"What?"
"Romantic suspense books," she supplied, gaze skittering away. "You know... like we were talking about," she added. "They're like a TV show with all the suspense and violence and the, well, you know."
"I do," I agreed, shooting her a smirk. "I do know."
The "you know."
What a kind of prudish way to put it. Especially given where we both worked. I knew for a fact that she heard a million things nastier every day than the average person would likely ever hear in their lifetime.
That was one of the main differences between the women I worked with and myself. The ladies who called phone sex lines were typically just sad or lonely or stressed. It wasn't so much about getting off, about saying nasty shit, as it was feeling desired and hearing a man's voice. The orgasm, when they happened, were really just the cherry on the pie as far as I could tell. They wanted the intimacy. I gave them that.
But the men who called the lines to talk to the women? Shit. Quite frankly, I didn't even know so many kinks existed before. And I had known my fair share of screwing around in my time.
The men, typically, even if they were sad or lonely, they wanted the filthy shit. They wanted to hear these women say things they would never have their wives say, would never have the balls to ask for if they were face-to-face with an actual flesh-and-blood woman.
Granted, being willing to hear raunchy shit, and being able to say it were two completely different things. I knew several women who were around foul-mouthed assholes—many of whom I called family—that barely ever cursed themselves.
"I, ah, yeah," she agreed, shaking her head, gaze going to the doorway as if she was expecting someone to walk in and save her. Hell, I was pretty sure she would be thankful for the cannibal mountain people at this point.
Interesting.
"I am going to lock down the house," I said, moving to stand. "Double check the windows and shit since they don't seem like the most careful of caretakers, leaving the door unlocked like they did. That way, we can haul off to bed anytime."
"Oh, yeah. Good. I, ah, I am going to go turn in now. Thanks for, you know, dinner. And, um, company." With that, she rushed toward the doorway, half turning back, giving me her profile, but her gaze wasn't on me. "I'm really glad I don't have to be here alone," she added before rushing off.
I could hear her feet running up the stairs almost as if she was trying to get as far away from me as fast as she could.
She might have been thankful for the presence of a familiar face around, so she didn't make herself sick with horror movie scenarios in her head, but I was getting the feeling she wasn't exactly relieved it was me she was stuck alone with.
That, yeah, that was a gut punch to my ego, I had to admit. I didn't typically have that response from women. I mean, we all struck out from time to time, even if we are good-looking and charming, but unless you were a complete creep, women didn't tend to fucking run away from you as fast as they could.
As I did the rounds checking the windows and locks, I racked my brain, trying to figure out if there was a time when I had said something to Katie that might have thrown her off, that might have upset her.
I knew a thing or two about badass women thanks to my family, but I also knew some shit about softer, sensitive women too. And they often didn't let it show that you said something that upset or pissed them off. They buried that shit. But they never forget. And they never quite feel the same way about you again. Unless you somehow get the truth out of them, explain, apologize.
I guess I could make that tomorrow's mission, I decided as I made my way up the stairs, checking the windows in the other rooms just for the hell of it.
Apparently, Katie was making me paranoid about being alone in the middle of nowhere too.
When I made it back to my bedroom door, I could hear sounds from inside Katie's room.
Running water, a soft, lilting voice, all sugar-sweet, the kind of voice meant for slow indie songs like the one she was singing. I didn't know it, but I could make out some of the lyrics as she moved around her room, likely gathering items for the bath she was running, and it seemed to be about unrequited love, about wanting someone who didn't know you existed.
Sad songs.
Christ, I remember my sister, Scotti's, bout with those in her teens. Every single song was a track to cry in your pillow to.
Katie didn't sound upset, though, as the water cut off, making her voice more clear. She almost sounded hopeful.
Then there was a splashing sound I knew a little too well.
Her body slipping under the water.
That should have been the end of that.
I should have turned back into my room, gotten ready for bed, caught up on the sleep I'd missed on the plane because I'd sat next to a middle-aged lady on her first flight ever, going to visit her first grandbaby, nervous and babbling the entire time.
Did I do that, though?
No.
I stood there for a long moment, my mind going places it had no business going.
Through the bedroom door, into the bathroom, over to the tub, stripping down, getting in, reaching for her.
"Christ," I hissed, raking a hand down my face before making myself turn, going into my room, closing the door, taking a couple deep breaths.
I didn't know where the fuck that came from.
Exhaustion.
Forced close proximity.
The fact that while I sold fantasy sex for a living, I hadn't been laid myself in a couple of months.
The perfect cocktail to create the swirling sensations inside.
I didn't let myself play them out though, not even if my cock was throbbing as I changed for bed, not even if it was preventing me from sleep once I got into bed.
I didn't have a whole hell of a lot of rules in life.
But not fucking your coworkers was one of them.
Which meant that fantasizing about such a thing was off-limits too.
Katie wasn't even my type.
I tended to go for somewhat loud, opinionated, confident women who told me what they liked—and what they didn't. No guesswork.
That was, and always had been, my type.
Why, then, was I laying there in complete silence, waiting to hear Katie make her way back into her room, into her bed, listening to her letting out a soft sighing sound.
Half contentment, half defeat.
And every part of me wanted to go across the hall and ask what the latter part was about.
But I couldn't
So I stayed where I was.
And I prayed to hell that someone showed up bright and early the next morning.
THREE
Kate
The storm clouds rolled in early the next morning, making the woods—already so darkened by the dense canopy of trees—even more dreary, almost a little oppressive. It felt like they were closing in around me.
I woke up around six, as was typical for me, never being able to sleep in much. I had a neighbor who had an early day and a snooze button habit, so his alarm trained me to wake up an hour or so before I needed to be up well over two years before. Even when I wanted to sleep in, I never could. It worked out, though, because it gave me a head start to my day, more time to read, maybe even get coffee with my mom before she was off to school.
I tip-toed around my room, feeling the chill creep in through my skin, getting into my bones, as I was getting dressed, planning on taking my book and a heavy blanket, and maybe sitting on one of the Adirondack chairs I'd seen from my window to get some fresh air before the storm came through.