“Fucking me so good I make you gratitude breakfasts?” I teased. In addition to the epic sex the night before, we’d also fooled around in the shower that morning, and my body was still tingling with the memory of that orgasm. “Last night deserved far better than canned fruit and protein powder. But it’s the best I had.”
And the sex truly had been transcendent. Transporting. Everything I wanted but had never received from fucking before—connection, affection, all-consuming pleasure followed by crystal clarity. Like yoga almost, but with another person. Shared. Cash needed a goddamned ovation, not simply a smoothie and some packaged oatmeal cookies.
“Your best is more than good enough.” Cash leaned over to kiss my head. “Find anything?”
“Maybe.” I was using his phone to browse listings before contacting the agent I’d used to buy this house. In typical me fashion, once I’d made up my mind about a new place, I’d been itching to put the plan in motion. I’d shown Cash several options so far, but he’d had security concerns about two and shrugs for the others. It wasn’t that I wanted him invested in…
Liar. Okay. I could admit it, at least to myself. I wanted him very, very invested, but I understood that likely wasn’t realistic. He’d known me little over a week, had other plans, and wasn’t much on opinions as it was. But some enthusiasm would be nice, let me have the fantasy of him maybe visiting. And I doubted I could adequately explain my thought process to him, but he was to blame for the new house decision.
Right before I’d come the previous night, clarity had ripped through me like a curtain yanked open. Home. Home was what I felt when Cash held me so close, when he was so deep in me I could feel his every pulse. I’d never felt so safe, so cared for. And home was not what I felt in this house with its empty rooms and creepy energy, a layer of uneasiness and distrust permeating everything like dust that couldn’t be polished away. I might not be able to keep Cash, but I could seek more of that feeling, find ways to be more secure in my space. I needed that, and honestly, Cash probably did too. I needed ways of standing on my own beyond begging him to fuck me happy.
“I like this one.” I passed him the phone, not expecting much, but he actually grinned.
“Now this is a Danny house.” He pointed at the first picture, which showed a glimpse of a tall but narrow house nestled behind trees and pressed up against a canyon wall. It was similar in price to this place but newer and smaller. Less imposing even with stunning views. Its interesting shape with a number of balconies gave it a friendly feel, which Cash seemed to agree with. “It has the whole hideaway, treehouse vibe, but it’s close enough for all the deliveries you like.”
“Yeah. What about security?” I asked, not wanting to fall in love with a place he and Duncan were going to pick to shreds for security issues.
He flipped through the pictures. “Long gated driveway. Privacy fencing. Already has an alarm and camera system. You can have Duncan’s team handle the other details.”
“You could—” I was about to beg for his help as a way of keeping him longer when the phone rang.
“It’s your lawyer.” He handed his cell back over.
“Damn it.” I wasn’t ready to deal with this. I much preferred our cozy post-sex bubble, not to mention the fantasy of Cash caring about my house hunt. But I answered the phone anyway and worked out the details of meeting the lawyer, Barbara, at the police station for another meeting with Detective McIntyre
After, I made my way back upstairs to my closet. No more broke college kid disguises. I wanted to look confident. Adult. In control. Kind of the opposite of how I felt, but I hoped I still had enough acting chops to pull off the role of wrongfully-accused good guy. And maybe if I wore the right shirt and acted the right way, they’d get back to actually solving my case.
“What does one wear to an inquisition?” I asked Cash who was hovering behind me. He’d retrieved his bag from the Jeep and didn’t seem to be suffering from the same indecision as he was already in a clean black T-shirt.
“They haven’t charged you with anything,” he reminded me as he pulled up his jeans.
“I know.” I grabbed a blue linen shirt with nice buttons that felt dressy without looking like a courtroom defendant. Cash was right. I was innocent. I wasn’t making up this stalker. “I hate feeling like I did something wrong though.”
“You didn’t.” He gave me a fast kiss before sitting on the bed to put on his shoes. “I believe you.”