Instead he was stuck with this woman, who was stepping closer, her hand reaching out to trace over the badge of his sleeve. “UPS, huh? So… if I order something, you’ll handle the package?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

He said nothing and glanced toward Deanna’s door. Wondered if his girlfriend was catching this. If she cared. If she was about to open up the door and yank him inside. His cock awoke at that thought, at the reminder of what the last interaction with this woman had led Deanna to do. Wondered what it would take to push her buttons back to that point. He let his eyes return to the blonde, whose hand slid lower and wrapped around his bicep. “Wow,” she gushed. “You’re so strong.” He reached across and gently wrapped his hand around her small wrist, pulling gently, her grip releasing at the contact. He glanced at the door and willed it to open. Welcomed whatever punishment his beautiful brunette wanted to dish out.

“Don’t worry about her,” she whispered. “Simon says the freak never comes out.”

“She’s not a freak.” He dropped his hand from hers and met her eyes, which widened slightly at his tone.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… he said she—”

“Simon should mind his own business,” he said darkly.

Her eyes fell downward, as did her hand, the returning push to her pockets drawing her pants a little farther down. Her panties were sheer lace. High on the sides. She didn’t, from this angle, appear to have tan lines. His cock refused to soften from his earlier fantasy; it pushed stubbornly. He needed to turn around and leave. Fuck provoking Deanna. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, softer this time, a whisper of submission.

I’m sorry. Had Deanna ever apologized to him? Ever? Maybe at the hospital. Maybe. She wasn’t the apologizing sort, not like this woman, who was now meekly glancing up, through thick lashes. Meekly. It activated a sudden, unnecessary, caveman urge to protect her. “It’s okay,” he said quickly, stepping back before he reached out. “I’ve got to run. Other deliveries.”

“Sure.” She stepped back, mirroring his move, the space between them stretching farther. “I’ll see you around.”

“Chelsea, right?” Her name came to him like manna, and her mouth curved at the name, a smile spreading over her face.

“Yeah.”

“See you later.”

When she waved good-bye, her breasts shook a little from the motion. He turned quickly and walked toward the elevator. Fought the urge not to run.

He’d turned into a pussy.

CHAPTER 20

Past

I SAW IT all. That slut with her paws all over Jeremy. When I shut the door in his face, I put my hands on the door, twin cracks of phalanges on either side of the peephole, my forehead resting above it. I breathed hard when she came in stage left. Stepped away and shook my hands to relax my arms. Yanked open the safe, pulled out the closest switchblade and flipped it in my hands just to refamiliarize myself with its weight. Snapped the blade out and then in as I leaned against the door and gritted my teeth. Watched him reach out his hand and touch her. Turned his head and looked at me. I stepped back, spun around. Dropped the knife before I used it. Raised hands to my head and gripped my hair. Backed up until my heel hit the door and I sank against it. Turned my good ear to the steel.

“Chelsea, right?”

“Yeah.”

“See you later.”

Chelsea, right? See you later. He had reached out and touched her. Smiled at her. Had glanced toward the peephole like he was motherfucking goading me.

I will kill him.

Slowly. Seductively. Painfully.

I will kill him.

CHAPTER 21

Past

JEREMY CALLED DEANNA from the truck, the cold metal of his cell against his ear, the shake of the truck roaring to life. His GPS chirped at the same time that her voice mail came on, the cheery tone absolutely false to the girl six stories above him. He pulled out abruptly, the squeal of tires promptly accompanied by a horn, his side mirror giving him a clear view of the Ford Focus that he’d almost hit. He let out an aggravated sigh and spoke tersely into the phone.

“Deanna. What the fuck was that? Call me. I don’t know if this is about dinner at my sister’s or what but… just call me.” He hung up the phone and swore, tossing it into the open glove box, the cell hitting just short and bouncing down into the floorboard. He ground his teeth and took a right, accelerating onto the freeway. He didn’t need this. She was always a loose cannon, but one that had come with clear rules. Habits. Habits that involved him having, as one of the few strengths in their relationship, free access to her apartment. Never, not since they officially dove into this whirlwind of a relationship, had she done that. Shut him out. Locked the door. Well… once she had.

“If you love me, you need to let me go right now. Trust in me, in us, and go home.”

And he’d trusted her that day. Had been the good submissive boyfriend that he was and had gone home. A colossal mistake, one that had almost killed him. But their relationship had changed since then. Strengthened. They’d grown closer. Shared more. Their lives had intertwined tighter, the strands of their connection thicker. Unbreakable. A week ago he’d have said they were unbreakable. Now, they felt like china. Delicate, breakable china.

It had been the invite to dinner. Had to have been. He’d pushed her. He didn’t ever push her. Didn’t like to rock the boat. Enjoyed her smile too much. So why had he pushed? Part of it had been his sister. Her questions. Her points. Her pushing to light all of the things that he liked to bury and ignore. She’d been right, his sister. She always was. And it had been her silent questions, her silent pokes, that he had heard the loudest.

He’d been out of the apartment with Deanna. They’d gone on dates, and it was fine. So why was she still locked up? Why still live the life of a recluse? Why could she go to Outback with him but not to his sister’s house?

And then there was the other issue, the nagging thought he’d been pushing around for the last few months. The thought that had been growing roots every time he broke her rules and logged onto the camsite. Eavesdropped on her in free chat and watched her work. When she was on camera, she was someone else. She smiled differently. Laughed more. Cracked jokes. Danced. On camera she played the role so well that he forgot the truth. Believed that she was a nineteen-year-old college student who went to keg parties on the weekends. And every time he watched her work, his hypothesis grew.

Maybe her self-imposed exile was just an excuse. To stay online. To keep her job. To excuse her behavior and stuff it behind the “it’s my only option” shield. As far as he knew, she had never acted on her so-called urges. Maybe she’d imagined the whole thing. Was an overly dramatic individual who liked the attention and drama of locking herself away. Had grown addicted to her job and decided to keep the status quo. Play with naïve him while still enjoying all the perks of her prior life.

Maybe he was the fool in all this and she was laughing at him right now. Up in her Mulholland Oaks tower, surrounded by the lights and the cash and her hundreds of admirers.