by Grey, S. R.
Finally, I start back to my apartment.
But I’m a little restless. I don’t relish an evening spent padding around the apartment, or even watching TV.
It’s just too nice out, like one of those perfect warm summer evenings.
I glance at the clock in the dash. It’s only a little after six, meaning there’s still plenty of daylight left.
Hmmm…
The construction crew at the house should be gone by now, and in keeping with my goal to stay fully updated on all the new progress, I decide to take a drive out and see what was done today.
“Plus, this will give me an opportunity to test out the new alarm system,” I murmur as I make a quick U-turn on a side street and hop onto the highway, heading north, a few minutes later.
It doesn’t take long to reach Newark, as traffic is surprisingly light. I make it up there in what seems like no time at all.
Traveling the back roads to my soon-to-be home, I tap my fingers on the steering wheel in tandem with a song playing in the background.
“I love classic hard rock,” I state out loud.
To the chords of an old Led Zeppelin tune, I make the turn and trundle up my still-dirt driveway.
After parking in front of the house, I get out and let myself in.
The alarm goes off immediately.
“Good,” I say. “It works.”
I type in the code, silencing the annoying beeping.
With the alarm disarmed, I stop and just listen.
It’s really quiet in the house.
Fuck, and the heat level is ridiculous. All the hotness of the day seems to be trapped within the walls.
“Freaking hot-ass summer,” I grumble. “I’ll be glad when fall gets here, or at least some fall-like weather.”
I’m just happy the air conditioning is ready to roll.
It’s not on, clearly, but I can fix that.
I head to the kitchen, where I turn on a light. The control pad for the heating and air is located on the wall by the large stainless steel refrigerator.
At some point everything will be synced up to my phone, and I’ll be able to use an app to access the controls.
But for now, this is it.
Before I turn on the air, I check the thermostat and find it’s over ninety degrees Fahrenheit.
“Shit, it must be an inferno upstairs.”
And that’s where I plan to check and make sure there’s no furry intruder. I mean, hell, all those empty spaces in the open parts of the walls would be a perfect place for a critter to take up residence.
“I’m still not convinced one isn’t up there,” I say as I lower the thermostat to a nice cool seventy-two degrees.
As the air kicks in, I turn off the main overhead light and head upstairs.
I check all the bedrooms leading to the master at the end of the hall. Everything looks the same as yesterday, apart from the new sensors on the windows.
I’m able to open and close them freely, though, since the alarm is now disarmed.
In the bedroom next to what will be my room, I peek in behind one of the unfinished walls.
But then I realize something.
“Damn,” I bite out. “I can’t really see much. I forgot to bring a good flashlight again.”
That’s okay. I’m sure if there were an animal hiding out in there, it’d flip out from my presence and my cursing. I hit the wood a few times too, just to be sure there’s nothing alive in there.
Everything is cool.
That’s good.
There’s only one room left to check—the master bedroom. There’s no door installed yet, so I need only walk in.
But I make it no more than one step into the room before I’m exclaiming, “Holy shit! Who the fuck is this person in my house?”
There’s a young woman lying on the floor under the window, which is closed tightly.
Is she okay?
She appears to be sleeping, as her chest is rising and falling rhythmically.
Who the hell is she, though?
And what’s she doing here?
I consider various possibilities.
Did she come with one of the workers today?
Is she a worker?
Nah, I don’t think so. She has on black running shorts and a lime green T-shirt. And no bra, it would appear.
My gaze lingers on the outline of her pert nipples.
Jesus, Zane, stop.
This is not the time for perving on a sleeping girl.
And she’s an intruder no less.
Though not one I ever would have expected.
As I think about it some more, I conclude she has to be the one who was making noise in the closet yesterday. And the source of the sound that came from upstairs originally.
That leads to many more questions, ones only she can answer.
So yeah, I have to wake her up.
Striding over to the window, I kneel beside her small sleeping form.
Man, she’s so tiny. She looks a little malnourished. She’s pretty, though. She has soft feminine features, a smattering of freckles across her porcelain skin, and long auburn hair.
I wonder if she passed out from the heat.
She’s sleeping so soundly, and it is incredibly warm up here, even with the air on now.
I can only imagine what it was like earlier.
There’s a light sheen of sweat on her brow, and strands of her hair are stuck to her neck. There’s also a half-empty water bottle next to her. It’s a brand I’ve seen the workers drinking.
Something is definitely weird here.
And again, only she can tell me what’s going on.
Carefully, so as not to scare the crap out of her, I reach over and gently touch her shoulder.
When I get no response, I shake her a little. “Hey,” I murmur softly. “Wake up.”
“Nah, uh…” She starts stirring.
I nudge her once more. “Hey.”
Suddenly her eyes fly open, her stunning greens meeting mine.
And, of course, she panics.
“Oh my God! Oh my God! Who are you? Wait.” She bolts up to a seated position, rubbing her eyes and scooting back. “You’re the owner of this house, right?”
I nod, perplexed that she would know this.
