Page 10 of Redemption (Favorite Malady Duet #2)

DANE

Two Months Ago

I straighten the painting on the freshly mounted hanger and then step back to check my work. The stormy sea is perfectly parallel with the top of the chest of drawers in my cramped little bedroom.

There’s barely space in here for my king-size bed and a few basic furnishings, but I’ve made this ramshackle house comfortable enough.

I finalized the cash sale three days ago, and I’ve spent the weekend setting up the bedroom.

The rest of the house doesn’t need to be furnished—it’s best if it continues to appear uninhabited.

I don’t want Abigail to get curious about her new neighbor. I plan to watch her from my garden across the street from her apartment building, and she’ll never know I’m here.

My larger, grander house across town is much more comfortable than this aged home with its peeling, powder blue exterior. It’s been vacant for some time, and the owners were all too eager to sell above market price without an inspection.

I still haven’t decided how or when I’ll approach her outside of our brief, daily meetings at the café. For now, I’m enjoying my clandestine study of my prey. Watching her is thrilling, fascinating like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

Earlier this afternoon, I acquired her painting—the first one I ever saw her paint. She has a modest stall at the market, and a clueless tourist bought the stormy beach scene.

The never would’ve appreciated the piece like I do.

So, I waited for them to leave the market and then purchased it from them. They didn’t mind parting with the treasure for a measly hundred-dollar bill.

I sit back on my new bed and stare up at the painting. It deserves a far better display than the yellowing wallpaper in this dilapidated house, but for now, it will have to do.

In fact, if I acquire more of her art, I can conceal the cracks in the walls entirely.

I’ll go back to the market next weekend and buy all of the paintings she sells to the appreciative tourists. They might enjoy her artistic style, but they’re just looking for a pretty souvenir. I’m confident that my cash will be enough to convince them to hand over their purchases.

I love watching Abigail paint late into the night—especially her darker, erotic masterpieces—but the time she spends typing at her laptop is infuriating. I can’t see what she’s writing, and that’s maddening.

Untenable.

I’ve formulated a plan to satisfy my burning curiosity. It’s risky, but I can’t deny that the risk is exhilarating.

I leave the bedroom and step out into the night. The street is quiet, and Abigail’s window is dark. She’s not home. I followed her to make sure of it almost an hour ago. It’s half past nine, and she’s at the dive bar where we first met.

The meeting she doesn’t remember.

I force my tense jaw to relax. If I’d conquered Abigail in one night, I wouldn’t experience this life-changing hunt.

She frustrates me, but I can’t deny that this is the most entertainment I’ve ever experienced when pursuing a beautiful woman.

She doesn’t know the game we’re playing, but I’m enjoying it immensely.

When I take the first step across the empty street, all of my senses come alive in a way I’ve never known. I’m inside the ground floor breezeway of her building within seconds, tucked out of sight in the shadows.

My fingers shake slightly when I reach into my pocket, so I fist them around the lock picking kit I purchased online.

As a surgeon, I’m known for my steady hands. This anomaly is completely out of character, a novelty. Adrenaline hums through my veins, an almost giddy rush.

But there’s no one around to witness my crime.

I won’t be caught. I won’t be caged.

Despite that knowledge, my body feels as though I might as well be skydiving rather than quietly breaking into her apartment.

My heart pounds against my ribcage when the lock disengages, and her front door swings open with a rusty squeak. I can navigate the cramped space by the streetlight that filters through the large living room window; it would be stupid to turn on the lights.

No matter how I’m craving to study every detail of her home.

Curiosity nips at me, an insistent bite, but I force myself to focus on my goal: finding her laptop. I have to be smart about this, so I’ll be in and out of her apartment as quickly as possible. There’s no time to indulge myself in fully exploring her place.

I often see her writing while she’s curled up on her couch, but it only takes a few seconds for me to ascertain that her laptop isn’t there. She usually carries it with her into her bedroom once she’s finished with her feverish, mysterious typing.

I cross the living room in a few long strides and enter her darkened bedroom.

My gaze skates over the small figurines that cover her dresser and the haphazard stacks of books overflowing from her nightstand. The temptation to study her trinkets and preferred literature is powerful enough to test my resolve. I take a breath and remind myself that I’m in control.

