by Kat Bastion
A loud complaining meow followed.
With a sigh, I knelt and rubbed her soft head. Please be quiet.
Bright light flashed across the far wall of the entry hall. Heavy footsteps echoed over stone tiles.
Shit. Shit! I stood and pressed myself into the darkest shadow of the front corner.
Persie sat there, her dark silhouette staring up at me. Traitor.
But at the last second, as the fronts of two leather shoes stepped into view, she glanced their way while I held my breath.
“Persephone,” a low male voice chided. “Come. You’ll wake the whole house.”
He returned toward the direction from where he’d come. Seconds later, a refrigerator door opened with a sticky release of its seal. The dull sound of a small bag shaking its contents followed. Cat treats.
Persie darted away.
So did I, in the opposite direction, toward the guest bedroom.
Chills ran down my spine at the remembered sound of his voice. But I forced the panic from my mind. I had no time to spare. When he returned into the hall, I needed to be gone.
I yanked my bags out from under the bed right as the refrigerator light flicked off. But the illumination along the entryway wall filtered into the hall, and it hadn’t changed. His office door remained open.
Where are you? Had he heard something? Did he suspect an intruder?
My thoughts flashed to the gun again.
And Persie, the sentry.
Leaving back out the front door was too risky.
My gaze darted toward the wide window that stretched beyond the small writing desk. A careful prowler would be able to clear that opening and not disturb a thing. No tracks. No trace.
I glanced back toward the hall. Very little light made it into the guestroom.
Doable.
With a sharp exhale, I gave a decisive nod. Done.
As quietly as possible, I shoved the double-hung window upward. But in the dead silence of the night, the frame scraping against its wood casing sounded like a screech through a megaphone.
“Go, go, go,” I mouthed to myself as I heaved the duffel out onto the dense honeysuckle hedge, tossed my backpack to land beside it, then squeezed my body through the narrow opening.
Once I planted my feet on the ground, I crouched at the lip of the window ledge and peered inside. Dim light from down the hall glowed a faint bluish white, but there were no signs of alarm.
Holding my breath, I stood and stretched up to my full height, exposing my entire body as I gripped solid fingerholds on the window edge, then dragged it back down.
When less than an inch remained, the window resisted against its metal latches. I exhaled and exerted a burst of pressure, seating it firmly home—with a loud click.
I sucked in a breath and waited. Not because I planned to stick around and explain myself if the lights suddenly switched on, but better to have the all-quiet before darting across the huge lawn with my back to a man with a gun.
My breaths had become ragged gulps of air, so I passed the time calming them. Inhale...exhale.
My racing heart began to slow, beat by beat.
But as a full minute ticked by, then another, all in the big Tuscan house remained the same, probably the way it always had: loyal wife sleeping soundly, husband up late scheming in his office, obedient daughter waiting in her bedroom.
With a sigh of relief, I turned my back on them all.
The hedge further complicated my escape. Far along both sides of the window, woody branches covered in lush greenery pressed up against the house.
The only way out was over.
With great focus and careful placement, I toed footholds and grasped branches. Halfway over, my foot slipped off a thick branch and my shoulder slammed down into the bush. Greenery smacked my face, filled my mouth.
“Shit,” I spat out with a mouthful of waxy leaves. Nice bush-climbing outfit: little black dress, flimsy sandals.
One last handhold, legs swung over, a step down, one more, and my feet landed back on solid ground. Since I’d twisted around to clear the hedge, I faced the house. The guest bedroom window remained dark. All clear.
However, when I turned and took a small step sideways, my heel caught on an exposed root, and I tumbled backward. My butt struck the wet lawn first, but the momentum thumped my back against the ground and knocked the wind out of me.
Eyes watering, I sucked in a lungful of air and stared up at a dark sky. Must’ve been thick cloud cover overhead, because nothing sparkled up there.
“Really?” I accused the world at large. “Not even one measly star to make a wish on tonight?”
A gust of wind rustled through elm branches, my only answer.
Something shifted against my scalp. I reached up and wrestled a twig free from my hair. “Happy birthday to me,” I grumbled.
But as I stood and grabbed my duffel, then slung my backpack over my shoulder, the greater truth of my words sank in. After eight lonely years, I’d finally had a birthday worth celebrating.
Because of you, Ben.
With a renewed sense of purpose, I walked away from that Tuscan house of anniversaries and birthdays without one glance back. Because I’d finally grown up.
The baggage I carried no longer weighed me down.
And stolen treasure I’d once thought important had lost all meaning.
Time for me to let go. Time to move on.
I entered my woods and yawned wide, suddenly exhausted. Time to find someplace to crash.
Ben…
“Uhhh...explain what we’re doing here?”
I stared in disbelief at a luxury home as we walked side by side down a mossy stone path.
Shay blinked up at me, humor in her eyes. “Your text said we should hang at my place.”
Because I want to know you better, see into your world.
But the multimillion-dollar house we approached stood light-years from what I’d imagined.
“Your place.” It didn’t add up. And I sensed deception in her tone.
I’d also become acutely aware of the physical distance she maintained between us. No hug hello. A good few inches of buffer space at all times.
