Page 36 of Stalker's Toy

He doesn't look up from his work, but I can feel the weight of his attention.

I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. "I see... pain. And beauty."

The words feel inadequate, but they're all I can manage.

My heart is racing, and I'm acutely aware of how close we're standing.

Henrik's brush pauses, hovering over the canvas.

He turns to me, his icy blue eyes piercing through me. "And are they not often the same thing?"

A shiver runs down my spine.

I want to look away, but I can't.

"Sometimes," I whisper.

He sets down his brush and takes a step closer.

I can smell the scent of turpentine and something uniquely him—a mix of sandalwood and smoke. "You understand that better than most, don't you,Nattblomma?"

"Natblomma, what does that mean?"

He smirks. "In my native tongue, it means night flower."

Sweden.

He's originally from Sweden.

The pet name makes my breath catch.

I haven’t divulged everything about my life, but sometimes I feel like he can see right through me.

Sure, I’ve told him bits and pieces… but Henrik seems so captivated by me.

It’s exhilarating and confusing at the same time.

Yet I’mcaptivated by him.

I guess ever since the accident I have been—I’ve been determined to know if he’s okay.

How he was fairing after his wife died.

AfterIkilled her.

I don’t think he knows that I was the one behind the wheel, that I’m the reason his wife drove straight into a building and was thrown from her windshield.

It was me.

I’m the reason she’s dead.

Yet, the guilt should rip me apart and I should want to be as far away from him as possible.

But somehow it’s the opposite.

I want to know he’s okay.

And that’s why I applied to clean his house a few months back—because I had to know.

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