Page 6 of Silent Night

There’s no fucking way—nochance—that this woman is the same girl from four years ago. But there’s too many similarities in her messy hair, her eyes, even her stance. Like a ghost having popped up.

She blinks, jerking back before blinking again, this time slower. She leans forward, her eyes studying over my face. “Oh my god, it’syou.” She glances at the knife in my grip and licks her bottom lip in what I assume to be a nervous twitch. “Have a habit of breaking into people’s homes?”

“Yes,” I reply, gauging how she’ll manage the truth. “Ever since that day.”

“Right.” She huffs, almost laughs, her tense gaze locked on the knife still, so I flick it shut and slip it into my pocket before showing her both my palms are now empty.

“I won’t hurt you, I swear.”

I should because if she wanted to, she could identify me to the police. Of course, I’d already be on the first bus out of town, but whenthe rich want revenge, the cops fall all over themselves to make shit happen. My face will be plastered on the news through every town, city, and perhaps even province nearby.

Seeing her now, this stranger whose name I don’t know, I can’t hurt her. There’s no plausible reason, but the thought of harming her at all makes me want to harm myself. Especially when she blinks again, and those fucking doe eyes of hers look too trusting, too innocent. Brown and green swirl together into a deep amber, a colour I’d happily let myself drown in.

She’s definitely innocent. She screams it in the way she gazes at me. It’s almost stupid because she looks naïve…soft…in a way making me want to protect her, which is fucked up because I’m the only monster here. I wonder if her skin is still as soft as when I last touched her, but I doubt she’d accept me stroking her cheek again. She’s grown in the four years, as I have, so presumably she’s found some common sense during that time, and a stranger standing in her home is quite obviously a threat.

But clearly she doesn’t have a ton, since instead of screaming at me to leave or cowering in fear, she simply murmurs, “I believe you.”

“You shouldn’t considering I’ve broken into your home.” Twice now.

Suddenly, my face is closer to her, enough I can smell the sweet scent drifting from her. She’s probably wearing a perfume that costs what one of those gifts beneath her Christmas tree is worth, but for once, I’m not turned off by the thought of the cash spent on the quality scent as I gravitate toward her. It’s an aroma calling me to her, as though to lead me to danger.

“Maybe you’re not the scariest monster in this place.” She smirks and while I’m working to figure out if she’s fucking with me or not, she says, “I’m assuming you’ve come to rob us again.”

I lick my bottom lip, my gaze dropping over her form. She’s dressed in sleep shorts, her legs a delicious tan, and a silk tank, her breasts on full display. I can’t recall the last time I was attracted to a woman. A life onthe move doesn’t exactly bring many opportunities. Usually, it’s women who run in the same circles I do. Those who ask few questions and just want a good time to make a night pass. But never someone like this girl. Someone who’s as fine as the house we stand inside. As delicate as the crystal glasses in the glass cabinets nearby. Someone I certainly can’t afford to touch, let alone think about. Someone who makes my cock twitch beneath my jeans, the need to feel her—even simply a brush of her skin—making it difficult to think about anything else.

The differences between us are striking. Her in her silk, me in thin, stolen cotton clothing. She smells like flowers from the most remote parts of the world, while my last shower was this morning in a community rec centre with plain soap. Her head is tipped up to watch me, yet she’s well above me in terms of a social hierarchy.

“Yep.” I go for honesty because at this point, I’m curious to see how far I can push her before she cracks and runs away screaming. A girl like this won’t last long in the company of someone like me. Someone who doesn’t wear polo shirts and golf for fun. Someone who’d love nothing more but to dirty her up.

She glances over my shoulder and around the kitchen. “See anything you like? Other than our food.”

You.

When I don’t answer right away, she passes me, her arm brushing my jacket like she wasn’t just in a standoff with someone who could have killed her and run off with whatever I want. She heads for the fridge, yanking the doors open, and I’m too busy staring at her ass to pay her task any attention. Her shorts are…well,short, letting me see the curve of her ass.

“Hm…leftover pizza?”

Fuck, I can’t even remember the last time I ate pizza. The thought of it is almost as delicious as the idea of spreading her out on the counter and taking my meal from her cunt, which I’m positive would be a dessert unlike any other.

“Um.” I cough, clearing my throat—and my head from the thoughts. “Sure.”

She slides out a pizza box and drops it onto the counter, like feeding a criminal is the most natural thing in the world for her. She retrieves a plate, which suggests she wants me to eat like she does: dignified, and not out of the box like an animal salivating over the pepperoni slices.

She leans on the counter across from me, propping herself on her elbows, giving me a clear sight down the front of her top.Jesus.I nearly choke on the first bite of the cold but delicious pizza.

“So this is a coincidence.” She tilts her head and gestures between us. “What are the chances?”

I finish chewing before answering, figuring a fancy girl like her prefers men who have manners. “Apparently pretty good. You’ve moved from the other town.”

She rolls her eyes. “This isn’t even my house. The place we first met was my parents’ but since then, they’ve divorced and my mom has been through two other marriages.” She circles her hand. “House of stepdad number two.”

Yet another of many reasons I should despise this woman. She’s had three different families, numerous parents, while I’ve barely had one.

“Where do you live then?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop myself.

Surely, common sense would mean not to disclose her location.

She narrows her eyes slightly, licking her bottom lip, and I find myself compelled by the tiny slip of her tongue. “Away from here, at school.”

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