What does he want? The possibilities are bone-chilling.
I do my best to jettison panic and think of ways to wrest free. Will Mrs. Crafton call the police if I scream?
Before I can, the intruder covers my mouth with his enormous palm.
Rush
Inside my car parked across the street from Vanessa Hartley’s little cottage, I watch her.
Like I always do. Every day.
I watch her vault out of her car. I watch the rain soak her and plaster her soft cotton clothes against every curve God gave her. I watch her sprint to the porch and laugh at the rain.
I watch with my cock throbbing.
It’s not the first time. It won’t be the last. And it sucks.
She’s totally unattainable. Off-limits. Forbidden. She’s a sparkling diamond I’m meant to gawk in awe at, not one I’ll ever have the chance—or the right—to touch.
Lusting after the boss’s daughter is never a good idea, but with her, it’s downright dangerous. Acting on it could get me killed. Her father is a lethal motherfucker with power and connections. No one sane crosses him.
I’d walk away from my unhealthy obsession, but she’s part of my job. Now, watching over her is my purpose. Wanting her endlessly has become my punishment. Never having her is my penance.
It’s worse because, in the last seven months—no, it’s been coming for years—I fell for her.
My life is fucking torture.
I wait patiently, like I do every night she goes home after work, for her to go inside, turn on the lights, make herself dinner, sit at her desk that faces the street, biting her lip and twirling a lock of hair around her finger while she finishes her homework.
At somewhere just after ten o’clock, she turns off her laptop, disappears into her shower for eight minutes, thirteen if she washes all those long blond curls, then retires to bed to read. If she’s not enjoying the book, she’ll kill the lights within ten minutes. If she is enjoying it, the lights might not go off until midnight. If she’s really loving it, the lights will go off…then turn back on a few minutes later—after her self-induced orgasm.
I wish like hell I was the man heaping pleasure on her. But I’ve been warned away. Look but don’t touch. Fantasize but don’t cross the line.
I feel like a dog choked by a too-tight collar. I fucking hate it.
But the men I’m protecting her from are the scourges and dregs of the criminal world. The worst of the worst. She needs me…even if she doesn’t know it. I don’t dare walk away. I can’t.
Especially since I already know the taste of Vanessa’s sweet kiss. I’m haunted by it. And if my boss knew I was the first man to taste the innocence of his baby girl’s lips, I’d be dead.
It’s a no-win situation.
Tonight, Vanessa takes refuge from the storm on her porch. When it stops abruptly, she chats with her elderly neighbor, grabs her mail, and heads inside. All normal.
I wait for the lights to come on. And I wait. And I wait some more.
They don’t. She’s still standing in the dark.
I frown.
Something is wrong. Trouble brews in my gut. I’m still alive because I’ve learned to listen to my instincts.
So I do the one thing I haven’t done in all the months of watching her. I get out of my car and head for her house.
Ahead of me, the wind blows her door ajar. I see no sign of her. That’s not good. Standing in the gathering darkness, I peer through the crack and see only the vague outline of her purse on a nearby chair. There’s a pile of something—clothes?—on the kitchen floor. Her alarm isn’t whining.
Vanessa is nowhere in sight.
Before I charge in, she comes tearing around the corner. The moonlight shafting through the windows tells me she’s not naked—but it’s close. It also puts her figure in silhouette. Under the silvery beams, I glimpse a flash of her pale hair and creamy, soft skin. The rest of her is all but swallowed up by stark shadows that outline the jut of her breasts and the hard points of her nipples. The slight sway of her back is like a willow—bending and moving with grace. The round curves of her pert ass attest to her youth and enthusiasm for Pilates. Her thighs are slender, her calves strong, and her feet delicate.
I burn. I hunger. I need.
I push it aside when I realize she’s running to the kitchen like her very fine ass is on fire and she scoops up her clothes.
Before I can charge in and find out what’s wrong, she yanks her slightly squeaky front door wide open. She’s not expecting me. I don’t want to scare the hell out of her. But the way she’s scrambling and trembling tells me that ship has sailed.