Page 65 of My Escort (A Different Kind of Escort)

I blink away the memory, feeling again like a twelve-year-old, but this time, not in a good way. I look up to find her gentle blue eyes peering at me.

Fuck! Why do I tell her this shit? She doesn’t need to hear about my fucked-up childhood. She doesn’t need a headcase like me. She deserves something better. A man who has his shit together. Not one who’s filled with anger and rage. A man who’s trying to amend for not being there for his mom all those years ago.

She deserves so much more than I am.

Could be why I do it. I’m trying to scare her away.

I grab my plate and stand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go dark on you.” I pick up her plate and take it into the kitchen.

I feel her hand on my arm. I turn, and she’s right there.

I could reach out and touch her. Hold her. Bury my face in her hair and get lost forever.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she says. “Not to me.”

I gaze down at her. She’s tough, smart, and headstrong, but when it comes to me, she’s something else. She’s soft, vulnerable, and forgiving. It’s as if she shuts off the hard stuff for me. Her eyes are wide open, but so is her heart.

She knows so much about me, the parts I hide from everyone else, excluding my brothers, of course. I can’t hide from them.

And, apparently, I can’t hide from her either. What am I going to do? She wants all of me. I see it in her eyes. She wants to take me and keep me. All my parts, good and bad, she’ll take them. If I hand myself over to her, she’ll reach out, grab hold, and never let go.

How will I save her from me when all I want to do is wrap my arms around her and surrender?

At a loss for words, I settle into her eyes. Hesitant to respond. Unsure on how to.

There’s a knock on the door.

My head perks up. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No.” She turns to the door.

There’s another knock. She releases my arm, and I follow her.

She opens the door. A man in his upper fifties standing in a pair of slacks, shirt, and tie glances at us.

“Miss Redmon?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Detective Sharpe.” He flashes his badge at us. “I was wondering if you could spare a few minutes to speak to me.”

“What about?”

“Glenn Stillwell.”

Cassie looks up at me.

“His sister has reported him missing. I understand you and Glenn were in a relationship?”

“That was over a year ago. I live in New Hampshire now. I’m only here temporarily for work.”

“I just have a few questions.”

“Okay.” She glances at me before letting the detective into her apartment. “This is Brett Daxon. He’s my, ah, contractor.”

“Mr. Daxon.” Detective Sharpe nods.

“Detective.” I nod back. “I was just leaving. I’ll call you later, Cassie.”

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