Quicksilver Dreams(36)

                With a quick survey of the room and glance at his wristwatch, Ryder said, “Taylor, you can’t stay here. Why don’t you come back to my place? Tomorrow we can do what we need to do in here. Do you have renter’s insurance or something like that?”

                With a self-deprecating snort, I shook my head. “I figured it was a waste of money, believing it was a long shot that anything like this would happen in a gated building. I thought the money would be put to better use on my day-to-day stuff.”

                “It doesn’t look like anything was broken. The lock was picked, not stripped. They were probably trying to keep quiet. We can take a look at replacing it with something stronger in the morning. Maybe call the landlord?”

                “I guess I’m supposed to call the police too, but you’re right. Tomorrow is soon enough. I’m too tired right now. Listen, I really want to thank you for helping me out. This has been a nightmare, but having you here has kept me from really flipping out.” It truly had. I could feel myself calming, my tears drying up. This would have been so much worse to go through alone. Added to that, my mom’s stuff was safe.

                “I’m glad I was here. We also need to talk, but it’s late.”

                “About what?” I put the bracelet on my wrist, carefully, figuring it was the safest place for it.

                “Tomorrow.”

                “Are you sure? About me staying over? I don’t want to impose.” Our eyes met and held. Whispers of sexual energy suddenly kissed the air.

                “I want to make sure you’re safe. You have somewhere else to go?” he asked brusquely.

                I thought about the other tenants, and while I was friendly with many of them, I wasn’t wake-them-up-at-three-in-the-morning kind of friendly. Looking around the junk piles that some faceless thug had created in my room, I knew I didn’t want to sleep in my bed. “No.”

                “C’mon. It’s not pretty, but it’s safe.”

                I locked up (like it really did that much good, right?) and trailed him over to his place. This time around, I noticed more of his furnishings. Either he hadn’t finished moving in or he didn’t own much. He was worse off than I was, if this room was anything to go by. He had a couple of stuffed chairs that looked like the ones Shep had used to have. Shep had probably left them behind, unable to afford moving them or housing them. An old wooden table—small, bistro size—was next to the kitchen with two beat-up wooden chairs, and the walls were empty of anything.

                “You can sleep in here,” he said, and he led the way down the hall that mirrored the hall in my apartment. He pushed open the door, and I saw that his bedroom wasn’t any more furnished than the rest of his place. There was a mattress made up with a set of clean-looking sheets pushed up to the wall on the dingy, gray carpet. It was the same nondescript, need-to-end-its-tragic-existence carpet as I had in my room, on the opposite side of the wall.

                There was no other furniture, though a built-in closet on an adjacent wall was open. It housed clothing folded in an organized fashion within a somewhat-dilapidated plywood shelving unit, making me suddenly wake up and question who this guy was and whether it was really a good idea to be spending the night here. Alone. What did I really know about him except that he was...freaking hot. And an amazing kisser. And, like, eye candy in his rough-looking boots and jeans, which outlined his muscular thighs just right.

                Cut it out, Taylor! I gave myself a mental shake. But really, I couldn’t fault myself for feeling punch-drunk and vulnerable after such a long, emotional roller coaster of a day.