“What a pity,” she replied.
“I know. I appreciate the offer, though.” I grabbed my bag and purse and started for the door. Once I got out on the porch, I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. As my shoes crunched along the loose gravel to my car, my legs still shook from my heated moment with Deacon. The breeze that swirled around me helped to cool off my inflamed skin. It seemed to take forever to get my trembling hands to work the key fob to unlock my car.
After I slid across the seat and started the car, I glanced up. A shudder went through me at the sight of Deacon leaning against the porch railing. He was lighting a cigarette, and his still-lust-filled gaze pierced through the windshield to send desire pulsing through me again. It took everything within me not to turn the car off, race back to him on the porch, and demand he take me somewhere we wouldn’t be interrupted so we could finish what we had started. I could still taste myself from his kiss. Instead, I forced myself to throw the car into reverse and tear my gaze away from Deacon.
As I made my way through the familiar streets back home, my mind and body stayed connected to Deacon. Images of our passionate moments flashed through my mind, and the ache between my legs continued to burn. Before I could stop myself, I slipped a hand between my legs and started to stroke myself over my panties, just as Deacon had before. When I reached a red light, I threw my head back against the headrest. My fingers flew harder and faster as I desperately sought the orgasm I’d been denied earlier. It was only the loud honk of the car behind me that brought me back to reality. Mortified, I jerked my hand away, a warm flush filling my cheeks. What in the hell had I been thinking, masturbating while in traffic? Deacon continued to bring out parts of me I never knew existed. And God help me, I liked it.
After easing into the garage, I put the car in park. When I reached to grab my purse, I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. A nervous giggle escaped my lips at the sight of my mussed-up sex hair, rosy cheeks, and swollen lips. I looked exactly like I had almost been had. Immediately, I was thankful that it had been dark outside on the drive home and no one had taken a glance at me when I was stopped at red lights.
Grabbing my purse, I got out of the car. After stepping inside the house, I couldn’t help leaning back against the door as I continued to cling to my sex haze. Pinching my eyes shut, I could almost feel Deacon’s hands on my body, his mouth and tongue on my nipples, his hard erection digging into my core.
Suddenly, I was snatched out of my fantasy world as a sense of dread prickled over my skin. Swiveling my head over to the alarm pad, I realized it wasn’t going off even though I had yet to enter the code. I peered at the screen, and my chest clenched when SYSTEM DISABLED flashed on and off.
Waves of fear crashed over my body at the further realization that Atticus had yet to greet me. Normally, his pink tongue would be slurping over every available part of me as he went through his welcome-home wiggle dance. In a shaky voice, I called, “Atticus?” When no bark of acknowledgment came, I took a few tentative steps farther into the kitchen. “Atticus?” I repeated. Silence reverberated back at me.
Realizing I needed to get out of the house, I whirled around to flee. My feet slipped in something slick on the floor, and I crashed down onto my knees. As I tried to regain my footing, my hands slid through something warm and sticky. Staring down, I realized I was in a puddle of blood. A scream tore from my throat. Fumbling and flailing, I pushed my way out of it. When my feet bumped into the door, I started trying desperately to get up, but each time I pushed on my hands, my knees slid further in the blood.
Then the kitchen light flicked on above me. I once again screamed when I caught sight of a hulking man in the doorway. He wore a sinister smile as he stared down at me with one eye. A black patch covered his other eye, and beneath it a jagged scar cut across his cheek and down over his neck.
“Hmm. Just how I like my women—on their knees and screaming,” the man said.
Repulsed and horrified both by his words and his appearance, I ducked my head. A sob choked off in my throat at the sight of Atticus’s lifeless body at the man’s feet; a large gash at his throat had sent his blood across the floor, causing me to fall. “No, no, no!” I cried, hot tears streaking down my face. Concern for my own fate momentarily took a backseat to the horror of the loss of Atticus.
When I glanced up again, the man stood right in front of me. Holding my hands in surrender, I pleaded, “Don’t hurt me. I have money here. You can have all of it—you can take my car. Anything. Just don’t hurt me.”