Maybe you remember our kiss as vividly as I do.
Her sweet fiery taste still lingered on my lips. The heat from her lithe body had branded my skin. From one kiss. My breath caught at the powerful memory. Then I sucked in a deep lungful and understood and fully appreciated her imposed distance. And I vowed to respect that unspoken agreement. For now.
“My place for the week, anyway.”
Okay. The nuts and bolts of it. “So, we’re trespassing, then.”
Once we hit the shade of the outer entry, she turned to face me. “Not really trespassing. Technically, the owner gave written authorization for someone to take care of the place.”
“Technically, huh? Sooo...‘someone’...meaning you?”
“Not officially me. There’s a contract; a homecare company has been hired.”
Instead of continuing toward the door, she dropped onto the end of a galvanized steel bench. Maybe she needed to scrutinize me one last time, before she committed to taking me inside.
But based on where the conversation had headed, I wasn’t the only one who needed to be vetted. “Not your homecare company.”
Translation: you break in.
I sat down.
A delicate smile curved the corners of her lips. Her unassuming beauty turned breathtaking in the shadowy light: bare skin radiated health, thick dark hair framed her face, gorgeous green eyes watched me...as if I’d become the center of her universe.
Thank fuck. Because the woman who sat beside me, wearing her standard black T-shirt and threadbare jeans, had somehow become mine.
She bent her legs up, tucked the heels of her Converse onto the edge of the bench, then clamped her arms around her shins.
“No. It’s not my company. But that’s okay.” With an unfocused gaze, she stared out toward the path we’d wal
ked down, then glanced back at me. “I’m kinda like a friendly unseen ghost. I roam the halls when no one’s around. Look after the place. The owners get a twofer: extra security for the house, more one-on-one time for the pets.”
“And the real homecare company has been hired to...”
“At this house? Feed the fish. Water the plants. The fine print on the back page of every contract has the owners’ initials, allowing said caretaker to stay the night and housesit the place, if said homecare company chooses.”
Impressive that she’d read the fine print. Exploited it. Still... “What if the official homecare company ever chooses to enact that stay-the-night clause for themselves?”
“Not this house. Never this house. It’s one girl, Henrietta. And she only stays the night at certain houses. She marks the calendar, so I know in advance which houses are free.”
“The calendar.” The more I ask? The deeper it gets.
She grinned. “The one I hack into.”
“Ah, so two kinds of breaking and entering: real space and cyberspace.” And yet, the system Shay had devised for great places to stay? Genius.
“Yup. I’m a master at getting past front doors and firewalls.”
And burrowing into an unsuspecting bar-owner’s heart.
“Where’d you learn that talent?”
“Rafe.”
I blinked, surprised at her answer. My head of security had more talents than I’d realized.
Then I nodded at the massive front door ahead of us. “How do you get past this one?”
She popped up from the bench, reached into her back jeans pocket, and pulled out a big silver key. She held it up between her finger and thumb. “My unofficial access, the key to my kingdom.”
“You have keys to all the houses?”
“Nope.” She tossed the key into the air, then caught it in her fist. “I only made extra keys for a few, the special ones.”
“And the rest?”
Her penetrating stare landed on me. She arched a brow. “I’m an excellent lock picker.”
I stood from the bench, closing the distance between us. “Lock picker...”
Her gaze rose, staying with mine. “And pocket picker,” she reminded.
The accidental bump I’d witnessed in the park. “Thief of all trades.”
“The best kinds are.” She smirked, then stepped away and slid her big key into the lock of the polished wood door. With a slight push, the large door swung open to reveal a bright interior. She took a few steps in, then glanced over her shoulder.
Oddly, I stopped cold at the threshold. I frowned at the instinctive hesitation as I reached up and planted my hands on either side of the doorframe. She had stepped inside with ease: Lawbreaking was her world. But it was completely foreign to me.
She must’ve sensed my reluctance, because she turned right around.
Her eyes softened and she let out a gentle sigh as she tilted her head. “It’s your first time.”
“Yup. No jaywalking, no gum stealing, I’m going straight to breaking and entering.”
“It’ll be okay,” she assured me with quiet words as she moved forward.
My breathing roughened as her hands smoothed over my abs, around the sides of my ribs, then skimmed up to rest on my shoulder blades.
Her body pressed against mine as she stared up at me with those mesmerizing green eyes. “It’s going to be okay because I’m here. We’re doing this together.”
“Okay.” If she could break the law and go inside, so could I. But neither of us moved. Damn. She smelled amazing, felt incredible. “But you’re gonna have to move first.” Because I couldn’t, wouldn’t if I could. No way in hell. “Orrr...”
“Orrr...” Her eyelids lowered, like her standing there intoxicated her like a drug.
Yeah. I’m getting drunk on us too. “Maybe a kiss would make it better.”
“Isn’t that for little-kid bruises?”
“I’d be willing to go slam my truck into a tree for one.”
“Wow.” She blinked.
“Wow.” I repeated. What we’d both felt then.
“It’s still some kiss for you too.”
Yep. Still feelin’ it. “I can’t remember any other kiss. Yours scrubbed my memory.”
