Page 58 of The Reaper
“Are you saying I shouldn’t be alone here?”
“I’m saying you’re not going to be.”
There was no flirtation now. No suggestive undertones. Caleb had slipped into another mode entirely.
Operator. Protector.
Whatever—or whoever—he was trained to be.
“You need to show me the first note,” he added.
I nodded, my throat tight. I walked toward the back stairs and led him up into the third-floor loft. It was warm up here—no restaurant chill, just the kind of cozy heat that clung to linen sheets and soft lighting.
I reached for the drawer beside my bed, pulling out the first note and handing it to him.
He read it, frown deepening. “Same paper. Same handwriting. Probably the same pen.”
“You know handwriting now?”
“I know a threat when I see one.”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t need to.
He looked around my bedroom, eyes scanning the space like he was mentally reinforcing it.
Then his gaze landed on me.
“You said you felt watched. When?”
I shrugged helplessly. “Leaving the restaurant one night. I thought it was nothing. I’d had wine. Was wired from service. The street was empty but I had this feeling …”
I hesitated, then added, “Then another night, like I said, there was a man. Standing near the benches by the harbor. Just … watching. He didn’t move, didn’t come closer. But he was there.”
Caleb’s jaw tightened again. “It wasn’t nothing.”
I turned away, suddenly overwhelmed. “I don’t want this to derail my work, Caleb. I can’t start flinching every time a car drives by or someone walks in for dinner. I can’t live like that.”
He stepped closer, voice low and sure. “Then you don’t. You let me handle it.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough.”
I turned back to face him. The heat between us hadn’t faded, but it had changed. It burned deeper now, more than just attraction. It was need. Safety. The thing I didn’t want to ask for but couldn’t deny.
“I don’t usually let people in.”
“I’m not people.”
Something in me snapped loose.
I walked straight to him, gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him into a kiss that was more declaration than invitation.
He responded instantly, his mouth claiming mine, his hands cupping my face, grounding me, igniting me. There was nothing gentle in it. Just heat and frustration and fear transmuted into something physical.
We stumbled backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed.
He paused, breathing hard. “You sure?”
