Page 78 of Texting Dr. Stalker

I frowned. “But then I can’t see you.”

His eyebrows rose. “That’s the point.”

Studying him, I took in the all-black attire, chunky boots, and skull-printed scarf/mask. He’d tugged it up so high, it brushed his bottom lashes. Something was different about him. Something I couldn’t put my—

He’s not wearing a hat.

I focused on his head and the strands falling roguishly over his forehead. His hair looked jet black with a glossy blue tinge. The ends were slightly damp.

“Did you just have a shower?” I asked quietly.

He stood tall as if about to deny it but then nodded with an exhale. “I did. Got in late from work.”

“What do you do?”

He came a step closer. “Doesn’t matter. Are you going to turn off the light?”

The panic loosened enough for me to sit on my knees. Peering at him, I focused on his eyes. A silver hoop pierced his left eyebrow, hinting he might have a rebellious streak. Did he have tattoos under all that black? His eyes gleamed a rich, deep brown. His forehead had no boils or pockmarks like he lied about, and judging by the beauty of his eyes and thick lashes, I’d say he was very handsome beneath his mask.

“I don’t want to turn off the light,” I whispered. “Do you mind if I leave it on?”

He sighed heavily. “Tell me why you want it on. Is your fear making you afraid of the dark or…” He splayed his hands. Strong, long fingers and nice square palms hinted he might be rebellious with an eyebrow piercing, but he didn’t have a manual labour job. His hands were too perfect, too defined with tendons and ligaments that looked more suited to precision work.

“Or?” I couldn’t take my eyes off him. The white skull printed over his mouth and chin drew me in. His refusal to show his face should ring loud warning bells, but I found it to be the opposite. Just like the reaction I’d had when he confessed he had a crush on me, I found my blood heating up in very different ways to the panic of before.

He has a crush on me.

The weight of that admittance seemed to swallow the entire room.

My room.

A man I didn’t know was in my bedroom at two in the morning.

And I’d never felt so safe.

What did that say about me?

Just how badly was I messed up, thanks to what Milton did?

Hugging myself, I lost whatever confidence I had.

This wasn’t normal behaviour. I shouldn’t put myself at risk like this. Perhaps I was trying to remember how to live by doing reckless things because this definitely counted as reckless.

“I need to keep the light on.” I tipped up my chin. “Please.”

His hand strayed to his face. For a second, it looked as if he reached for a pair of non-existent glasses but then he tugged his mask a little higher and nodded. “Fine.”

Awkwardness fell between us. He shifted away from the bed, looking for a chair. He scowled, the soft lamp revealing the tired lines etching around his eyes.

He looked exhausted.

Guilt pounced all over again. “I woke you up, didn’t I? You weren’t getting home from work, after all. You were in bed, and I dragged you out here.”

He stiffened. “It’s fine. You needed me. I’m happy to be here.” Swaying a little on his feet, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Patting the empty spot beside me, I said, “Sit down before you fall.”

He gave me a stern look with his chin tipped low and dark eyes glowing with dominion.