Page 6 of Salvage Him

We exited again, and I opened my eyes. As we took a left at the light, my eyes widened. I sat up in my seat as we entered a neighborhood. Massive homes appeared right off thehighway.

The driversloweddown.

I took in the ornate doors, beautiful architecture, and immaculate landscapes, one after another. We drove a few minutes down the street, deeper into the beautiful neighborhood with expensive houses on plushgreenlots.

"Welcome to Highland Park." The driver motioned withhishand.

"It's beautiful," I said as a modern white and brown contemporary home caught my eye. It sat next to a white colonial with black shutters on one side and a pale pink Mediterranean house on the other. All three of the homes somehow fit theneighborhood.

Mr. O'Connell took a left and anotherright.

I sat up in the car seat to get a better look. As we passed a massive modern structure with glass windows and doors, my head turned to check out the woodwork. I didn't realize we had pulled into a circulardriveway.

The driver stopped in front of a ten-foot ornate metal gate. Behind the gate stood a gray stone structure. It might have been a Tudor-style home with the high-pitched roof and ornate windows, but someone changed their mind halfway through construction and tried to make it a modern design but with gray stone,dungeongray.

The center of the house had symmetrical windows, upstairs and downstairs on either side of the massive black iron door. That's where the symmetry ended. The right side of the house loomed over the front gate. The section on the left sunk into the lot and continued behind the gate out of myeyesight.

I exited the car as a thunderclap exploded to my left. I jumped, looked back at Mr. O’Connell, and continued toward thehouse.

I pushed the gate open. It creaked andstopped.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" I asked. I pushed harder, but it wouldn'tbudge.

"Yes, ma . . . , Brooklyn. It's the address Mr. McIntyre gave me." We both looked through the gate. "Let megetthat."

Mr. O’Connell lifted the gate and swungitopen.

A chill ran up my spine as I stepped inside. The house ended on a sharp right angle inches from an eight-foot gray stone wall, constructed out of the leftover pieces from thehouse.

I scanned back to the center of my new home. The dungeon door growled opened, and Paulsteppedout.

"Brooke, my love. You made it. Welcome to Dallas." He ran up and wrapped his arms around my waist. He lifted me as he nuzzled my neck with kisses. "I'm so glad you're finally here." He set me down withajolt.

I grabbed his forearm to steady myself as he turned us to face thehouse.

"What do you think?" He swung an arm over myshoulder.

I stared at him out of the corner ofmyeye.

His perfectly coiffed brown hair with blond highlights didn't move when he ran his hands through it. We stood the same height and were close to the sameweight.

His thousand-watt smile used to put meatease.

I frowned and looked back at the house, wondering when I stopped feeling it. My attraction to him ebbed and flowed, but we never stayed in the same place together long enough for it to be anissue.

When people saw us together, they got thewrongidea.

He was older than me, by thirteen years. He used his modest trust fund, provided by his grandmother's estate, and turned it into a thriving real estate development business. He worked hard and traveled all over the world developing projects. Dallas was another stop on theadventure.

At least, that's what I told myself. Being with Paul McIntyre was an adventure. That was the promiseanyway.

I rubbed my hand over his and wondered when that idea hadchanged,too.

I looked back and found Mr. O'Connell standing outside the gate. I gave himanod.

He returned with a reassuring grin but stayed standing with his hands in hispockets.

I turned backtoPaul.