Page 42 of Craving Danger

“Shit!”

Darting to my closet, I yank out a pair of leggings and a T-shirt and quickly change out of my pajamas. I pull my brush through my hair, and looking semi-decent, I head back to the living room.

Unable to sit, I stalk up and down, my eyes darting to the front door every few seconds.

Suddenly, my phone vibrates with an incoming message, and I almost tackle the coffee table to get to the device.

MMM: I’m coming up the fire escape, so I don’t give any of your neighbors a heart attack.

My eyes dart to the window, and feeling nervous as hell, I go to open it. A moment later, a black figure appears, and as he climbs into my living room, I begin to think I have some kind of death wish.

My mystery man straightens to his full length, then our eyes lock.

Yep, I’ve just let a stranger into my apartment. I’m officially insane.

He doesn’t try to move closer, but instead asks, “How are you holding up?”

Hearing the gentle tone of his voice helps ease some of the nerves spinning in my stomach.

“I’m not sure,” I answer honestly.

He takes a step closer, and it has my heart rate spiking. When he’s within reaching distance, he holds his hand out to me.

I swallow hard on my anxiety, but as I place my hand in his, I feel the same sense of comfort with him I felt at the club.

I have made progress!

The confirmation has a smile spreading over my face. “It’s not a false sense of security.” My eyes meet his. “I’m making progress.”

His eyes crease at the corners as if he’s smiling back at me and I suddenly hate the stupid ski mask.

“If I promise to ignore you in public and keep your identity a secret, will you take the ski mask off?”

Letting go of my hand, he shakes his head. “It’s the only rule I have.”

I sigh but don’t push him further. “Okay.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I ask, “Is it against the rules to meet here?”

Again, he shakes his head. “Is that what you want?”

I’m not sure.

Moving around him, I walk to one of the couches and take a seat. “I’m in two minds about it.”

He sits down on the other couch, then murmurs, “I’m okay with whatever you decide.”

Glancing a the kitchen, I ask, “Would you like something to drink?”

He points at the ski mask. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

My gaze settles on the coffee table between us, and I consider which option would work best for me. Here or the club.

I won’t have to take the subway every other night.

“I think I’d like to meet here,” I say.

“You have my number. Just text me when you want me to come over.”

“Will your boss be okay with it?”

---