Page 17

Fourteen

Past

T he speaking engagement went well. I’m tired from being ‘on’ all afternoon and I can’t wait to settle in for the night.

Flower baskets hang in profusion from the porch.

Adirondack chairs are arranged to allow an unrestricted view of the ocean.

Dentil molding and window trims make the building eye-catching. It’s beautiful here.

The moment I step into the dimly lit lobby of the Ocean Voyeur Bed and Breakfast, something cold and insidious slithers down my spine. The air is warm, laced with the scent of polished wood and something faintly sweet—vanilla, maybe. It should be comforting. It isn’t.

I set my bag down and exhale, forcing my shoulders to relax, already missing the comfort of home and Flash.

This is fine. A simple mix-up, that’s all.

I’d told Nora I wanted to stay one night—and she, in all her well-meaning enthusiasm, booked me two nights instead of one, a so-called ‘weekend getaway.’

“Dr. Richardson.”

My stomach drops. Heat pools low in my belly. I turn slowly, as if any sudden movement might startle him into action. Run , some primal part of me screams, but I don’t.

Cooper leans against the doorway that leads to a sitting area, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. Always watching. Even now, his gaze is a touch too knowing, too hungry.

I swallow past the dryness in my throat.

“Cooper?” I ask evenly, keeping my expression neutral.

His brows lift, amusement flickering in his eyes at the forced formality. “What an unexpected surprise,” he murmurs. His voice is smooth.

I shouldn’t have agreed to start seeing him again for therapy.

That thought strikes hot and fast, as damning as the memory of our last session.

“Desires can be dark, shameful, and wrong,” I had told him, my voice steady despite the weight of his gaze.

“But that’s what makes them right,” he had countered, his words low, reverent.

And now I am here, standing in his domain, where every fiber of my being screams that I am prey.

“I didn’t realize this was your place,” I say, forcing a polite smile as I reach for my bag. “I’ll find another—”

“No need.” Cooper moves in closer, unhurried but deliberate. “Your room is already prepared. Unless, of course, you’d rather leave.” He tilts his head, studying me, his voice lowering to something softer, something nearly intimate. “You don’t have to go, Robin.”

A shiver dances along my spine at the sound of my name in his mouth. He rarely used it.

And the way he says it now…

I should leave.

But I don’t.

Instead, I nod stiffly. “Fine.”

His smile is slow, victorious. “I’ll show you to your room.”

I follow him up the winding staircase, my pulse a traitorous drum in my chest.

This is a mistake.

The hallway is dimly lit, with warm lamplight casting long shadows along the wooden floor. My heart pounds louder with every step.

He stops before a door at the end of the hall, pushing it open with an easy flick of his wrist.

I step inside cautiously, my eyes sweeping over the room. The decor is simple, elegant. A large four-poster bed dominates the space, sheets crisp and untouched. A reading chair is positioned near the window, its fabric worn in a way that suggests use.

I feel him behind me, watching.

When I turn, his eyes are already on me, locked onto my expression as if reading every flicker of thought, every pulse of uncertainty that ripples through me.

Something shifts between us, thick and unspoken.

“I—” My voice falters.

I shouldn’t stay. I should find somewhere else. Go back to the event hotel.

“I’ll let you get settled in.” Cooper turns and leaves.

I shut and lock the door behind him.

Crap.

***

At seven, I head downstairs to grab something to eat and have a glass of wine, or three.

Cooper is nowhere to be found and I’m thankful for the reprieve.

I think back to the sessions we’ve had over the last couple months.

His descriptions of watching people…the way he always said he watched them in a room.

Not outside their home, not from the street, not in public.

Dawning hits me. He owns an Inn. He watches them here. But how? I glance around, scouring the walls and hallways for any sign of a covert spot to watch people, but nothing jumps out at me. Think, Robin.

If this is truly where he watches, his addiction is much worse than I thought. He has free reign, twenty-four-seven here.

All access.

Perturbed, I head back up to my room. The third glass of wine has me feeling loose and warm as I climb the stairs to my room.

Inside, I shut the door and walk to the window. The view is stunning.

Ocean for miles, crashing against the shoreline. The wind whips seaweed on the beach around haphazardly. It is beautiful. I crack the window and inhale the briny scent deeply. I can see why Nora speaks so highly of it.

I bite my lip and turn around. My eyes scan the room—floor to ceiling—looking. My breath catches in my lungs when my gaze snags on it—

The vent.

High on the wall, just above the bed.

A chill seeps into my bones. I almost call out. To see if he’s there. Watching.

How ridiculous.

I flop into the chair and bite my thumbnail in thought, but I can’t shake the feeling that there are eyes on me. I close my eyes in an attempt to stave off the feeling. But…

The idea of him watching me makes my belly whoosh with excitement. Makes me wonder what it would be like to give in. To just have a taste of something out of the ordinary. My mind is loose from the wine.

I glance at the vent and realize I want him to feel caught—like a child, sure my gaze is focused on his, ready to be chastised. Instead of scolding though… I do something else entirely—I vow to make him feel watched for once.

