Murder_ A Sinful Secrets Romance - Ella James Page 0,24

some good shit…”

I wrap my arm around the wall and feel the hard, cool plane of it pressed against my ribs and hip.

I grit my teeth. I’m tired of this shit. Fucking tired.

I take a few slow breaths and lean on the countertop. As I wash my hands, I start reciting the “Pledge of Allegiance.” Better than counting, and doesn’t make me think of Breck or the team the way “The Lord’s Prayer” does.

I find a few small mirrors in a drawer filled with women’s makeup and try to get a look at my head. I can’t see the wound. It’s probably been at least an hour since it happened, and I’m still on my feet, so I figure she didn’t give me another epidural hematoma.

I pull out a little stool that slides under the counter. The movement makes my head throb.

“Tell…my mom…”

I can hear Breck’s mother sobbing as I try once, twice, three times to get my unsteady fingers to rip open the wrapping on a hospital-grade saline syringe. I start to sweat. My throat feels tight and full.

I have the urge to go to the window and look down at Gwenna’s house.

Up close like that… Seeing her…

I rub my forehead.

I’m losing my shit. Going out there like that, near where she was. Then she saw me and I had to go to her. That or leave her thinking someone’s watching her.

Someone is watching.

I shoot some saline into the wound and try to keep my breathing steady while I look for a wash cloth to get the blood off my face and neck.

That’s when the doorbell rings. And rings. And rings and rings and rings.

I put my head in my hands.

“You can’t let her in,” I whisper.

Maybe I should stop this watching her. Just wait till the house closes. Then do what I have to do and go.

I can’t. Without it… I don’t know what.

The doorbell rings some more. My shaking hand manages to get more saline in the wound. I let it sit a second, focus all my senses on the deep, sharp sting.

SEVEN

GWENNA

Oh my God. I killed him. There’s no other explanation.

I don’t mean to go insane on his poor doorbell, but I realize—belatedly, of course—that I’m punching the damn thing as if every ding-donnnng enters me to win the lottery.

“Shit.” I take a step back on his porch and inhale slowly. Then I let a long breath out and start ringing again.

I followed him for two reasons: one, to be sure he really is okay, and two, because I want to see him—in a regular setting, now that that first thrall has worn off a little…I want to know how I’ll react to him. Because being near him in the woods a little bit ago? It made me feel awkward, and embarrassed, and inadequate, and exposed. But that’s so much better than feeling nothing.

How long have I been doing this to myself, I wonder frantically. Letting myself get so walled off, I didn’t even remember what it’s like to feel turned on by a hot guy. I, who spent a year surrounded by the most beautiful of men. When did I forget that feeling: the heart-in-your-throat, fire-in-your-tummy sensation of simple physical desire? Sure, I have a healthy amount of private workouts with my LELO but…I shake my head and punch the bell again. LELO is not a person.

When I hear nothing on the other side of the door, I walk down the porch steps, into the bed of azalea bushes nestled up against the stone base of the house. With a guilty glance left and right, I lift a small, quartz stone and turn it over. Yep—the key’s still here. I have my own at home, from when I used to check on this place for the Haywoods, but of course, my key isn’t on me.

As I climb back up, I swear the day seems brighter. The birds seem louder, the wind feels cooler. If this is what happens after just being near someone who gets my blood pumping, what would happen if—

I shake my head and slide the key into the lock.

No. Just no. Can’t go there.

I’ve never been able to handle getting my hopes up. I’m so excitable by nature…it’s just too much. Which is one of the reasons why what happened after my accident was so difficult to bear.

Hot neighbor guy is probably at the urgent care, I tell myself as I turn the doorknob. I’m such a drama llama. He’s not dead.

Nope.