the predator he is. I almost want to forget about my discovery and just enjoy this hungry version of him.

But something propels me forward and I yank the USB out and hold it in front of me.

The hunger in his eyes disappears, replaced with an unreadable expression. A mask he wears so well.

His dominance solidifies though, and I step back. Not that I fear him, but his natural authority is too overwhelming.

“You went through my things?” His voice is cold and calculated.

If my discovery disturbed him in any way, panicked him, annoyed him, there is no trace of it in his countenance or his voice.

The man is unreadable. No wonder he won a club at poker.

“I didn’t go through your things. But even if I did, my invasion of privacy would pale in comparison with years of files about me.”

I have been strangely stunned, mostly perversely engrossed in reading about myself for hours. But now when he’s standing in front of me, I’m mad.

I’m upset with him.

He never let me go. Yet he never came back for me.

Should his obsession horrify me? Perhaps. But I’m more concerned about him keeping in the shadows, letting me wonder for years why he abandoned me.

“I can try to paint it in a different color, but the reality is I used to have an unhealthy obsession with you.”

He delivers this statement with no emotions. It’s simply a matter of fact. He is not trying to apologize or explain. Or I guess the admission of his obsession explains somewhat.

“Why?”

He lets out a loaded breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know.”

That answer hurts. It disappoints me more than anything I found today. “You don’t know?” I spit the words.

Is he lying to me or to himself?

“As I said, it was an unhealthy obsession. I don’t think there is an explanation for those. I lost you, but the need to protect you remained.”

I think about the drunken cab ride, or the police saving me from Dylan’s antics. In his own unorthodox way, he did protect me.

Only that one time, he wasn’t there.

I’ve never blamed him for what happened to me, so I’m not going to start now, but my wounded heart, or perhaps perplexed mind, goes there for a moment.

“Did you come home last month because you knew I was there?”

“I didn’t know you were there. I stopped the surveillance six months ago.” He doesn’t move.

He doesn’t try to touch me. To make excuses. He handles this exchange with no pleading, and somehow that makes it worse.

“Why? You realized protecting me wasn’t your business anymore?”

“You were always my business.” His nostrils flare. Finally, some reaction.

“You have a funny way of showing it. Carrying an engagement ring and watching me from afar, but never fucking coming for me.”

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