I know he’s there—Cooper, hiding behind the vent louvers like the voyeur that he is. I can feel his eyes on me like weights, heavy and greedy

Eyes glued to the vent louvers, I make a decision. A decision that shocks even me.

I shuck off my coat—slowly. I shrug it off one shoulder at a time, letting the fabric drag across my skin. The coat falls to the floor with a whisper.

Next comes my top. I grip the hem and lift it inch by agonizing inch, letting my fingertips graze my stomach, my ribs, the underside of my breasts. My skin breaks out in gooseflesh.

The fabric catches on my nipples, and I let it linger there for a moment, savoring the way the friction makes me shiver.

My skirt’s next. I unzip it slow as molasses, letting the sound of the zipper ring out in the silence like a bell. When it falls to the floor, I’m left in nothing but my lace panties and bra.

I run my hands down my thighs, feeling the smooth silk of my skin, and then I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my panties. I drag them down with a deliberate slowness, bending over just enough to give him a show. I step out of the panties and kick them aside.

I reach around to unclasp my bra, slowly letting it fall down my arms and to the floor.

I turn to face the vent louvers. I let my hands wander.

My fingers trail over my stomach, down to my thighs, then up to cup my breasts.

I squeeze them hard, kneading the flesh and rolling my nipples between my fingers until they’re so sensitive it almost hurts.

I let out a soft moan and then I slide one hand down between my legs. My fingers find my clit.

I circle it slowly at first, teasing myself, letting the pressure build until I’m shaking with need. My other hand stays on my breast, pinching and pulling as I work myself closer and closer to the edge.

My fingers dip lower, slipping inside me. I thrust them in and out, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot.

My moans come louder now, ragged and desperate, and I swear I can feel Cooper’s eyes burning into me. My fingers work faster, harder, driving me toward that explosive climax. My head falls back as I come, my legs shake, and I have to brace myself against the wall to keep from collapsing.

When I finally catch my breath, I glance toward the vent louvers one last time, a wicked grin spreading across my face.

“Hope you enjoyed the show,” I whisper before slinking away to the bathroom to clean up.

***

I wake in a panic.

Sweat drips between my breasts, the sheet there drenched. I stare at the vent near the ceiling in terror as my heart hammers against my ribs. My cheeks flame hot. My innards coil like a spring.

I climb out of bed and into the bathroom to brush my teeth and pee.

Avoiding my reflection as if the person reflected will be a monster full of unspoken criticisms, I slip on a dress and sandals.

I need to move. To exert my nervous energy.

There’s a chance all the anxiety coursing through me is unwarranted.

He couldn’t possibly watch his own guests.

The legalities, the potential for being caught, is so much greater than spying on people afar. Even voyeurs must abide by the don’t-shit-where-you-eat adage, right? Still, the niggling voice at the base of my skull screams the worst case scenario and suddenly air feels hard to come by.

I race down the hall, followed by the opulent staircase and straight out the heavy wooden front door. I barely pause on the grand front porch before noticing a break in the dune grass.

A path.

I need more fresh air. A bigger open space. I head for the foot-trodden trail.

Dune grass gives way to a half-mile strip of sandy beach. Gray-green ocean foams white as it crashes along the shoreline, the salty brine a delight when inhaled. I kick my sandals off and sink my feet into the cool sand.

Cliffs to the left rise up from the water, the top peppered with majestic pines.

At the water’s edge, the sound of the sea is deafening.

Discourse swirls round deep in my gut, warring with the fascination and allure I gave into last night.

I close my eyes as cold salt water engulfs my feet and ankles.

It has been too long since I’ve felt this connected, this grounded to the outdoors.

“Breathtaking.” The voice comes nearly against my ear, over the sound of the waves, startling me. Sliding my eyes left, I see Cooper standing slightly behind me. He’s not looking at the scenic vista—his eyes are trained on me.

An uncomfortable pang of unease at the lusty thoughts running rampant in my head blooms in my belly alongside the blush creeping up my neck.

I turn to face him. He reaches out and brushes an errant curl from across my forehead back in place.

My heart hiccups against my breastbone. His bright eyes are stormy as his mouth opens.

“I’m glad you stayed.”

Goosebumps erupt in the wake of the finger he trails down my arm, despite the heat.

Four measly words and everything cements from potential fantasy into fact.

He did watch me. I release the breath stuck in my lungs and turn back to the line where the sky meets sea.

Away from the heat of his intense eyes. My momentary lapse in judgement, an unethical—potentially career-ending—moment actually happened.

I had hoped he hadn’t been watching as I fell asleep that night—almost.

After I came, I was spent, mentally and physically. The adrenaline of my actions drained. The rashness of my choice hit me and I laid in that bed, full of shame and unease.

My heart burns in my chest, What have I done? on repeat in my brain. In a panic, I chance a look at him, but am surprised to see he’s gone.

My body is suddenly heavy like a cement block, I can’t force my legs to work. Feet buried in the wet sand—stuck. Craning my head over my shoulder, Cooper’s retreating form heads back to the inn in the dark.

Alone on the beach, a chill sweeps down my spine.

What have I done?

What have I done?

What have I done?