I attempted to focus on something else. Unfortunately, the only other thing grabbing my attention was how hungry I was.
My stomach growled in resentment.
“Shut up.”
The second growl overpowered the thunder. Clearly, my muffled command had only served to antagonize the hunger monsters more.
Oh, screw it.
I tossed my covers to the side and tiptoed into the hall.
It was almost three o’clock, the devil’s hour, and a shiver snaked down my spine. The house transformed into a different entity at night, when twisted shadows danced on the walls and the silence took on a menacing weight.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been cast as the unsuspecting lead in a horror flick, unknowingly walking to her gruesome death when she should’ve stayed safe and warm in bed.
Stupid Asher. I blamed my paranoia on him. Did he really think a story about a countryside manor haunted by sinister spirits was the best movie to watch before bed?
Maybe that was why I couldn’t sleep. My subconscious was protecting me from potential nightmares. It had nothing to do with anyone initialed A.D.
I made it downstairs and through the living room with the help of my trusty mantra.
Ghosts don’t exist. Ghosts don’t exist. Ghosts don’t
?-
I turned the corner and stopped dead in my tracks. Pale light spilled through the kitchen doorway, alerting me to the fact that someone-or some thing- was already inside.
I finally understood how the characters in horror films felt because while self-preservation screamed at me to run away, morbid curiosity propelled me forward.
Apologies to every stupid character I’ve ever lambasted for making poor decisions. It turns out I, too, am a stupid character who makes poor decisions.
I peeked around the doorway, my heart jackrabbiting in my chest. A tall, dark figure stood near the open fridge, wielding a knife.
I couldn’t help it.
I screamed.
“Aaaahhh!!”
“Aaaahhh!!”
The figure whirled around. His knife clattered to the floor as our simultaneous screams shredded the silence.
I didn’t think. I simply darted inside, grabbed a nearby frying pan, and swung it toward his head before he recovered from his surprise.
He ducked just in time. I swung again, but he grabbed my arm mid-arc and sent us both tumbling to the ground.
He hit the tile first with an audible groan. I straddled him and brought the frying pan over my head.
I was acting on pure instinct at this point. If I stopped moving, fear would take over, and I couldn’t allow that to happen. Someone was going to get hurt, and it wasn’t going to be me.
Not today, Satan.
I was about to swing the pan down when a familiar voice pierced my cloud of adrenaline.
“Scarlett, stop!”
Wait. Was that…
I blinked, my mindless haze parting to reveal a sharp jaw and emerald eyes. “Asher?”
“Obviously,” he grumbled. “Who did you think I was?”
“I thought you were an intruder.” My heart continued to race as it scrambled to catch up with this new development.
“Why would you think that?” Asher eyed my white-knuckled grip on the pan with wariness.
Oh my God. I’d almost bashed Asher Donovan’s face in with cookware.
I flushed and quickly set the pan on the floor. “I came downstairs for a snack and saw the light from the kitchen. I didn’t realize…”
“That I might’ve gotten the same idea?” he finished, his tone dry.
The flush spread to my neck and chest.
My mind had somehow leapfrogged over the most logical answer and straight to the worst-case scenario.
I wanted the floor to open me up and swallow me whole. Free falling into hell couldn’t be worse than assaulting my host with surgical-grade stainless steel.
“I was being cautious. If you had been an intruder…” I trailed off.
Don’t make it worse. “Anyway, I apologize.” I should get that out before my face exploded from mortification. “I didn’t mean to, um, almost kill you.”
“Apology accepted.”
Relief ballooned at the twinge of amusement in his response.
Good. He wasn’t that upset.
Getting hauled off on attempted murder charges would’ve put a serious damper on my weekend.
The hum of the fridge crept between us. He hadn’t closed the door before I swung at him, and the blast of cold air sent goose bumps rippling up and down my arms. Asher’s body was the only source of warmth.
My eyes drifted down of their own accord. A soft green T-shirt molded to his shoulders and chest, not too tight but just enough to hint at the sculpted eight-pack underneath. Unlike the bright, piercing hue of his eyes, the shirt was so faded it was almost gray. It’d ridden up during our altercation, revealing a strip of tanned skin above the waistband of his sweats.
So this was what he wore to sleep.
It was so casual yet intimate, like he’d unwittingly offered me a peek at his most private?-
“Scarlett.”
“Hmm?”
“I hate to interrupt your ogling, but can you please get up? As much as I love having you on top of me, this tile wasn’t designed for comfort.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.