She fascinates me, but her allure isn’t strong enough to compel my actions.

I risked this break-in for a single purpose, so I keep my focus on finding her laptop.

It’s on the floor beside a stack of books, tucked halfway under the bed. Was she looking at something online late at night? Maybe she has a particular, perverted website she likes to visit.

I’ll make sure to check her browser history as well as any personal documents she’s written.

Any insight into her sexual preferences will help me seduce her. And if I’m right about her kinky predilections, I’ll feel more secure showing her the darkest aspects of my cruel nature. There will be less risk involved if I know exactly what she wants me to do to her.

I set the laptop on the bed, which is an unmade tangle of sheets.

My lips twist with distaste. Abigail is untidy.

A bad habit I will have to break once she’s mine.

I shake off the possessive thought and ignore the unease that stirs in my gut at how fiercely I want this woman.

The laptop instantly illuminates when I open it. A photo of the beach fills the screen, and a small icon with her face is framed in a circle at the center of the idyllic image. There’s a text box just beneath it, the cursor flickering in a mocking rhythm.

Fuck.

It’s password protected.

Her secrets are in my hands but hopelessly out of reach.

I narrow my eyes at the computer as though it’s a particularly irksome enemy that I’m about to eviscerate. For a few long seconds, my fingers hover over the keyboard. I contemplate guessing her password.

But I have no idea if my attempts will be logged somehow. Even worse, I could end up locked out entirely. Abigail will definitely know someone has tampered with it if that happens.

She’ll know someone was in her home while she was out.

She might call the police. There could be an investigation.

No, I can’t try to guess her password. And I’m no hacker, even if I’m proficient with technology. It’s a skill I’ve learned just like any other to progress my career, but I’ve never needed to learn how to break into a woman’s private laptop.

My hands clench to fists just above the keyboard.

I’m going to have to leave unsatisfied.

The distinctive sound of a key scraping a lock grates down my spine. Her front door creaks open, and my stomach drops.

Abigail is home early.

She was supposed to stay at the bar for at least another two hours. She usually indulges with her friends until nearly midnight when she goes out.

Fuck!

I’ve only been watching her for a few weeks. I was a fool to think I could fully learn her habits in that time. Abigail is quirky, difficult to pin down. I should’ve known that I couldn’t rely on her to stick to any sort of schedule.

I quickly close the laptop, and my eyes can’t quite adjust to the darkness in the absence of artificial light from the screen. Her soft footsteps pad across the living room. In less than three seconds, she’ll enter her bedroom and find me here. She’ll scream for help.

And I’ll end up in a cage.

I grit my teeth and dive under her bed.

I will not go to prison.

Even if the prospect of hiding from her is somewhat preposterous. It feels intrinsically wrong to be cowering in the shadows, as though this delicate woman could pose any threat to me.

But I don’t have a choice. I’ll have to remain quiet and hidden until I can slip out of her apartment without being noticed.

That might mean spending the entire night down here.

My fingernails dig into my palms, and I draw in a deep breath as quietly as I can manage.

Can she hear my heart hammering? My blood is pounding in my ears.

If I felt like I was skydiving before, now I’m in freefall without a parachute. The peril isn’t just pretend anymore. If I’m caught…

I gnash my teeth and forcibly close off that line of thinking. Spiraling into anxiety won’t help get me out of this farcical situation.

I can’t do anything except remain still and draw in careful breaths. The adrenaline thrums through me, making my limbs shaky and my mind fizzy. It’s terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

I’ve never experienced anything this powerful, and even though I’m losing control, I revel in the intense new emotions. Ensconced in darkness, I allow myself to sink into the fear-soaked physical responses, marveling at the way my breath shudders in and out of my tight lungs.

Even this existential dread is a gift only she can give me.

I can hardly wait for the day I feel the opposite. How visceral will my pleasure be when I finally claim her?

The prospect causes my muscles to coil in carnal anticipation, and to my shock, my cock begins to stiffen.

Before I can fully process the fact that I’m getting a hard-on, she turns on the bedside lamp. Then her soft cotton, periwinkle blue dress drops onto the hardwood floor, and I can no longer deny my erection.

Her panties drop next: pale pink cotton briefs.