Speaking quickly and clearly still panicked, she pleads, “Please don’t call the police on me. I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry. I didn’t mess anything up, I promise.” Her eyes grow teary, and she takes in a stuttered breath as she leans against the wall behind her. “It’s just that I had no other place to go. I can leave, of course. Just let me gather my stuff.”
“Your stuff?” I mutter.
It’s more a question to myself than to her.
Has this girl been living here?
She’s full-on crying now, and I kind of feel like an asshole.
“Hey, hey, calm down.” I hold out my hand in a placating manner. Not to touch her, just to settle things down. “You don’t have to go anywhere just yet, all right? I’m only trying to understand what’s going on. Let’s talk this out.”
She croaks, “Okay. That makes sense. I’m sure you’re curious.”
Am I ever!
I blow out a breath and suggest, “Why don’t we start at the beginning? Can you clarify what’s going on exactly and why you’re in my house?”
Sniffling, she nods. “I can do that.”
“Good. So you’ve been, what, living here?” I fling my hand around to indicate the room and beyond.
“Yes,” she replies softly. “But mostly I’ve been staying in the bedroom next to this one.”
She gestures to the wall, and I question, “That room?”
“Uh-huh. I hang out behind the unfinished wall in there most of the time. I keep my few belongings in there, as well.”
Jesus.
I don’t want to sound like I’m judging her, so I simply muse, “Huh. I didn’t see anything when I looked back into that space.”
With a smal
l smile, she says, “Probably because I keep my stuff really far back.”
I nod, smiling a bit. “That would explain it. I couldn’t see that far into the space.”
“Ahh…” She nods.
There’s a lull then, and it’s mostly filled with me thinking of a million more questions.
But for now, I simply go with “Do you have a name?”
Again, I get a smile, a really cute one.
One thing for sure, my intruder is extremely attractive. I can’t deny that. I also can’t ignore the draw I feel to her.
It’s like a pull.
I guess chemistry between two people can strike at any time, even odd ones like this.
Even so, it’s probably best to make sure this woman isn’t an axe murderer before I start lusting over her.
“My name is Morgan,” she says. “Morgan Delano.”
I hold out my hand, mostly out of habit. “I’m Zane, Zane Tinsbury.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says so quietly I can barely hear her.
She hesitates, then places her little hand in mine.
We shake like this is a normal meeting—ha!—and I go on. “It’s nice to meet you too, even under these weird circumstances.”
She scoffs, her hand still in mine.
She’s warm and feels so damn fragile. I get the impression she hasn’t been eating much or taking very good care of herself.
How could she?
I know there’s no food in the house except for what the contractors leave behind, which generally, from what I’ve seen, isn’t much.
“Morgan,” I begin carefully as she slides her hand out of mine, “how long have you been staying in this house?”
“Um…” She appears to think it over. “I think it’s been about eleven days now.”
“Jesus.” I feel bad, but I have to ask, “Why are you hiding out in here? You’re not in trouble with the law, are you?”
Shaking her head adamantly, she says, “No, no, it’s nothing like that. I’m not on the lam, I promise.”
“Okay, then what is it? Do you not have a place to stay?”
She whispers, “I did.” Her eyes grow teary again as she jerks her thumb at the window. “I had an apartment in Newark. It was tiny but nice. I had a job too, as a waitress in a diner. But it all fell apart. I had no choice. I had to…run.”
She looks terrified, so I ask, “Why?”
Looking down, she says softly, “My, uh, ex-husband showed up. I don’t know how he found me, but he did. And I can’t let him get close to me, not ever. I don’t know what he might do, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be anything good. Frankly, he freaking scares the living daylights out of me.”
This sounds terrible.
Gravely, I ask, “Has he hurt you?”
“In the past, yes. That’s why I left Florida.”
Ah, so that’s where she’s from. I figured she wasn’t from around here or she’d probably have someone she could stay with.
Morgan looks over at me with such sadness that the protective side of me roars to life. Right now, crazy or not, I want nothing more than to help this poor woman.
That’s why I say, “I know people in law enforcement. I could help you get a restraining order.”
Look at me, offering help to a woman I don’t even know.
And one who’s been illegally staying in my house.
Seriously, what is wrong with me?
Apparently a lot, since I still want to help.
Internally, I roll my eyes at myself.
But I can’t give up on a person in need.
“So what do you think?” I prompt.
Frowning, she says, “It won’t help. He’ll find a way around a restraining order. I tried that in Florida after our divorce was final and he still got to me. He’s careful, staying just the right amount of space away. It’s like he bides his time. He’s smart too. He doesn’t do anything overt. But he’ll do little things, like following me when I’m out in public, just far enough away to not break the law. Still, he lets me know he’s there. And then there was the, uh, issue of leaving things at my door.”
I ask carefully, “Leaving what at your door?”
Grimacing, she says, “Dead animals.”
“Holy fuck, are you serious?”
She nods once. “Yes, but not peoples’ pets or anything like that. More like roadkill. Still, it’s disturbing to open your door and find that.”
I scoff. “I would imagine so.”
