Page 18 of Stalker's Toy

Mia shakes her head, a last attempt to dismiss it.

"What kind of man are you?" she asks, a forced laugh coloring her words.

But I know the laugh is an act.

I know because she's still standing here, still looking at me like she can't decide if I'm dangerous or just what she needs.

I'm both.

That's the point.

"You'll find out," I say, letting the words hang like a challenge, like a promise.

She tries to stay composed, but I know what it looks like when someone's losing.

"I'm wrapping up," she finally says, the words as uncertain as she is. "I'll be out of your hair soon."

I don't let her escape so easily.

Not this time.

"Let me give you a ride. The streets aren't safe this late."

It's almost too easy, the way her eyes widen, the way her lips part with surprise and something else.

She's not used to this kind of attention, not from me or anyone.

I wait for her answer, already knowing what it will be.

Mia Cohen.

MiaLindberg.

“Okay,” she says, her eyes darting around, anywhere but at my face.

She packs up, cleans her supplies and we make our way to my McLaren.

She sits beside me, quiet and contained, and I feel the electricity between us.

This is the start of something I can control, the beginning of a story where the ending is already written.

The streets blur past, and I focus on the curve of her jaw, the soft, careful way she holds herself. In here, she's captive to my attention, unable to escape the pull between us.

I ask about school, feigning a casual interest but wanting to know everything.

"Is the scholarship enough?" I probe, my voice calm and steady.

I already know the answer, but I want to hear her say it.

I want to hear the need.

She hesitates, choosing her words as carefully as she always does.

"It covers most things," Miafinally replies.

She's unsure of me, unsure of herself, but I see the curiosity starting to form.

She's considering what it will mean to be my muse.

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