Page 10 of When the Woods Go Silent

“Let me taste you,” he rasps, and a resounding “yes” echoes through my body. “Where do you want my mouth?”

I’m not shy, and there’s a reason my jeans are in a heap on the restaurant floor.

But before I can yank him where I want him most, the door to the kitchen bursts open and the rude guy from before strides into the dining area, his face hard and blank.

“Not tonight, Arlo,” he barks out. “Problems with one of the suppliers. I need your help.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall, his eyes glinting as he boldly takes in my half-dressed self, sprawled over the chaise. I hear Arlo force out an exasperated curse as he stands, somewhat blocking the view of me as I begin to scramble back into my clothing.

I don’t know what I expect from him, but I’m still surprised when his shoulders slump and he nods to the guy.

“Shit. Look, Rose, I know I’ll have to beg myself back in your good graces for this, but I have to go.”

Arlo does sound regretful, but it’s also clear he’s leaving with this asshole and our rendezvous is over. I narrow my eyes at the two of them as I slide into my ankle boots, less than pleased at the way I suddenly feel like a different sort of supplier.

I guess I have no room to talk, though. I moved as fast as he did, demanding the same supply of pleasure. Still, it feels shitty.

“Why are you having business meetings at this time of night?” I snip, fluffing my curls and giving Arlo the sort of look that tells him he’s going to have to do more than beg if he wants to continue this another night. There were a dozen better ways to handle this without making me feel insignificant.

“Time zones,” the dark-haired asshole sneers, like that should matter in a local restaurant business.

“Look, maybe...” Arlo begins halfheartedly, but I only offer him a saccharine smile before turning to the door. My pride is up, and if I try to say another word, it will be one I regret.

It’s better to just leave now and let him do the chasing. If he’s still interested, he’ll think of a good way to apologize. And if I’m still interested, I’ll manage to keep my feelings out of it.

CHAPTER FIVE

ROSE

The streets are dark again, and I’m relieved to see Charles is no longer outside when I pass his art shop, so soon after I left. I’m still not in the mood for conversation, but now it’s for a very different reason.

Shadows stretch across the street from the forest, branches casting shadows on the pavement, like bony fingers reaching to scrape at my skin and draw me into the darkness. I edge closer to the buildings, thinking of Charles’s innocent warning to stay safe, and the police officers’ mention of animals. Out of habit, I’m already scanning the tree line for movement and danger, just the way I used to examine a row of parked cars in the city.

A twig snaps between the trees, and I walk a little faster, pulling my sweater tight. Something is definitely moving there in the darkness, parallel to me. Not quite following, but watching. At this point, I don’t care if it’s a spring bunny. I shiver and hurry up our porch steps, slamming the front door behind me.

It’s a relief to be safely home and able to lock away those creepy woods. I have no idea how Ruby is brave enough to take midnight walks in them, but she loves it.

As soon as the door is bolted behind me, a heavy tiredness sweeps over me, whatever feel-good chemicals I got from being with Arlo long gone.

I feel stupid for even going to meet him now, and I just want to go to bed and sleep it off like a hangover.

That’s the problem with flings - sometimes when the rush of lust wears off, it’s hard to swallow the reality of being used like an object, even if I’m using the guy right back. A longer relationship would be nice, but that takes more trust than I think I have.

After checking all the alarms again, I put myself to bed early, snuggling deep under the down comforter with an especially dirty angels and demons novel I’ve been enjoying. I want to lose myself in someone else’s sexy story for a while instead of analyzing mine.

I don’t get more than a few pages in, though, when my eyes droop and slide closed. I can almost feel myself falling asleep, and my dreams are oddly lucid, as though I’m watching myself though a lens as the images run together like beads of a necklace.

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