Okay, this ex of hers is obviously a flat-out psycho. He’ll probably get caught crossing the line at some point, but do I provide him that chance?
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Morgan, what do you want to do?”
She chokes out, “Can I just keep living here? Please.”
I rake my fingers through my hair. “Hell, I don’t know. It’s a construction site. All week long, there are tons of workers in here.”
“I know,” she says wryly. “But I’m pretty good at staying out of their way and remaining undetected.”
I give her a look and mutter, “Clearly.”
I offer to get her a hotel room, but she doesn’t like that. “No, Neil could easily find me at a hotel. He’ll be keeping an eye on places like that.”
“Hmm, this is quite the predicament.”
“It is,” she agrees.
I then have another idea. “How about staying at my apartment? It’s big enough. And you’d have your own room, of course. I’m gone a lot too. I’m a football player, and training camp starts soon. You’d actually have the place to yourself for two full weeks.”
“I don’t think so.” Sadly, she shakes her head. “I should also tell you I know who you are.”
Ahh, so that’s why she wasn’t totally terrified when I roused her. She must’ve recognized me.
“Interesting,” I murmur.
She then explains, “I, uh, saw an article about you in the newspaper a few weeks ago, before all of this crap started. So I think if I were to stay at your apartment, people would see me and word would get out.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “And then this ex of yours would find you.”
“Yep.”
Blowing out a breath, I ask, “What if he’s already left Ohio, though? You said he’s from Florida also. Maybe he took off since he hasn’t been able to find you.”
Biting her lip, she thinks it over.
“It’s possible,” she says at last. “But he’s usually more persistent. Maybe once some more time has passed, I could see him giving up then. I don’t know if he really has an endgame. If he does leave, I could get back on my feet. Maybe I could return to the diner, or even to my apartment. Then I’d be able to save money and eventually leave for good.” She shakes her head. “I just don’t know right now. I mean, I’m kind of taking it day by day. If you do let me stay, I promise it wouldn’t be for that long.”
I tilt my head. “Just until you feel it’s safe?”
“Yes. I’d like to stay till then,” she says with a nod.
I sigh.
What am I going to do with this woman?
I can’t in good conscience throw her out onto the street.
And she doesn’t like my other options.
Also, there is an alarm system now in place.
She would be pretty safe.
And like she said, it’d only be for a short while.
Finally, I acquiesce. “Okay, all right. You can stay here if you want. Not forever, of course, but for a while. We’ll revisit your options at some point later in time, when you feel it’s safe.”
Her gorgeous green eyes light up. “Okay, we can definitely do that. Revisit options, that is.” Her face suddenly falls, and I get the impression she’s dealt with a lot of disappointments and people going back on their word. “Are you sure?” she checks. “Like definitely sure I can stay here for real?”
“Yes, yes, you can stay for real,” I assure her, chuckling.
Softly, she says, “Thank you, Zane.”
Turning gravely serious then, I warn, “I should tell you, however, there are going to be some ground rules.”
Ground Rules
Uh-oh, ground rules. This doesn’t sound good.
I quickly remind myself that Zane is letting me stay, even if it is only for a short while, and that’s all that matters.
So yeah, I can live with whatever stipulations he comes up with.
Still…
Eyeing him warily, I ask, “What kind of ground rules?”
He laughs. “I assure you, nothing bad. I just think if you’re going to stay here, we should make it more comfortable…and safer. First, let’s get your things moved into this bedroom since it’s finished. You can sleep in here. I’ll have a bed delivered this week.” Peering over at the wide-open entrance, he frowns. “I’ll also have the contractor put up a door, preferably tomorrow. And one with a lock. Speaking of locks, I’ll give you a key to the front door.”
This actually sounds really good, and I nod excitedly. “Okay. And, uh, I’ll need the code to the alarm too.” I gesture to the window. “That’s why you found me tonight. I couldn’t open the window, and I pretty much passed out from the heat.”
Zane suddenly looks really worried. It’s cute. It makes me feel cared for, something I haven’t felt in a very long time.
I know he doesn’t know me and he’s just being a nice guy.
But still, it feels good.
Picking up my water bottle, he says, “Here. You should be drinking this, especially if you passed out earlier. You’re probably dehydrated.”
I’m sure he’s right, so I take the water from him.
After chugging several gulps, I lower the bottle and smile over at him. “Thanks.”
He smiles back, and damn, he is truly even hotter up close.
But I push that thought out of my mind…for now.
I may use some of this as fodder for a fantasy later.
But Zane doesn’t need to know that.
“Not a problem,” he says, shaking his head amusedly. “Anyway, I’m going to get you some food tonight before I head back to my apartment. You can keep it in the refrigerator down in the kitchen. There’s a microwave and an oven in there also. They’re all hooked up and functional.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” I smile sadly. “I just couldn’t use them.”
“Well, you can now. And turn on some lights when it’s dark. There’s not one in every room, but there are still quite a few working ones. Speaking of which…” He stands and turns on a row of track lights, making the room nice and bright.
