Sure enough, Fred leaped up and left the sofa, heading down the glass hallway. Mac walked around the porch to the door. Annoyance filled him again as he noticed more open windows. The woman had no concern for herself! Out of curiosity, he tried the sliding glass door; it slid open. His irritation spiked.
“For fuck’s sake,” he whispered to himself.
He stared across at her sleeping form, a beautiful, oblivious thing, lying there vulnerable.
From his vantage point, he could see she wore a pink cotton camisole top with spaghetti straps, molding to her breasts and nipples. He admired the smoothness of her skin, the definition of her collarbone. The blanket covered her to her waist. One hand was across her stomach, the other out and dangling off the sofa. He could see more of her face; her brow creased as though in deep thought. Her kissable lips pursed together. A soft sound escaped her, a moan.
She was dreaming.
Her out-flung hand twitched. Sucking in a breath, she rolled, shifting toward him. Her breasts came together, creating a cleavage that had his cock twitching, making him feel every bit the creeper he was. Her eyes opened as she readjusted on the sofa, flicking over the door—over him—before closing again. She mumbled something.
Mac froze, shocked; had she seen him? Had anything in her subconscious picked up on the fact that a man was standing in the doorway—heropendoor—as she slept? Watching her?
After a few seconds of no further movement from her, he determined she hadn’t seen him.
Leaning against the frame, he crossed his arms, continuing to stare. He was troubled because she had looked directly at him and not seen him; she was unprotected, in an isolated area. He had half a mind to enter the room and wake her, pointing out her foolishness.
Of course, there was a little bit of selfishness in that urge, to startle her awake. To witness her disorientation, and then her relief to realize there was no immediate danger; her anger and embarrassment confusing her as she realized he was in her living room in the middle of the night. He could be charming when he needed to be; he would be charming.
Mac looked down. Fred had joined him, giving no indication of being confused that the door was now open as he sat and also stared into the house at his sleeping mistress.
He remembered what Jason had said: she was coming back from her rock bottom. Let her come back.
Flicking his eyes over the weakly lit scene again, he realized Jason was right. She was one step above a wreck with one foot still entrenched in her mess; she wasn’t clear of her quicksand yet. He didn’t need her drama heaped on top of his own; he didn’t want it, didn’t care about it.
Yeah, he could leave her alone. He didn’t care enough about her either way. It would have been convenient if she’d been put-together enough to be his fuck buddy, but she wasn’t made from that cloth. He’d been goading Jason when he said it, but the truth was, a woman like herwasaccustomed to getting a ring for her ride. One-night stands weren’t her thing—she’d associate it with feelings, with love, with commitment. Everything she wouldn’t get from him.
At least she wasn’t an older maternal type, wont to showing up on his doorstep trying to nurture him. It was a good thing she didn’t like him; that she was wary of him. They could co-exist next to one another.
For tonight, though, he would hang out with her dog because he couldn’t sleep. Besides, he couldn’t walk away knowing she’d left herself a sitting duck with windows and doors wide open.
“C’mon,” he whispered to Fred, stepping back. If she was going to be so irresponsible, the least Mac could do was run Fred through his paces.
Chapter nine
Cassidy
NAKED. NUDE. IN THE RAW.
Cassidywokeuptointensely staring brown eyes coupled with anxious panting and bad breath. She groaned and rolled onto her back, sending into motion excited body wiggles from Fred as she confirmed she was, indeed, awake. He took such joy from proof she existed, it made her feel bad about all the times he had stood by and watched her barely live. He’d gone days in the past almost two years without food, guarding over her, keeping his watch, always faithful.
“Fred,” she murmured, and his excitement kicked up even more at the sound of her voice, further proof of life. “Stop pretending you care; I know you just want breakfast.” She peered over at him and smiled. He let out a sharp bark.
Then she noticed her sliding glass door was open, and she bolted upright on the sofa, yanking the blanket to her chest with a gasp. Out of sorts, the rush of fear made her feel slightly dizzy. She surveyed the space, her heart pounding. She knew she was in the room alone—sheknewshe was alone. Fred would have barked if someone were here.
Fred would have barked.Unless…
“Damn it!” She threw back the covers and called out, “Are you in my house, you son of a bitch?”
No response.
Standing up, she stared toward the corner of the hallway. “Mac, are you in my house?”
Her heart was thudding. It could only be him. He was the one person who Fred wouldn’t alert to; she didn’t know if she should be comforted by that or not, knowing the intruder Fred would allow in would be Mac Boyer.
Silence met her demand. Fred was standing, looking up at her, hungry. If Mac was in the vicinity, his attention would be divided.
“Asshole,” she mumbled as she cast her gaze farther, looking outside. Nothing stirred other than the glittering of the lake.