Kneading my fingers into the tight, knotted muscles, I made a tsking sound. “Why’d you let it get like this?”
“I was busy,” she snapped.
Ignoring her foul and noisy temper, I massaged a little deeper.
Zoey melted against the seat, her arms going slack. The anger and alarm pouring out of her just seconds ago was gone. A sound of appreciation vibrated her throat, making me glance up. Her eyes were half closed, lips relaxed.
“Feel good?” I asked, making her tense anew. “Calm down,” I murmured, continuing my ministrations.
She settled once more, slumping into the seat, a virtual puddle in my hands. She felt small despite her long frame, and I couldn’t help but worry how she would have driven home if I hadn’t showed up when I did.
After a few minutes of me working the tight muscles, I felt her shuttered gaze. Unable to resist the call, I glanced up, our stares colliding.
The pull I felt toward her was physically demanding, as though we were two magnets with irresistible force. We were alone here in this public space, night closing around us. The hum of L.A. in the backdrop created a rhythm that the adrenaline she made me feel buzzed to.
The way I was touching her wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t even for pleasure, but out of necessity.
The heat was undeniable. Desire scorched my fingertips, burned my hands, and spread through my limbs until my stomach felt full of need. I felt like some kind of premium race car whenever she was near. Usually a pretty even-keel man, I went from zero to sixty in two seconds flat when she looked at me like that.
“It feels better now.” The rocky quality of her voice was like a poker to the fire already rampant inside me.
She felt it too.
She didn’t want it, but our bodies seemed to have a will of their own when we were close.
Easing my hands back, allowing them to rest on my knees, I raked one lingering look over her. “I’ll drive you home.”
I was already to my feet, preparing to close the door, when her voice floated up to me. “How will you get home?”
Unable to resist, I leaned back down, crowding into her space. “You worrying about me?”
Her eyes averted, aptly avoiding my gaze. “The press saw us drive off together.”
“I’m used to the press.” I closed the door. On my way around, I dialed Callie. “What’s your address?” I asked Zoey, sitting behind the wheel.
She gave me her address, and I asked Callie to meet me nearby with my Range Rover.
I felt her anxiety almost as clearly as I felt the chemistry between us. “Don’t worry,” I said, dropping my cell in the cup holder between us. “I’ll meet her a couple streets over. No one will know.”
She nodded, absentmindedly rubbing her leg.
“You should put some heat on that when you get home.”
She made a sound, staring out the window as I drove.
A short while later, I pulled into the lot of her apartment complex, following her quiet directions to the right end of the building.
“Here’s fine,” she said, pointing to a parking spot.
“Which one is yours?” I asked, gazing out the windshield at the units.
Zoey pointed.
After a brief hesitation, she turned to me. I could barely make out her face in the dark and the shadows my hat cast over her. “I could drive you home.”
“Go inside,” I replied softly, handing her the keys.
Both of us climbed out at the same time, but I reached into the back to grab the few bags she had with her at the set. Turning, I saw her standing almost shyly behind me, barely an arm’s distance away.
Taking the hat off her head, she held it out. “Thank you.”
Without saying a word, I bent at the waist, offering my head for the hat.
The corner of her mouth turned up, bangs falling into her eyes. I waited until the cap was on my head to say, “I wanted it backward.”
A stubborn glint came into her eyes, and I stuck out my lower lip. “Please?”
With a sigh, she reached out again, turning the hat around. She had to lean close to make sure it was straight, and her proximity made my pulse skyrocket once again.
“Come on.” I nudged when the hat was in place. “I’ll walk you up.”
“You don’t—”
“Start walking,” I demanded, not even allowing her to finish.
Turning on her heel, she led the way. She seemed to be walking pretty well, but when we hit the steps, I saw her wince and her grip tighten on the handrail.
“Stop,” I said.
“Did you forget something?”
“Hop on,” I instructed, turning my back.
Stony silence slammed into me. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw her staring like I’d suddenly grown four heads.
“Fine.” I shrugged. “When we get upstairs, I’ll just come in and massage your leg again.”
She jumped on me so fast I almost pitched forward. Despite the near-death experience, I laughed. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who didn’t want me in her apartment.”
With her arms looped loosely around my neck, I felt her pointed chin rest on the top of my shoulder. I carried her easily up the stairs, actually thinking for the first time that all the training I did was actually useful.
Outside her apartment, I placed her down and waited for her to unlock the door. The second she did, I pushed it open and set her things inside.
“If you need anything—”
“I won’t.”
“Right.”
I was almost to the stairs when she called out to me.
“Hey.”
I looked back. Her heart-shaped face was peeking around the red apartment door. “Thank you. For tonight.”
Praise from her was quickly becoming a drug to me.
“Lock the door,” was all I said before forcing myself to leave.
I almost called him back.
I let him go.
I was exceptionally good at saving myself, of never needing anyone.
That was the way it had to stay.
