Page 2 of Nowhere to Run

Clouds drifted in, swallowing the light in an instant. Shadows stretched across the pavement, spilling into the gallery, dimming the space until it felt hollow. Still.

Like something unseen had slipped inside.

Like a ghost had entered.

I shuddered.

I kept seeing him in the glass. Imagining his face appearing at the window—the slight tilt of his head, watching me, amused, patient. That wicked grin. The sharp clench of his jaw. The slow, steady pulse at his throat.

His steely blue eyes locked on me. Waiting.

I blinked hard. He wasn’t there.

But the feeling didn’t leave.

I still felt him everywhere. His hands, his breath. The raw ache between my legs, the burning in my throat, the bruises he’d left behind.

I should be furious. I should have run straight to the police.

I hated him.

Hated him for what he’d done. For making me feel so scared.

For making me want him.

And I did. So badly.

The truth was, I could barely contain my desire. My skin still tingled where he had touched me. My pulse spiked at the memory of his voice, low and commanding, warning me that he wouldn’t stop.

That I was his.

I should be sickened. I was sickened.

And yet…

I let out a slow, deep breath, willing my nerves to settle.

Those rare moments of tenderness—few and fleeting as they were–played in my mind, haunting me. The way his lips had softened against mine when I least expected it. The way his gaze pinned me in place.

Like he saw every part of me.

Saw through every defence I had built.

And shattered them.

I swallowed hard, fingers gripping the edge of the counter.

Stop thinking about that.It wasn’t real. It was a mind trick.

He isn’t capable of tenderness.

This man had gone to prison. For nearly killing someone.

And he said… it was because ofme.

What did that mean?

What kind of power did I have over him?

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