Page 90 of Paranoid

She swallowed hard, her heart beating like a drum, and wondered if she was making an irreversible mistake.

But she wasn’t going there. Not now. She was with Xander and she wanted to be here, with him, and no matter what, she had the right to live her own life, to fall in love with whomever she pleased. No, she wasn’t going to second-guess herself. At least not tonight.

He parked in the lot that separated the law office from the property to the west, the old St. Augustine School.

He led her to the back door and inside to a staircase. Up the stairs they hurried to the second floor and her grandfather’s little apartment, one room with a connecting bath and a kitchen stretched along one wall. A television was aglow in the corner, some late-late show turned down low. A café table with two tall chairs sat in a spot near the single window, with its view across the parking lot to the fenced school yard next door, the school property.

A single lamp burned near the sofa, but he snapped it off, picked up the remote, and killed the TV as well. The room became darker, the only bit of shifting light coming from the partially open window, where a security lamp offered a cool blue aura, and a soft breeze entered, dissipating some of the smell of a recently applied coat of paint.

Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her close. Then he kissed her. Gently at first and then more urgently, in a way that made her tingle all over, a way that caused her bones to melt. His tongue was pure magic, touching and flicking with hers, and she kissed him back, closing her eyes and losing herself.

This was what it was like to be in love. Real love. Not puppy love or whatever you called it.

He bent his knees and they tumbled onto the makeshift bed, a small part of her wondering if she was making a mistake, but just a very small part.

This was sooo right.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, kicking off his shoes.

“Me too.” She toed off one Nike, then the other, kicked them away.

He kissed her again, his hands slipping under her sweatshirt and up her abdomen, his fingertips brushing across the top of her breast. Within her bra, her nipple tightened. She was breathing faster than normal as he yanked off his hoody and T-shirt, exposing a ripple of muscles on his chest and abdomen.

“C’mon,” he said and helped her out of her sweatshirt and began kissing the top of her breasts. A low moan escaped her throat as he skimmed the lace of her bra with his tongue, his warm breath piercing the sheer fabric.

Deep inside, she began to ache, to want.

She reveled in the feel of his weight as he rolled atop her, pinning her down with his hips and levering himself on an elbow to stare down at her.

This is dangerous! a part of her brain was screaming as he turned her slightly, reaching behind and unhooking her bra, tugging on the scrap of lace until it fell away.

No, no, no! This is so right. Meant to be, an arguing part of her mind replied.

Harper ignored her doubts and told herself to just trust him. To love him.

She felt his gaze skate down her body.

His face was in shadow, the whites of his eyes visible, the scent of him filling her nostrils as the room closed in on her, growing more intimate, making her feel that they were alone in the universe, two like souls.

“I love you,” he whispered across her breast, the warm air inviting, his words seductive. He touched the very tip of her nipple with his tongue and she felt the slow-growing need deep within, a pulsing desire. Instinctively, she reached up, laced her fingers through his thick hair, and pulled his head closer, forcing her breast into his mouth, arched her back, felt the hardness beneath his jeans.

This was right, so right . . . and . . . and . . .

Creeeeeak, the sound like a heavy bough swaying in the wind rippled through the room.

Harper froze.

Her heart thudded as she strained to listen.

“Help,” a weak voice reached through the room.

He, too, became a statue. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes.”

They waited.

Nothing.