“Good.” She smiled. “I like that mine’s the only one in your mind.”
“Your kiss has been on my mind since we broke contact. I’m beginning to get the shakes. Withdrawals count for grown-up kisses, right?”
“Do you need to kiss me or want to kiss me?”
“Want. Definitely want.”
Her eyes searched mine. “Enough to wait?”
“Yeah.” I stared hard at her. “Worth the wait.”
Surprise registered on her face as my meaning sunk in. Not just the kiss. Not only physical. All of you.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I feel the same about you. And I’ve been waiting a long time.”
So, no kiss. Not yet. Still, we remained there, unmoving, soaking it in. I kept a tight grip of the doorframe. Because if I let go, I couldn’t guarantee the wait. And it was enough that she held me, while we did nothing more than breathe deeply together.
Until after a tiny smile and brief pressure of her fingertips on my shoulder blades, she eased back and withdrew from our intimate hold.
Then she stepped sideways and swept an arm wide, leading toward the room beyond. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
“Your humble abode?”
And yet, even though the modern home exuded luxury on the outside, its furnishings were Spartan: two gray microfiber chairs and a matching couch with one yellow decorative pillow paired with artful metal tables, a smaller drink table between the two chairs, and a lower cocktail table in front of the couch. Four slim black picture frames on the walls featured color drawings of plant specimens. A couple of fat beeswax candles on low mercury holders sat on the corner of a sleek fireplace mantel. The room’s vibe was simple and inviting.
“This house is special.” The door clicked shut behind me, followed by the resounding clank of a heavy lock being thrown.
“Agreed.” If the comfortable front room was any indication of the rest, I understood why she’d made a key.
“This is my house.” She wrapped her arms around her middle as she stepped into the room. “The one that matters. My safe house.”
Because it fit her. But I sensed she meant more, like she could depend on it. “A constant.”
“Yeah. The closest I’ve ever had to a home-house.”
I scanned ahead over black hardwood flooring that stretched out from the modern living room. “Well, do I get a tour, or what?” I wanted to see all of the place, understand what made her claim it as hers.
“Yep. Shoes off.” She’d already removed her Converse and had placed them near the wall by the door.
I toed off my sneakers beside hers, then followed as she led the way.
“Kitchen.” She nodded left as we walked past a sprawling kitchen island with a green granite countertop. “Fish.” She pointed toward the right at a gigantic saltwater fish tank that spanned from where we stood to the far end of the wall, a good twenty feet.
Her steps quickened across the floor until we entered a large open room which also held only a few pieces of furniture, again covered in modern microfiber, this time in a darker gray. Halfway through, we descended two steps into an additional space surrounded on all three sides by large windows. “This is my favorite spot in the whole house.”
“Nice.” The basic masculine furnishings were items I would’ve chosen myself. An ancient metal desk had been tucked under the center window and overlooked an expansive back lawn. Worn black leather club chairs sat off to one side. A chrome table with a glass top held a birding field guide with a small set of binoculars perched on top.
Shay’s hand slipped into mine. “Right?” With a slight tug and tightening of her fingers, she led me toward the desk.
A larger set of binoculars rested on the corner
. Beside them, a similar device, same length, same black outer casing, but with only a single scope, struck me as familiar. From golf. I nodded at it. “A rangefinder?”
“It’s a monocular. He’s a birder.” She released my hand and picked up the scope, removed both lens caps—first from the eyepiece then from the viewing lens—and handed me the device.
She grabbed the binoculars, uncapped its lenses, then plopped down in a black mesh ergonomic chair that’d been positioned in front of the desk. She propped her elbows onto the desk surface and held the binoculars up to her eyes. “They both have a similar range. But I prefer the binoculars. Pinching an eye shut to stare out of that thing for too long gives me an eye cramp. Same with the one in the corner.” She gave a nod to her right but still stared out her binoculars.
Her distancing tactic hadn’t been lost on me. The desk chair isolated her. Gave her space.
Fair enough. I’d been invited over and allowed into her inner sanctum. Two steps forward, one step back.
I respected the space she’d cordoned off, but stood as close as possible to the chair without bumping it.
I glanced toward the right where a giant commercial-grade telephoto lens mounted on a tripod aimed its view through a corner window toward the far horizon. Then I raised the monocular up to my right eye and squinted my left shut. “I think it’s meant for spotting, not staring into the field for a long period of time. Great for quick focus, though.”
After a slight adjustment, I examined the far edge of a pond. Then I pulled the monocular away from my eye to absorb the entire larger space behind the house. On all sides, the lawn was edged by old-growth trees of pine, birch, maple, and many I couldn’t identify. Beyond the immediate perimeter, a terrain of endless treetops sloped uphill until a far ridgeline met blue sky.
A low sigh drew my attention back into the room, to the woman seated at my right. She’d settled into the chair, head resting against the high seatback, two hands gripping the binoculars pressed to her eyes. Her lips were slightly parted. Her chest rose and fell in a medium tempo, too quick to be relaxed, yet her entire bearing had downshifted into happy contentment.
Beautiful. She radiated from the inside out. And I couldn’t tear my gaze away. Expensive viewing lenses didn’t hold my interest. You do.