Page 40 of My Masked Stalker
My eyes follow the sway of Emily’s ass in those tight gray jeans as she flits around in my kitchen, her friend Barbara laughing at something she said. Then Emily throws her head back, joining in, and sprays the counter with the spatula she’s brandishing. I don’t even care.
I lift an eyebrow when the doorbell rings, followed by thumps against the wood. Since when do E and D bother to knock? When I swing it open and see them carrying more food than an entire army needs, I understand why.
“What the hell?” I drawl as they file past. “Did you think you’d starve?”
“Wasn’t sure the girls knew how much we eat,” Damien mutters.
“They’re not used to feeding growing boys like us,” Ethan adds, and I roll my eyes.
I pull on his arm when he tries to head to the kitchen. “Remember. Barbara thinks Emily and I met on Halloween night. Let’s keep the dumbfuckery to a minimum.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he simpers. “Killian Cross is domesticated now, how could I forget?”
I growl but let him go. As soon as he enters the kitchen, his voice turns obnoxiously cheerful.
“Emily! Are you as happy to see me as I am to see you? And you must be Barbara. Ethan Kane. You’re even more gorgeous in real life than you are on a screen. I mean, Emily showed me pictures.”
Damien groans, and I second the motion. That asshole is going to ruin Thanksgiving two beers in, I just know it.
I enter the kitchen just in time to see Ethan drop his arm around Barbara’s shoulders like they’ve known each other forever. She startles, then eyes him like she’s deciding which bone to break first.
Meanwhile, Damien sighs and pulls the carving knife from Emily’s hands. “You’ll butcher it,” he mutters. “Move.”
Emily blinks at him, then shrugs, and in the next second, Damien is slicing turkey with the precision of a surgeon.
I pull her away from our friends and into the living room. Once we’re alone, my lungs finally expand and I take a deep breath.
“What’s up?” she asks me with the sweetest voice, and wraps her arms around my waist.
I look down into her clear, gray eyes. The shadows from her encounter with Black Ash have faded, her gaze conveying pure trust in me. No, I don’t think I deserve her. But I am thankful.
“I love you, Emily,” I say in a low voice. “I love you more every day I spend with you. I’m really fucking glad you couldn’t sleep that night and I saw you through the window. I think I fell in love with you right there on that rooftop.”
Her cheeks blush the prettiest pink, and her eyes grow misty.
“I love you too,” she breathes, standing on her tiptoes to give me a peck on the lips. “But, umm,” she continues. “As far as our meet-cute is concerned, no one else needs to know that part.”
I laugh at the way she gets flustered. So, yeah, I saw her when I was contracted to kill the pedophile next door. Doesn’t change the way I feel.
“I’ll keep it out of my wedding vows,” I say with a grin.
She punches my arm. “Oh, stop it.”
Something clatters in the kitchen, drawing our attention. Barbara’s voice sounds, followed by Ethan’s cackles, and I sigh.
“We'd better get back,” I say, resigned. Guess the moment’s over.
By the time we all sit down, the table looks like something out of a magazine. There’s food everywhere, Emily is glowing, Barbara is arguing with Ethan about the best kind of pie, while Damien mutters that he doesn’t care as long as it’s edible.
I don’t say much, just keep my arm along the back of Emily’s chair, my hand brushing her shoulder every now and then. She leans into me, smelling better than any pie, warming a place in me I thought was frozen for good.
When she catches me staring, she tilts her head, her lips curving. “Happy Thanksgiving, Killian.”
I kiss her temple and whisper back, low enough that only she can hear: “Every day’s a fucking holiday with you, Red.”
Thank you for reading My Masked Stalker, my debut dark romance novel! Loved it? Killian would appreciate it if you left a rating and a few kind words on GoodReads and Amazon!
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