Storm (Sex and Bullets 1)

Not that he’s said much. Sure, he talked, but it was all vague.

Slipping outside and walking down the beach isn’t much of a conscious decision. I need to see for myself. Need to confirm that at least one thing he told me is true.

So when I reach the house where I spent my first few nights here and cautiously climb the three wide steps to the terrace, I’m prepared for just about everything—but above all, disappointment.

Did I mention I have trust issues? Big time.

I approach the window, my bare feet soundless on the tiled floor. I press my forehead to the dusty glass and look into the living room.

Empty. The furniture is gone. The sofa, the armchairs, the coffee table.

I step back. My hands shake slightly, and I shove them into the pockets of my shorts. Glancing back at the beach, to make sure nobody is watching me, I walk across the terrace to the kitchen window. A glance inside confirms it.

The mahogany table and chairs are gone.

Mouth dry, I back away. What if someone is inside, watching me? What if the cameras are back online? If I tripped the alarm?

If someone finds out where I am and come get me?

My heart booms in my chest as I rush down the steps and walk across the beach to the water’s edge, doing my best to keep from running away like the devil’s after me. Slow steps. Hands in pockets. I’d whistle if I knew how.

Don’t look over your shoulder. Don’t look to see if there’s anyone standing on the terrace.

God, I wish I had my gun, the one Dad gave me on my sixteenth birthday. Other girls got dresses, parties and trips abroad. I got a 9mm Nano Beretta. I had to leave it behind when I ran for my life the time before last. It hurt, losing that gun.

Everything hurts when you have to let go.

I walk aimlessly along the surf, letting my feet sink into the cool, wet sand with every step. The clouds haven’t cleared, and the air is heavy. Feels like rain. Muted sunlight filters through, torturing my eyes. So warm. Sweat trickles down my back and between my breasts.

Storm told me the truth. He ran to warn me. He knew I wasn’t housesitting, like I told him. I was lying, and he knew it but didn’t care. Because he wanted me to be okay. He believes I’m good.

He’s taking a risk on me.

This is all too much to take in. Too much I have to accept. Change my perceptions, loosen the chokehold of my mistrust.

Tell him everything. He deserves to know if he’s to offer me shelter.

I can do this.

So I turn my steps toward the mansion, toward Storm, determined to lay all my cards on the table, come what may. I won’t let him take a risk without knowing the real stakes. He believes in me, and I won’t let him down.

***

Sighing in relief, I slip into the mansion and close the door behind me. I stand for a long moment in the hall, in front of the sunken living room, gathering my wits about me. The thought of seeing Storm again makes me smile in spite of myself.

You were gone for half an hour, Ray. Come on.

Yet my smile lingers as I quietly climb the stairs. Can’t help it. Even the memory of his wicked grin and sexy bossiness, that gentleness when it comes to holding me, and let’s not forget that hot body… My heart skips a beat, and familiar heat floods me.

Yeah, he’d be impossible to forget, and the realization makes me stumble. I catch myself, suck in a deep breath and keep climbing.

Not the time or place to wonder about that. I’m on a mission, and I’ve hesitated enough. This isn’t like me. I normally know my mind and do what I have to do. I’ve been raised to be a tough girl.

And he’s melting me like chocolate on a hot plate.

Silence reigns on the upper floor and a lone wooden plank creaks as I step into the bedroom. I’m rehearsing my words in my mind, like I used to do at school when I knew the teacher would demand to know why I didn’t do my homework—because of gun practice, or running with my brother’s friends—and I had to give a convincing excuse.

Only this time I have to tell the truth, and it’s just as hard.