Page 3 of Control Freak
Another thick silence passes between us. “Okay. Yeah. Let me grab my purse.”
“I’ll help you.”
“No!” Her smile never fades. “I’m a big girl. I’ll take it slow. Be back in a jiffy.”
“A jiffy?” I mutter to myself as she heads to her car to complete her task. Where did this ball of sunshine come from? This is clearly a woman who’s never had anything truly bad ever happen to her.Not like me.
When she’s back in the cab, we drive the short distance up the driveway. The truck only struggles slightly. We pull into the garage.
“I do have one question.” Her words pull my attention. “How did you know I hit that tree so fast?”
What I don’t tell her is that I watched her closely from the moment she stepped on my porch to the minute she left. I turned on the cameras ahead of time to see her leave. Silently wishing something would happen where I’d have the chance to come and talk to her, but too afraid to just open the door and take the books directly from her hands.
“I have cameras all over the property. Motion-activated. I saw the whole thing.” A partial truth, yet not a total lie. My social skills have grown weak, but I don’t want to come off as a total fucking creep. Because I’m not.
“Oh.” She smiles and takes a deep breath, causing her maroon parka to rise and fall against her full chest. “Cool.”
My heart thumps against my ribs as we head inside. She’s the first visitor I’ve had in this house, and I’ve lived here for over seven years. I hope I don’t live to regret this.
Chapter Three
Isla
Yes, this could be what lands me on an episode of 48 Hours. There is that chance he’s a reclusive serial killer with bodies buried in the basement, but I’m a woman who works on pure instinct, and I don’t sense any alarm bells ringing in my head.
That’s probably what some of the victims would say if they were still around to talk about it.
I shake off the thought and step into the man’s mudroom. Plain and spotless, with a washer and dryer to my right, I begin peeling off my wet boots and coat. A pair of strong hands is at the ready to relieve me of them.
“Thanks.” God, he’s handsome. His chiseled jawline and dark green eyes are definitely something to write home about. I break the ice, wiggling my socked toes against the white porcelain floor. “On the order it says your name’s Beck Tillman.”
“Yeah.” A man of few words. Okay.
Now it’s me who extends my hand. “A proper face-to-face introduction is warranted for the man who just saved my ass.” I notice myself involuntarily giggling. It’s what I do when I’m nervous. How I like to disarm people and make them at ease. Oftentimes, and as stated by my ex-boyfriend, it comes off asannoying and desperate. I make a mental note to zip it. “I’m Isla Davie.”
His giant hand engulfs mine. White hot bolts of electricity slide up my arm, causing my nipples to stiffen. “Beck Tillman.”
He turns away, removes his own parka and slips off his boots. Beck’s wearing a white thermal shirt that clings to his muscles like Saran Wrap. This isn’t doing anything to help titty hard on. Fuck.
“Is that short for anything?” My voice hitches.
“No.” He says, then hulks his way into the other room. I’m left standing there alone, knowing I will be developing Stockholm Syndrome if this man decides to lock me up and throw away the key. My feet catch up to my brain, and I scurry behind him, following the giant mountain man into his kitchen.
“Wow.” And what a fucking kitchen it is. Not only is it spotless, but it’s huge. With tall walnut cabinets and a long white marble island with white marble splitting the room between the cooking area and an ornate dining table next to a wall of windows, this is straight up my dream kitchen.
“Holy shit, Beck.” I don’t wait for an invitation, opening cabinets, the fridge, and the biggest stove I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Hey, easy with that.” Beck’s brow furrows as he lunges at me.
“It’s not like it’s going to break.” I open and close the stove door a few times until he places his hand over mine.
“Please.” His green eyes are daggers cutting through me. The seriousness embedded in them runs so deep that I’m lost in an instant. I wasn’t kidding when I said I work on instinct. Every bone in my body tells me this guy’s been through some shit to make him this clean. This precise and picky.
“Sorry. I’m being kind of rude.”
“Yeah.” He steps back. “I didn’t mean to come up on you like that. I just.” He runs a hand through his thick, inky black hair. “I like my things a certain way.”
“I understand.” There I go again, overcompensating with playfulness to combat an awkward situation. “I’ll call a tow.” My eyes land on the sofa in the next room. “Is it okay if I…” I point in its direction.