It was quiet on set. The atmosphere was filled with anticipation and foreboding. The cast and crew stood by with bated breath, knowing how fortunate they were to be witnessing such an iconic scene firsthand.
Everything led up to this moment, the perfectly executed buildup, every murderous scream, every blood-dripping slay. Even as we stood here knowing it was fabricated, the urge to glance over our shoulders or off into the shadows was impossible to ignore.
The red light signaling the scene came on, the small glow coating everything with the ominous promise of bloodshed.
The woman stepped into the hall, her nightgown billowing around her feet, skimming the floor, making her look angelic, like the perfect assassin for evil.
Her hair was short, revealing the lace collar of the high-necked gown. Her arms were tight to her sides. The way her fingertips curled into her palms, shaking just slightly, gave the perfect illusion that she was afraid but persistent.
The oversized sleeves on the gown wafted against her arms, creating movement in an otherwise dead scene.
She passed by a window, the light of the moon casting a long shadow of her form across the floor, making her look stronger than she really was.
A noise from somewhere in the house made her pause. She tilted her head, listening. Heavy footfalls coming up the stairs whisk her back toward the window, to the sheer white curtains draping the panes.
He was taking his time. He knew she would wait.
There was no doubt he was coming for her. If she ran tonight, he’d come back tomorrow.
She was tired of running. Exhausted from being chased.
Someone would die tonight, whether it be him or her.
Light from the window, artificial light from behind the scene, filtered in, showing everything her sheer nightgown refused to hide. The outline of her curves, the way her breasts rose and fell with the hammering of her heart.
&nb
sp; The apex of her thighs was dark, but it was implied she wasn’t wearing panties, and if she turned just slightly away from the stalker and toward her audience, they would be given a full-frontal view of her nudeness.
Naked women always died in slasher movies.
Knowing the killer cleared the stairs, she backed up into the curtain, reaching her hand behind the fabric. Moonlight glinted off the polished blade that appeared. The beauty gripped it with both hands and stepped forward, back into the moonlight.
Her hair was no longer short. It was long and dark, the color of midnight. The angelic quality of her gown was no longer pure.
As the crew watched, red blossomed across her chest, the sheer fabric drinking in her blood like a cactus in the desert. The thick handle of a knife stuck out of her chest, and when she reached up to grasp it, someone else appeared.
The killer was there, shrouded in shadows, draped in menacing calm. In one violent move, he ripped the blade out of her chest, the hole in her body making a sucking sound as blood oozed from the wound.
Without preamble, he plunged it into her again. Again.
And again.
Her body floated to the floor, a river of dark liquid blossoming around the once-white gown.
Horror and panic rippled through the set.
I rushed forward, shoving past all the others whose screams I couldn’t hear. Dropping to my knees in the warm river of blood, I grabbed her, the angel who wasn’t supposed to die... grasping her shoulders and lifting her up.
I screamed her name. Her eyelids flickered. Slowly, they opened.
One blue stare and one brown.
I didn’t recognize the scream, but I knew it was mine.
Jolting up in bed, I panted. Sweat covered my chest and dripped down the side of my face. My heart pounded so powerfully my sternum ached. Even though I knew I’d had a nightmare, the horror clung to me while my mind struggled to understand that everything I’d just felt had not been real.
It was only a dream.
A dream I’d had a thousand times.
No.
No, this dream was different. This dream... Zoey.
The sheets prevented me from reaching my phone. Ripping them away, I grabbed the device, the light from the screen casting a glow through the dark.
My hand was slick with sweat so I gripped it tighter while it rang and rang.
“Come on, come on.” I swore, feeling unsettled.
“Hello?”
I almost didn’t hear the timid reply over the thunderous sound of my own breathing and hammering heart.
“Zoey?” I beseeched, desperation clinging to the word.
“Nick?” Confusion laced her tone.
Confusion and something else. Even in my own distraction, I heard it.
I breathed out heavily, practically falling back into my headboard. Both hands clutched at the slim phone pressed against my ear. The dream was still too close to the surface. I was still so rattled.
Rattled. That was how she sounded too.
“Are you okay?”
“H-how did you know to call?” she asked, her voice wary.
I sat forward. “What happened?”
“Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?”
“I had a—” I paused. “A feeling.”
She was quiet, so quiet I started to panic again.
“Zo, answer me.”
There was a small hiccup, then her voice came back onto the line. “Someone broke in here.”
I leapt out of bed, rushing to the closet before thought even entered my mind.
In the midst of throwing on whatever clothes my hands grabbed first, her voice made me pause.
“Nick?” she asked, so unsure.
“What, angel?”
“I’m scared.”
I got dressed faster, blood deluging through my veins almost painfully. The need to be there right this second was so intense my hands shook. Two words. That’s all it took. Two words from her to make me lose control, to make me dash off in the middle of the night, defying traffic laws and forgoing my own safety.
“Did you call the police?”
“I can’t.”
“I’m coming.” I vowed.
“You can’t!” she burst out with the first bit of strength I’d heard in her voice since she picked up the phone.
