Crazy In Love (Secrets of Suburbia #3) - Ivy Smoak Page 0,7
all over him. I hadn't meant for him to fall down the basement stairs. Truly. But his shoulders had slipped out of my hands and gravity had done the rest. At least he'd been unconscious. He'd have a few bruises, but it didn't seem like anything was broken. I'd taken a peek under his shirt to make sure.
Although I had been a little distracted by his six-pack earlier. Maybe I needed another look... I reached out. Stop. I folded my arms across my chest to prevent them from wandering. I was a kidnapper. Not a pervert. The only reason I was even attempting to look at his perfect abs was because it had been a while since my husband had been intimate with me. I bit the inside of my lip as I stared at him. Asshole. It was tempting to kick his shin. To slap him awake. To take away his ice pack. He deserved those bruises. Hell, he deserved to be thrown down the stairs on purpose instead of an innocent, accidental tumble.
As I stared at him, I started to wonder if it had been an accident. Had my fingers slipped, or had I wanted him to fall? I reached out again, this time touching his face. He'd said I was beautiful. Something I hadn't heard in years. But he was the beautiful one. Chiseled jaw line. That perfect 5 o'clock shadow. Slightly shaggy hair that fell effortlessly on his forehead. These tiny little crinkles around the corners of his eyes caused by laughter.
I let my fingers fall from his face and touched the corners of my eyes. I had the same small lines. I'd started to notice them last year before I turned the big 3-0. I was beautiful once. But not now. I looked down at my pajamas and slippers. I looked like a hermit. The kind of hermit that never wore lace.
But I wanted him to think I was beautiful. I wanted to remember how he'd looked at me before all this. Because he'd wake up soon and there would be no going back. Maybe I'd reconsider burning all my lingerie. How fun would it be to torture him while looking amazingly chic? I smiled. Much more fun.
I continued to stare at him, his light breathing calming me. I knew I needed rest, but it was like I couldn't look away. He was tied up in my basement. I did it. I was as good as all the perpetrators in crime shows. Better even.
I'd already crossed four things off my list. First was the one I'd thought about the most - the kidnapping itself. Then I successfully hid him. Then I called 911. And thanks to the fact that TV shows spewed lies, I was ahead of schedule because I'd already talked to the police. I was killing it. A laugh fell from my lips. Killing it. I was hilarious.
Not only was I hilarious and great at this, but I also got the best detective on my case. And by the best, I actually mean the worst. Best for me, worst at his job. I'd have all my answers by tomorrow night, just as planned. I'd be long gone before anyone put the pieces together. And I'd be the best criminal in this town. Maybe I'd even wind up on the news by Christmas.
My husband was going to regret everything he ever did to me. I leaned down. "Poor sweet, Noah," I said out loud. "Of all the cities. Of all the bars. You just had to walk into mine." I was wrong before. Role-playing was so much fun.
I moved the ice pack to his other thigh. There. He was practically all fixed up. If he needed anything else, it would have to wait until he was conscious. I looked around at all the spider webs in the basement. And I shivered from the draft. I sighed. He was such a diva even when he was silent. Fine. I opened one of the boxes on the ground and pulled out a light blue blanket. A blanket that was never used. I ran my hand along the soft fabric and looked back down at the box. Everything in that box was the start of all our problems. I placed the small blanket around his shoulders before kicking the box to the side. A baby rattle that was never touched jingled against the rest of the contents and I tried not to cringe.