Bait

It can’t be.

“Some girl lost her shoes here. Was looking for them outside. Pretty thing she was. Wouldn’t mind finding them just so I can give her a call.”

My demons go fucking wild, rattling their fucking cages. I’m already staring beyond him to the open door as he tells me these glass slippers are high and black.

“Satin, she said.”

“I’ll be right back,” I tell him, and I’m off in a beat.

She’s already out of view when I reach the street. No sign of her in either direction.

I pull my keys from my pocket and jump into my truck, knowing full well she can’t have gone far.

I reach her at the end of the estate, just as the street heads down toward the station. I know she must be parked up in the same place.

She looks just as stunning as I remember, wearing a simple red summer dress with her black hair shining in the sun. She’s wearing sandals with open toes. Barely any makeup.

Her walk is hurried but easy. Her head is high.

And I want her.

Oh fuck, how I want her.

My resolve shrivels to nothing. I need this too much to turn back.

I locate her car in the car park long before she arrives – the same red Mini Cooper I watched her get out of last weekend. I pull up into the nearest space for a clear vantage point, with no fucking idea what I’m going to do when she gets here.

Her shoes are still in my glove compartment. I consider handing them over, just like that. Asking her out for a coffee. A walk.

A hunt in the darkness.

Anything.

I’m still debating my approach when her car alarm bleeps. I’m still tripping over my options when she slips into the driver’s seat and pulls away.

It’s instinct that makes me follow her. My cock is throbbing hard by the time she pulls into a petrol station and I pull in after her.

She fills up and I do too. There’s a fuel pump between us and she remains oblivious.

I love how oblivious she is.

She’s ahead of me in the queue and she has no idea. I can smell her coconut shampoo as she stares straight ahead.

She’s close enough to touch. To taste.

I fight the urge to hoist her from her feet and abduct her in plain daylight. It takes everything I have not to call her name.

Two cashiers become free at once. She steps up to the counter and so do I.

I hand my card over just as she looks away. She crouches and picks up a packet of fruit sweets from the display stand.

And then she registers my shadow.

Her eyes move up slowly, from my boots to my eyes.

Hers widen. Mine hold firm.

She doesn’t know me, but she thinks she does.

Some deep part of her knows she does.

The cashier hands my card back across the counter and I take it.

My black swan’s mouth drops open as she sees the back of my hand.

The picture. Of course.

I sent her the picture.

She drops her sweets with a gasp. They literally tumble right out of her fingers. They crash to the floor and I’m straight down after them.

“Butter fingers,” I say with a smile. Her hands are shaking as I give them back to her.

Her whole body is shaking.

“Miss?” her cashier asks, but she doesn’t move. “Miss, if you could pay for your fuel…”

She stutters, fumbles.

I smile at her beautiful awkwardness.

And then I clear my space in the queue.

“Wait!” she calls, but I don’t respond. “Wait, just a minute!” she calls again, and I look back in time to see her frantically keying in her PIN number.

And now it’s my turn to hear her frantic footsteps behind me as I step out through the door.FifteenStranger, if you, passing, meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?

Walt WhitmanAbigailIt’s him.

It has to be him.

I know it’s him.

Every nerve is firing, every intuition I’ve ever had paling into insignificance next to this one.

I can’t pay for my fuel quickly enough. It’s desperation that makes me call out to him.

“Wait!”

He doesn’t even slow down.

“Wait, just a minute!” I call again, but he doesn’t look back.

I swear under my breath as I shove the stupid sweets into my handbag. I’m forcing my purse in after them as I dart through the queue and throw myself through the open door.

Fuck.

I scan the cars at the fuel pumps but don’t see him. It’s only when I take a step to the right that I see him heading for a truck at the far side.

Opposite me. He was at the pump opposite me. I must’ve been right next to him.

My sandals make a slapping sound on the forecourt as I dash over. I may be wired like a fucking crazy, but there’s no way I’m letting him leave. Not without knowing for sure how I can see him again.