Page 46 of The Woman at the Funeral

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. But I’m glad I was the one to come up here and find the guy, not you.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, sucking in a deep breath. Then, “Nico? I don’t think this was the first time.”

“What do you mean?”

“A little while back, when I came home, the lock wasn’t locked. I tried to brush it off. Maybe I was distracted or something like that. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Because I’m never too distracted not to lock my door.

“It’s a holdover from childhood. I once forgot when I came home from school. I came out of the shower to find someone in the apartment. And my grandma wasn’t there. So, I was standing there in a towel with some guy leering at me. I screamed, though, and my neighbor came brandishing her cast iron frying pan. It was terrifying. And I never forgot again. I usually even double-check.”

“Was anything missing or messed up that time?”

“Not that I ever found. I brushed it off. But I don’t think I can do that anymore.”

There was a quiver in her voice before she took a sip of her coffee.

“I need a security system.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I can help you with that. Zeno is actually really good at installing them.”

“Okay,” she agreed, sounding numb. “That would be good,” she added.

“Hey, honey, why don’t you go take a bath? Unwind for a bit. You seem really overwhelmed.”

She sniffled at that but blinked the glisten of tears quickly away.

“I don’t know.” Her gaze slid to the door, her posture stiffening.

“I’ll stay,” I told her, moving closer. “I will hang here in the living room. No one is going to get to you.”

Her gaze finally moved to me, making me realize how hard she’d been trying not to look directly at me.

Because, I realized as her gaze slid helplessly down, I was once again in nothing but a pair of sleep pants. These ones were at least navy, so she couldn’t see the whole outline of my cock. But that didn’t mean I didn’t catch her looking. Just for a second before her head snapped back up.

“I can’t ask you to—”

“You’re not. I’m offering.”

Fuck, did her dark eyes look pretty when her lids were all heavy like that.

“Okay. Thank you,” she said, giving me a wobbly smile, then moving past me, taking her coffee and her suitcase with her.

If I knew anything about her, she’d stash it in her closet to deal with as soon as possible. She wasn’t someone who let tasks like that pile up.

Alone, I sipped my banana bread coffee and pretended I wasn’t listening to the sound as she filled her bathtub. That I wasn’t imagining her slipping out of her heels, her slacks, shirt, bra, panties. All that flawless, creamy skin on full display. The way her breasts would peak out of the water when she took adeep breath. How her hand might just drift down, slip between her thighs, and tease that hint of desire until she was moaning and writhing.

“Fuck,” I sighed as my cock stirred and stiffened.

She had me like some virgin. No control over myself and my desires. I was a full-grown man who hadn’t needed to excuse myself because of a hard-on in a damn decade.

That said, there was no talking this one down as it strained against the material of my pants, dragging a little groan out of me.

I felt like a complete fucking creep as I set my mug down and moved into the hall bathroom. I mean who the hell jerked off at a woman’s house?

But if I didn’t, I knew I would still be pressing against my pants when she came back out of her bath. And the last thing she needed was to feel threatened or uncomfortable because of my obvious desire.

What I hadn’t expected when I locked the door and leaned back against the wall was that this bathroom shared the wall with hers.

I heard the splash of water as she moved.

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