Falling for the Killer

I got out of bed, still wearing the clothes I had on the night before. The door locked like he promised, but I still didn’t trust him enough to strip down and sleep without my pants on or something. I slipped out into the hall and padded softly down the steps.

He on the couch drinking coffee. ESPN was on the TV though the sound was on mute. He had a laptop open and he was looking at something, and I paused in the hallway, staring with my mouth hanging slightly open. I started chewing on my thumb, which was a habit my mother literally beat out of me when I was a little girl, something I hadn’t done in forever.

He was shirtless, and his muscular torso practically glistened in the morning light. I realized he’d been working out—free weights were stacked on the floor beside the couch. Light came in through the front and I hovered there on the verge of saying something when he looked up and smiled.

His handsome face lit up and it felt like my breath was sucked from my throat. I couldn’t remember a time when anyone looked at me like that, like he was happy to see me, and wasn’t thinking about what he could get from me.

That was my life. Everyone I ever met thought about what they could use me for. My parents were constantly worrying about putting me into a good marriage, and my friends all wanted a bit of my family connections and money, and even my older brother saw me as a pawn in some game.

Gian didn’t look at me like that. He only nodded toward the kitchen. “Coffee’s in there,” he said. “Help yourself. I can make you something to eat if you want.”

“No, thanks,” I said, and quickly got myself a mug. It was hot and good, and I lingered near the table, watching him as he shut the laptop lid and leaned back on the couch.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked.

“Surprisingly good,” I said. “I thought I’d be up all night but I guess I was exhausted.”

He nodded as if to himself. “Stress can do that.”

“I guess I should thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, grinning a bit. “For not breaking down your door?”

“Well, yes, that too,” I said, blushing a little.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Although I think you would’ve liked it.”

I let out a huff and rolled my eyes. This man was such an asshole, and yet I liked his confidence. It wasn’t the kind of arrogance that came with money and years of training, but more like something natural, something earned. It was the easy, carefree attitude of a man that was very much at home in himself, and happy with what he was and what he could do.

The men in my life weren’t like that at all. Stuart was as far from that as possible. Stuart spent every waking moment comparing himself to everyone else around him and wondering if he was as good as them. He thought about money as a status symbol, and was obsessed with accumulating as much as possible. My father was like that, my mother and brother and friends. It was all obsessing and worrying and status-seeking.

Not Gian though. He seemed utterly self-possessed, and it was refreshing.

“I just mean, thanks for letting me stay,” I said. “I think I needed it. A little time away from my family.”

He nodded at the table. “Sit down,” he said.

I listened for some reason. He got up and joined me, sitting across the table. I felt like we were at some kind of business meeting, or maybe a job interview. He leaned toward me, muscular arms bulging, which wasn’t very professional at all but at least I didn’t mind the view.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I genuinely don’t know,” I said. “I guess I have to tell my family. From there, I don’t know what’ll happen.”

He nodded slowly. “Have you thought your options?” he asked.

I gripped the mug hard and clenched my jaw. “I’m keeping the baby, if that’s what you mean.” I looked up, ready to chew him out for even hinting at taking such an extreme measure—but stopped myself. He seemed surprised and he was shaking his head.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “That’s not what I meant. Not even close.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, surprised at the vehemence in his tone.

“I meant, have you thought about not going back home?” he asked, eyes liquid fire. He leaned closer. “I’m the father of that baby. I could take care of you both.”

I stared back at him and for one brief, wild moment, I let myself think about my life if I took him up on that offer. I’d be a mob wife, and he’d be my prince, and maybe I’d be happy. I’d certainly walk away from high society and I’d never have to see Stuart’s abusive, simpering face again.