Page 15 of Half the Summer's Night
He nods slowly. One hand slides down my arm.
“I watch the places where I kill,” he says in that soft, almost seductive way. “You went to the hotel. You talked to that pathetic owner.”
I think of Rowan, floppy-haired and sweet, and feel a sudden surge of panic for him.
“Who are you?” I ask, trying to get the conversation away from Rowan. “How did you see me? Do you work there?”
He chuckles. His hand glazes over my shoulder and then wraps softly around my neck.
Terror slams through me, and I scream and try to thrash away from him. But he presses his imposing body up againstmine, his strength undeniable. The rim of the desk digs sharply into my lower back, and there’s more force in that than there is in his fingers around my throat.
“I told you,” he says, “I watch the places where I kill. I wait for you to come and investigate, little detective.”
Horror flutters around in my chest. He knows who I am. He knows what I’ve been doing. He’s beenwatchingme?—
But the thought evaporates when he presses the twisted mouth of his mask to my lips.
I freeze, too frightened—and too confused, really—to move.He’s kissing me, I think distantly, even if he’s doing it with his mask.
He grunts and pulls away. I swear I see disappointment flash in his eyes.
“What—“ I whisper, and my fear takes on a new angle. “What was that?”
He keeps his hand around my throat as he lets go of my wrist, reaches up, and peels the mask just enough to reveal his mouth.
My mind whirs.Memorize it, I think, staring at his full, soft lips. The surrounding skin is slightly tan, with glints of reddish-black stubble.White male, I think in a blur.At least a foot taller than me. Husky build.There’s nothing else for me to latch onto.
And then he presses his real lips to mine, and I forget everything I was thinking.
It’s not the sloppy, angry kiss I would have expected. He’s soft. Hesitant. He doesn’t pry my mouth open, only presses his lips to mine, and makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. It only lasts a few seconds before he pulls away and slides the mask back down, covering that mouth. He even draws his knee away from between my thighs, and a darkness inside me whimpers at the loss of pressure.
I gape at him. It’s been a long time since I was kissed. A long time since I bothered even trying to find someone to kiss.
But if I did go looking, I’d want someone who would kiss me like that.
“I just wanted to taste you,” he says. “You’ve done so good, finding me.”
I stare at him. Baffled. Terrified.
Turned on.
No. I shove that part of me away, lock it in the darkest part of my brain. No, I am not turned on by this. Not by his rough, soft voice. Not by his gentle kiss. Not even by his validation that I was right this whole fucking time, that those accidental deaths weren’t accidents at all.
“Can I make you come?” he asks softly.
“What?” I wrench away from him, but he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me up so my back presses against his chest. His mask brushes against my ear.
“I want to make you come,” he murmurs. “A reward for finding me.”
“I didn’t find you,” I say, staring at the far wall, feeling hopeless. And not because I’m trapped, either, although that’s what I want to tell myself.
But because there’s a heat between my legs, traitorous and evil, and I almost want to take him up on his offer. Because he asked. He didn’t just take.
“But you did,” he growls in my ear. “You found my messages. You tracked them on your map there. You went looking for me.”
“You foundme,” I tell him, shifting like I might get away. I don’t, of course, but I do feel an unfamiliar stiffness press against my ass.
Heat throbs into my clit.
