She turned back toward her house and began to walk slowly. She still could die very young. Just because she was feeling stronger and she was with Savage didn’t mean her heart was suddenly better. She hadn’t gone to a doctor. They hadn’t actually been successful at stopping her from taking on an illness, because they hadn’t tried yet. She still wanted to live life to the fullest, experience everything she could. She didn’t want to miss anything. Why was she suddenly thinking about retreating from Savage? It made no sense. She was panicking, just the way she always did.

She put her hand over the ring he’d had made for her. She was looking up the diamond when she got home. She’d never seen one like that. She knew Ice was a famous jeweler, although few knew he was a biker, just that his pieces were sought-after. She was certain that if anyone knew he was a biker, it would make the demand for his jewelry skyrocket.

Savage and she had just moved so fast, she felt like she couldn’t catch her breath. She was a processor. She liked to think about things. She wasn’t impulsive, as a rule. She liked the way they’d been at the beginning of their relationship, when she could lie on the bed with him and not worry about what was coming next and how fast she’d have to get there. At least, that was what she told herself, because it was so much easier than facing the truth.

Seychelle didn’t want to have to figure out why she’d been born the way she was. Or if not born with those little dark corners, why she’d developed them. How deep did they go? Could she stop before she got into territory that was beyond what she thought was too much? How much was too much? How did she even answer those questions? She needed to go into her haven of safety, sit in her favorite spot on the bed and just let herself meditate. Maybe the answer would come.

The house was cool and shadowy when she unlocked the front door and stepped inside. All the shades were drawn over the windows. She frowned, wondering if Savage had pulled them down so people couldn’t see in while they were at the other house. She’d never done that. She had live plants in the house, and they thrived on light. She went to the window closest to the door and raised that shade.

It wasn’t like her cottage was large. The rooms flowed into one another, and when she turned and looked straight from the cozy living room to her kitchen, her breath caught in her throat. Facing her, seated at the table as if he belonged there, was Joseph Arnold. There was a gun in front of him, just lying there on the kitchen table, right within his reach.

“You’re home.” He sounded strange, like a lover welcoming her back after a long absence.

Seychelle’s mouth went dry, and she glanced at the door. She was only a few feet from it. Could she make it out? She had no idea why, but she knew with absolute certainty he had come there to kill her. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you. I didn’t think you’d ever get back. Those old ladies take up far too much of your time, Seychelle. You’re always helping them when you should be paying attention to your duties here at home,” Joseph scolded.

A million things ran through her mind at top speed. She’d read about stalkers when Joseph Arnold had first begun turning up at every venue she’d sung at. Then small things disappeared from her home. She’d talked to a police officer in San Francisco. The officer had been kind but explained that Arnold hadn’t really done anything that could be construed as threatening at that point. Once he identified himself as a music scout, he appeared to be trying to help her. The cop believed her, but still said with regret that there was nothing they could do. They couldn’t catch him at anything.

Seychelle had tried to be very clear with each encounter she’d had with Joseph that she wasn’t interested, but it never seemed to faze him. He kept following her everywhere she went. She’d thought after Savage’s rather violent reaction, he would stop, but he didn’t. There he sat, right at her kitchen table, as if he owned the place—and her. He acted as if he thought they were in a relationship.

She walked farther into the room, going to the next window and raising the shade. “You know something? You’re right. I do spend way too much time with all of them. I feel so bad for them. Most of them are completely alone in the world. I sort their medications out for them and make certain they have groceries, but I do stay too long. It tires me out.”

Tags: Christine Feehan Torpedo Ink Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net