Page 16 of Haunted

Yup. I needed coffee.

“How is any of this my fault?” I walked right into his path, halting his incessant pacing.

“I couldn’t sleep…” he shrugged, “knowing you were down here all alone, completely unprotected.”

“So you what? You traipsed down here in the middle of the night?”

“It wasn’t the middle of the night,” he mumbled, looking sheepish.

“Huh?”

“I came down about an hour after you did.”

A fluttering started low in my belly, like a swarm of butterflies were preparing to take flight. I’d had the same sensation the night before, though I’d dismissed it as nervous energy. While there was definite apprehension, I was also highly intrigued and—dare I say it—attracted to the man before me.

“How about I whip us up something quick for breakfast?” He broke through the silence.

“I’m not sure.”

Wrapping my arms around my waist, I absentmindedly traced the small tattoo on my left hip. Mom’s initials—S.M.G.—with an angel's wing on either side. The colorful ink was a permanent reminder of her unconditional love and the ultimate sacrifice she made to ensure my survival.

“Take a chance, Henley.” He approached cautiously, holding out a hand between us. “I can’t promise you anything beyond basic food and decent conversation this morning, but unless we put aside our fears, we’ll never know if there could be more.”

Could I do what he was asking? It seemed so simple, yet equally monumentous. Like taking his hand might lead to the biggest, most rewarding risk of my life; far greater than the one I took when I packed my bags and moved to West Virginia all those years ago; a grieving teenage girl who’d lost my way. I was at a crossroads, a critical juncture where I could either continue to cower behind a thousand excuses, or take a leap of faith. The first ensured a lonely existence while the other put me on a path of uncertainty. Both were terrifying in my opinion, though nothing was scarier than a future without love.

Under the weight of his pleading stare, my decision was made.

“Breakfast.” I stepped toward him, placing my hand palm side down on top of his.

He smiled wide, squeezing my fingers gently, but what he didn’t do was let it go. Instead, he laced our fingers together and moved toward his building, leaving me with no alternative except to follow.

“Wait.” I pulled away, severing our connection to jog back to my car. Opening the passenger’s side door, I knelt down and began digging through the tote bag from the clinic.

“Henley, hold up.” The heavy thud of his boots echoed on the pavement behind me. “I understand if this is moving too quickly, just please don’t run?—”

Cutting off his words, I jumped up and raised the black case I’d been searching for into the air with a triumphant grin.

“I have to check my blood sugar before I eat. I wasn’t running.”

Keaton skirted the open door, planting one hand on the frame and the other on the roof of the car, effectively caging me in. Being trapped by a man of his size, especially someone I’d just met, should’ve activated my fight-or-flight response. Nevertheless, it wasn’t fear which had my heart rate skyrocketing, leaving me breathless. It was the intense, heated look he was throwing my way.

“Damn, Henley.” He lowered his head briefly before returning his gaze to mine. “Your smile could illuminate even the stormiest of skies. It also makes me want things I have no business wanting.”

“Like what?” I whispered.

As if pulled by some invisible force, we moved as one, the distance between us disappearing in an instant. Our bodies were almost flush, making the extreme difference in our height evident.

Trailing the back of his index finger up and down my cheek in the gentlest of touches, he breathed, “More.”

Waves of desire crashed into my core, both from his caress and his admission. There was no comparison to the all-consuming attraction I felt in his presence. Not even the brief relationship I had in my junior year of high school came close, and I gave him my virginity. Yet, I sensed he was holding himself back.

“And wanting more makes you…” I trailed off.

“Selfish.” After one last stroke on my cheek, he turned away from me, shoulders hunched. “I’ve got a fuckton of baggage, Henley.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” I replied. “You just need to find the right person to help you unpack it all.”

My stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, halting the heavy conversation before I could say anything else.

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