“It’s me or the cops, angel. Who’s it going to be?” I don’t know why I even gave her a choice because I was coming no matter what she said.
She didn’t answer.
I didn’t ask her to. As I said, her answer didn’t matter.
The sound of her breathing kept me in control until her building came into view. The tires on my Rover squealed when I spun into the lot, barreling into a spot that wasn’t even for parking.
Jogging up the stairs, I cursed at the shit security in this complex and hated the fact that she lived on a corner with more windows than most other tenants had.
Hungrily, my eyes roamed every inch I passed, hoping for a glimpse of whoever dared to scare her. The rational part deep inside me sighed in relief when no one was there. I couldn’t be trusted with someone like that. Not tonight.
I’d do damage that maybe not even my celebrity status could expunge.
I didn’t question why I was so intent on getting here. On why I had to lay my eyes on her to get any sense of peace. It didn’t matter, not when I felt like this. Rationale, understanding... even simple reason didn’t apply because emotion didn’t give a damn.
I was driven forward, given no other choice than to rush to her side, because if I didn’t, I might go crazy.
“Zoey,” I said, halting in front of her apartment door. Sounds of passing cars and nighttime hums filled the streets below. “I’m outside. Open the door.”
“Y-you’re here?”
“Yes.”
“No one else is out there?”
“It’s just me.”
“Did you call the police?”
“You didn’t want me to.” I had an idea why, but I didn’t care about that either. “Open the door, angel. I need eyes on you.”
“Eyes on me,” she whispered.
“Eyes on you,” I whispered back.
“You can’t.”
“Open this door.”
The call against my ear disconnected. Slipping my phone into my pocket, I waited. She didn’t open the door, but I felt her standing just on the other side.
I waited patiently, standing back so she could view me from the peephole, denying the urge to put my hands on the door.
When the door still didn’t open, I felt like I might jump out of my skin.
“I’m closing my eyes,” I said, not raising my voice to yell. She heard me. I knew she could. I tugged down the black brim of the baseball cap I wore, then went a step forward and covered my eyes with my hand. “I can’t see anything.”
The lock unlatched with a click. The sound of the door opening made my eyelids flutter behind my palm.
Extending my free hand in the space between us, I waited.
My stomach clenched then trembled when I felt her skin slide against mine. Immediately, I grasped her hand, holding tight so she couldn’t change her mind.
We didn’t say anything as she tugged me gently, guiding me into her place. I held her hand even as she shut and locked the door. When she was finished, a moment of awkwardness dropped over the room like a suffocating blanket, something I wouldn’t tolerate.
Backing up, I leaned against the door, separating my thighs and pulling her in. Keeping hold of her one hand, my other arm dropped from my eyes to wind around her, tucking her into the place she belonged.
“Don’t look.” She panicked, started to cringe away.
“My eyes are closed.” I vowed, towing her forward.
Her body gave in almost instantly, tension draining away as she allowed me to support her weight.
My hand rubbed up and down her back, the thickness of the hoodie an unwanted barrier between us. I did
n’t get angry about it, though. She was here in front of me, and even if my eyes weren’t on her, the rest of me was. It was enough.
Traveling my hand up, I felt the hood pulled over her head, shielding her face.
“You scared me tonight,” I told her, keeping my promise, keeping my eyes closed.
“How did you know something was wrong?”
“It was just a feeling.”
She didn’t say anything, and anxious emotion started to spark inside me again. Perhaps it wasn’t enough. Maybe I needed to see it too.
Letting go of her hand, unwinding my arm from around her body, I grappled for her face. Sinking my fingers under the hoodie, I reached for her.
She flinched away, nearly falling backward.
I caught her around the waist, keeping her upright. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“I need to see you now, angel.”
“Why are you calling me that?”
“Because in my dream, that’s exactly what you looked like.”
“Dream?” she echoed, confusion in her tone.
“I’m opening my eyes.”
“No!” She pulled away, her movement like a hop.
Her leg.
“Zoey.” It was a command.
Her hand found my arm, holding on for support. “My crutches are beside the couch.”
“You don’t have your...” My words faltered. I wasn’t sure how to say it. I didn’t want to sound insensitive, but could speaking a question or the obvious truth be just that?
That awkwardness I’d battled back before came galloping forward.
This time it was her who slayed it.
“That’s right. I’m not wearing my prosthetic right now. I don’t sleep with it on.”
My hand clenched into a fist. Someone broke in here while she was sleeping, while she was vulnerable in bed. It slammed into me how ill-equipped she was to protect herself.
How could she run if she needed to?
A nauseous feeling churned below my ribs. It was getting harder and harder to keep my eyes closed.
“Turn away.” My voice was gruff.
“What?”
“If you don’t want me to see your face, turn away.”
Her hand lifted, and disappointment washed over me. “You can trust me,” I told her, wanting her to do just that, wanting her to stay right here in front of me.
Moth to a Flame Page 9