“Listen!” he ordered, moving my chin in his direction with such strong, sure fingers that my leaky eyes couldn’t escape him. “I can’t give you a reason, but it’s a really bad idea…”
There was a buzz from the intercom and Dexter sighed and went over to answer it. I died a thousand deaths. I bet it’s his girlfriend! Oh my life! How am I going to endure this?
Instead, over the crackle, I heard a gruff male voice.
“Mr Reilly?”
“Yes, I’m here, I’m fine. It’s no problem, you don’t have to come in.”
“We do have to. Come on. We had reports of a female trying to look into your windows. We have to check it out.”
With a mighty sigh, Dexter pushed the button and waited, flat against the wall, staring at me with what might be animosity. Whatever it was, it had certainly set my stomach off into a riot of cramps.
Two police officers entered the room, looking around for Dexter, then, on locating him, looking me up and down. Oh my God, I’m a suspect!
“Is everything all right here?” the older man asked.
“Fine. This is Lara. She’s a client. An ex-client, I should say.”
“We were told she was looking into your windows.”
“It’s okay. She just wanted to see if I was in. It’s a social call.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“You can go. Honestly.” Dexter assumed an ‘all-lads-together’ tone, winking at the officers, and said, “We just had some business to sort out…if you catch my drift.”
The officers chuckled complicitly. “Fine. Sorry to interrupt. Good evening.”
They left and I waited an age for some kind of explanation for the very odd atmosphere their visit had left. This wasn’t an ordinary follow-up of a possible crime report, not by any stretch. Dexter had seemed to know the men, for one thing, and they obviously knew him.
“I…should go,” I said eventually, when it seemed that no explanation was on offer. “I don’t know what all that was about, and I’m sorry…sorry for everything. Sorry I cared.”
My voice cracked and I stumbled blindly towards the door, putting an arm out in front of me in my haste to get away, but Dexter moved to block my exit.
“You’ve nothing to be sorry about,” he said flatly. “Nothing at all.”
“You think I’m some kind of stalker.”
“You are some kind of stalker,” he pointed out, with the hint of a smile. “Thank you for stalking me. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t laugh at me!”
He put out a hand, cupped my cheek, stroked it with his thumb. I wanted to curl up into a ball and hide inside him, away from whatever outside-world stuff had skewed our chances of happiness together.
“Are you telling me what to do?” he whispered. “You shouldn’t do that, you know.”
“Are you going to let me go home?” I demanded, but he swallowed the last word with a sudden swoop of a kiss.
The hackles rose on the back of my neck and my skin crawled with fearful arousal. My legs buckled and he supported me with an arm behind my back, never breaking the kiss even as he swept around, switching our positions so that it was me pinned to the wall. He released my back and grabbed a wrist, lifting it over my head and holding it tightly against the cool plaster while his tongue pushed through my lips and I fell, down and deep, into a place from which there could be no return.
“Do you want this?” he asked, breaking off, keeping my neck tilted back and up, by the force of his forehead against mine.
“I want you.”
“I come with strings attached, Lara. And the strings will be attached to you.”
“You can tie me up. I want that.”