Her head whips up as if sensing me watching her. As soon as our eyes lock, I expect her to turn away and refocus on whatever she is fishing for. She doesn't. Instead, she quirks a brow, her mouth remaining in a flat line, unreadable. My chest constricts, but I refuse to acknowledge it for anything but distaste. The flutter spreads to my lower belly, and I widen my stance, crossing my arms. Not butterflies. Killer hornets. Cockroaches. Yes, cockroaches sound about right. Something you want to grind under the sole of your shoe until it's nothing but a splatter of exoskeleton and intestines. A voice in the back of my mind laughs at my denial. The buzzing current in my veins doesn't help. I refuse to look away first, which seems to amuse her. The stoic expression changes to a sparkle in her eyes. The twitch at the corner of her lips is visible across the distance. I zero in on the movement and tighten my hold on my cuffed biceps.
Not. Happening.
I have no idea how long our standoff lasts. Someone, Joel, calls my name from right beside me, and my head slowly turns in that direction. I don't break eye contact until she is out of my line of sight.
"Are you good with the plan?" Joel's tone rings with exasperation.
"I came up with the plan. What do you think?" I snap, and he stumbles back.
My reaction was uncalled for. I had ignored him, not the other way around. I sigh. "Yes, sorry. Plan sounds great."
Joel bobs his head, not convinced of my sincerity, and I take that as my cue to check in with Ethan to make sure everything is set for our arrival. Whatever is going on with Denielle…I don't like it.
The flight was mostly uneventful.
Mostly because Keller continued to not act like herself. Since the day I connected her to the man who had abandoned my sister on the operating table, she never sought me out. She would do anything not to make eye contact, the guilt carved in elegant cursive across her forehead. That has suddenly shifted to something…unpredictable. Not only did she openly challenge me before our departure, but as we settled into our seats, I caught her peering at me through the curtain of her brown locks. Her eyes were unfocused, yet I was acutely aware of her watchingme. A flush trailed up her neck, and she finally aimed her attention at the task at hand. I followed her every movement as she stowed her belongings away, ignoring the knot this shift had put in my stomach.
When we were finally ready for takeoff, I inserted my wireless headphones into my ears. Lost in my head, I drowned everyone out with "Never Got to Say Goodbye" by Payton Parish as soon as the wheels left the ground.
The anniversary had passed, but the void that usually accompanied me for the next fifty-one weeks had not set in yet. I hadn't been able to visit Ken, have our ritual of me telling her what happened this past year and her not answering—no smart remark or funny quip, how it used to be. I would have to find a way to see her on one of my days off. Lilly would give me personal time without hesitation if I asked, but…I wouldn't. It was time to get back to my routine. Maybe Ethan and I could hit upThe Clubone of these nights. I could use someplaytime.
I stareat the ceiling of the guesthouse. My growl of frustration breaks the silence.
This has never happened.
Once again, a side effect of havingherliving on the property. We've been back in LA for two days, and I can't adjust back to rotation.
I want my room back. I like it in the main house. Even after Audrey was born, it never felt crowded. Granted, the mansion can fit the house I grew up in ten times over, but still. The McGuires are family. The thudding of my heart increases with every breath, and my irritation steadily grows. I'm on second shift this week—one in the afternoon until nine at night—but no matter what I do, I can't sleep. The only time I get shut-eye is long after the sun's up and then also no more than a couple of hours. Soon, it'll impact my ability to perform my duties.
For that alone, I want to march to the main house, kick in her door, and throttle the woman. Anything is better than admitting that whatever happened at the vineyard's pool has been fucking with my head. Her tight, naked body, with her wet hair cascading down her back, walking along the edge of the water, repeatedly flickers in front of my mind's eye. Every time I run into her during my shifts, an image of her perky tits forms. I swallow the images, which are accompanied by a sour taste down my burning throat. Yesterday, I found her bent over, looking for something in the freezer drawer, and have gone so far as mentally removing her thong in my visions. My fingers have been itching to wrap around her throat for an entirely new reason.
Denielle doesn't help eliminate the issue either. I caught her numerous times sneaking (and holding) glances. While she doesn't give any indication of what the meaning behind her newfound interest is, it is present whenever we are in the same room. A crackling sensation that I refuse to acknowledge as anything but disgust. With whom, I am still analyzing—definitely her, but my mind and body's treacherous betrayal comes in at a close second.
Fuck!
I throw the covers back and slip out of bed. I went to bed in basketball shorts and a tee, expecting this to happen. Shoving my feet into my gym shoes, I swipe my H&K and phone from the nightstand. Another early morning workout it is.
Crossing the short distance to the main house, I hug my torso. It's chilly, and I want to blame that on Keller, too. My irrational side is slowly taking over, and I grind my teeth. I'm a grown-ass man, for fuck's sake.
I let myself in through the kitchen patio doors, finding Ethan sitting on one of the barstools, scrolling through the security feed on his tablet. He's on third shift and peers up at me when I pass him on my way to the basement entrance.
"Can't sleep again?" he quips.
"Fuck off," is all I reply as I pass him, and his laughter drifts after me down the hall.
I open the door to the basement stairwell and take two steps at a time. The farther I descend, the slower my feet move. The thuds of someone running on the treadmill echo through the gym. Who the hell is down here at three in the morning?
When the soles of my shoes connect with the hardwood covering the entire bottom level, I swivel in the direction of the two treadmills situated at the far end with the other cardio equipment.
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
There is no way Ethan wasn't aware of Denielle being down here, running for her life. That's how it looks based on the sweat pouring down her face and onto the treadmill. It's also not safe. It looks like someone emptied a bucket of water on the band.
My concern is quickly replaced with a new round of discontent. Now she's ruining my workouts as well. I cannot escape this woman. Her increasing presence doesn't help the steadily growing tug-of-war inside my head. Blame and hatred battle againstI want to bend her over and fuck her raw.
The fingers of my hand not wrapped around my gun flex and curl at the image forming in my head. An unwanted flush crawls up my neck. Denielle bent over, propping herself up on the weight bench while— Ken's face replaces the picture, and the fire in my veins turns to ice. I didn't protect her. It's Keller's fault that she's not here. She never gets to have the babies she always dreamed of.
I need to do something. The violence demanding revenge slowly overpowers the drive to make her tiny body mine. Neither is an option, though. An idea forms, and as much as the new visual excites me, I am fully aware of the fact that it's nothing more than an immature prank. Anything is better than…