Page 18 of Hunted Temptation
“I don’t understand,” I whisper.
Because I don’t understand. Not a single part of this makes sense to me. This stranger walked into my house, killed another stranger, and my father. I don’t know if he’s like them or if he’s a vigilante. And he could tell me one thing, and I still wouldn’t know what was true.
So, I’m sticking by my not-understanding statement.
“You’re coming with me, then once I know you’re safe, you can figure the rest out.”
Figure the rest out.
“With what money?” I ask.
He tilts his head to the side, his eyes searching mine, then his lips curve up slowly. “Don’t worry about that, Goldie.”
“Goldie?” I ask.
I choose to ignore the devilish grin on his face while he assures me that I don’t have to worry about money. Because who the hell doesn’t have to worry about money? Money is the main reason for me still being in that situation, in that house.
If I didn’t have to worry about money, I would have left a long time ago, at the very least the second I turned eighteen.
“Golden hair. I could call you gray?”
“For my eyes?” I ask.
He grins, giving me a wink before he turns to the sink. I watch as he washes out his bowl, then clears his throat and turns back to me. He flicks his gaze to the bowl, then back up to meet mine.
“You done?”
“I’m finished. It was really good, thank you.”
Vaughn dips his chin in a single nod, taking my bowl and cleaning it up, then he cleans up the rest of the dishes. I should help him, but I’m stuck staring in awe as he moves around the kitchen as if he were made to be in it.
“Are you a chef?” I blurt out.
He turns his head, his eyes find mine, and his lips twitch. It’s cute as hell. I should not be thinking about this man being cute, hot, or sexy in any way whatsoever. But I can’t help but look at him and think of him in that way.
Especially when he’s so close, when he prepared an amazing meal, when he seems like he could be a knight here to rescue me.
“I’m not, but I do enjoy cooking. I’m a homebody,” he murmurs. “Come on.”
Without another word, he walks past me, out of the kitchen and toward the staircase. Sliding off the chair I found myself far too comfortable in, I hurry after him. I’m not sure that I should be blindly following a man I don’t know, but since I’ve been doing it, why should going up a dark staircase be any different at this point?
He walks into a room, and I follow behind him. He has a computer set up on the desk, and he sits down and starts punching the keyboard, but I ignore it, mainly because I am too busy focusing on the house across the street… my house.
I am directly across from my bedroom window. “Were you watching me that night?” I ask.
He grunts. Turning my head, I look over at him. His fingers have paused on the keyboard, and his gaze meets mine. He’s serious, his expression blank, but I know there is something working behind his eyes.
“Yeah, Goldie. I’ve been watching you.”
“Why?” I ask.
He hums and leans back in his chair slightly before he pushes it back and stands. His body faces mine, and his eyes search my eyes for a moment. He sucks in a breath and holds it before he lets it out slowly, then clears his throat.
“I was actually watching your father. You were a happy distraction that took a turn I wasn’t quite expecting.”
I open my mouth, but snap my lips closed when he closes the short distance between us. He lifts his hand, and I’m not sure what I expect him to do, but it isn’t for him to run the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, tugging on the skin slightly.
The move should make me recoil. Every time someone has touched me in this way, it’s made me physically ill, but he doesn’t—his touch doesn’t.
