“What is it? What’s wrong?”
It took her jumbled brain a moment to take in the fact that he’d grabbed her from the front, not behind. He’d been inside the building when she flung open the door. She looked over her shoulder, panting, searching the shadows, and seeing nothing but a thick dark gray gloom. “Someone was following me through the woods … chasing me.”
“Who?”
She gave him an exasperated glance. “I don’t know, he wasn’t being polite and answering my questions while he ran me down,” she ground out. She stared at his chest. He was wearing a black T-shirt, jeans, and black boots. “It wasn’t you,” she stated, as if affirming that fact to herself. Dylan’s face and body were strikingly solid and strong and comforting, but panic still hazed her consciousness. She wasn’t sure why, exactly. Alice had been chased through the grimy streets of Little Paradise untold times and seldom had felt this level of primal fear. “He was wearing a white shirt, not a black one … I think …” She faded off, registering Fall’s fierce stare. She hesitated. Was he silently doubting her?
“What are you doing out in the woods at this hour?” he asked.
“Jogging,” she said, bristling at his question. “What are you doing down here?”
“I ride Kar Kalim most mornings at dawn,” he said distractedly, his narrowed stare trained out the opened door. His gaze flickered down to her confused expression. “My horse,” he added.
“He was chasing me, and he wouldn’t answer me when I asked who it was,” she insisted succinctly.
He nodded decisively and slammed the stable door behind her. “I believe you. Come on,” he said, urging her farther into the room. For the first time, Alice realized they stood in a sort of open area that had saddles, bits, bridles, and ropes hanging everywhere. She inhaled the scent of hay and animals. The odor wasn’t unpleasant, necessarily, but for some reason, nausea flickered in her belly. Several pitchforks leaned against one wall. In the distance, she saw a long row of four-foot-high wooden doors and the silhouettes of horses’ heads arching over the top of them.
“But he’s still out there,” she exclaimed, glancing behind her at the closed door. Dylan didn’t understand at all; he couldn’t seem to grasp the level of primitive fear that had flooded into her veins out there in those dark woods.
“I know,” Dylan said firmly, guiding her over to a closed door. He opened it. “I’m going to take care of it.” He flipped on a light. She realized it was some sort of office. The barn smell wasn’t so strong in here. An old wooden desk sat in the center of it, a computer, stacks of papers, folders, and notebooks on top of it. There was a sagging brown couch on the right wall. Raincoats and hats hung on a rack, while several pairs of rubber boots were lined up beneath them.
“It’s the stable manager, Gordon Schneider’s, office. He doesn’t arrive at work until seven,” Dylan explained. When she just continued to look over her shoulder, fearful the man on the path was about to burst in on them, Dylan touched her jaw, gently but firmly. She stared up into his face, her attention finally fully snagged.
“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Alice. Do you understand?”
She nodded, holding her breath because he didn’t move. His ski
n remained in contact with hers.
“There are two locks on this door, do you see?” he said after a lung-burning moment. He swung the wood door to show her. “This is a solid oak door, and no one is going to get past that dead bolt.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice shaky with relief. He really did believe her. His hand fell away from her face. “Wait, where are you going?” she demanded shrilly when he started to move away.
“To see who’s out there. Lock the door after me,” he said. He did a double take, wincing slightly as he stared at her face. “Alice,” he said sharply. “Everything is going to be fine. Lock the door after me, do you understand?”
“No,” she breathed out through bared teeth. “If you walk out of this room, I swear to God I’ll kill you, Dylan Fall.” She heaved on the door, shutting it with a bang. She lunged past his tall form and slammed the dead bolt home before she twisted the second door lock. Her back thumped against the door. She gasped for air.
“Alice—”
“You’re not leaving me.”
It took a second or two for the rapid clicking sound to enter her awareness. It was coming from inside her own head. Her teeth were chattering uncontrollably.
“Christ,” he muttered. He stepped toward her, worry tightening his features, but Alice was already lurching at him. She flung herself gracelessly against his chest, her cheek bumping and settling just below a solid pectoral muscle. She didn’t understand what was happening. What was that black cloud of fear that hovered just at the edge of vision, threatening to blind her? Strangle her. The fact that she couldn’t name that shadow made it even more frightening.
Her arms squeezed Dylan’s waist, and the threatening shadow slinked away slightly. Then Dylan’s arms were surrounding her, and he was pulling her tight against his body. The heavy weight on her chest and throat lifted, granting her air. She inhaled choppily.
“Alice,” he muttered thickly, sounding a little undone.
“Don’t leave me,” she repeated, despising the crack in her voice. She felt his fingers move in her hair and his hand cup the back of her head. His touch urged her to move. She tilted her head back, seeing his face hovering over her. His gaze moved over her face searchingly, landing on her neck. She felt the throb of her exposed pulse. Heat swept through her at his heavy-lidded stare.
“I’m not going to leave you.”
His fierce, quiet declaration sent an electric spark through her, mixing with her fear and anxiety. Something flickered and then flamed high inside her, and whatever it was made her inchoate fear and uncertainty scurry into the darkest places of her consciousness. She felt Dylan stir against her and realized it was desire that had scattered the shadows.
Pure, raw, powerful lust.
Suddenly everything made sense: that strange, thrilling intensity in his eyes when Dylan looked at her, his electric touch on her skin, and her confused but powerful reaction to that touch.