Page 5 of Echoes of Temptation
The gate alarm rings indicating someone has just arrived.
“He’s here,” mom says. “Is everything ready?”
“All of the original letters are on the table and waiting,” I tell her as I take my seat at the dining room table and wait.
“This way, Mr. King,” I hear daddy say. “Can I get you anything to drink before we get settled?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Burton,” a deep voice smoothly replies. “And, please, just call me King.”
My eyes are glued to the corner of the wall where I know my dad and this King person will be turning around in just a few more seconds.
As he rounds the corner, my breath catches. There's an undeniable magnetism about him that pulls me in, making it hard to look away. His military haircut speaks of discipline, a controlled strength that only adds to the allure.
The short beard, meticulously shaped with sharp edges, frames his face in a way that accentuates the definition of his jaw. It's a jawline that could cut through the toughest barriers, leaving me utterly captivated. His towering height commandsattention, and the well-defined muscles hint at a strength that both intrigues and entices.
His brown eyes, deep and mysterious, hold secrets that beckon me to unravel while his dark chocolate skin exudes a warmth that draws me closer. In this moment, as he moves gracefully, he embodies a perfect blend of strength, masculinity, and a magnetic allure that leaves me spellbound.
In other words, holy freaking cow, he’s sexy.
My face heats as my growling stomach alerts everyone to the fact that I haven’t eaten today. It’s also a stark reminder as to why no matter how sexy I think he is, I need to remember that I’m not his type. I’m short and fat. That’s not me downing myself. It’s the cold hard truth.
Where he’s a ten, I’m a three on my best days.
Oh, and he’s a freaking hitman.
“Mr. King, this is my daughter, Madeline.”
Standing, I make sure my shirt is covering the bulge that is my stomach before stepping around the table and reaching out my hand. I don’t know why I think pulling my shirt down further will help conceal it any, but a girl can dream.
“Hello,” I say shyly.
“Miss,” King greets as his large hand envelops mine. When he doesn’t move, I awkwardly move my arm up and down. Cringing, I let go and return to my seat.
My stomach chooses to growl its anger once more.
“For crying out loud,” I whisper harshly. “Just eat the freaking fat stores, man. I’ll give you something fresh later.”
Sighing, I straighten my shoulders and look up. Mom, dad, and King are all standing there with laughter in their eyes.
“Did you just tell your stomach to eat itself?” King asks.
“No,” I lie. “I was giving myself a pep talk. You know, for moral support.”
“I see,” he says, taking a seat across from me. “Well, shall we get started?”
Instantly, any calmness I felt is thrown out the window.
“Where should I start?” I ask, looking down at the pile of letters.
“From the very beginning,” he tells me. “Leave nothing out.”
“Okay,” I inhale deeply, hold it for a second, and exhale. “About a year ago I received a letter in the mail.”
It takes two hours to get through the entire year. I tell him about the letters in the mail, the ones that came to the school I work at. I explain how I went to the police and what they said. I tell him every detail that I can remember. All the way down to the panic attacks when I’m alone.
“Then this one arrived just a few days ago,” I say, handing him the latest threat.
I wait as he reads the note and examines the images.