Page 49 of Voyeur
My mind whirls. You’d think it would be fear and guilt at the fact I’d gotten someone taken by this madman. But it’s something else. Something I don’t want to name because if I inspect it too closely, it might scare me. Trepidation thrums through me as I slip into my boots, throwing my hair into a messy bun and stepping behind my stalker as we descend the stairs.
I stop on the first landing. “I can’t do this. You expect me to ride off into the night with you to some unknown location? I don’t even know your fucking name,” I tell him, clutching my chest where panic is taking hold.
He bounds back up toward me, grasping my shoulders. “Breathe.”
The idiocy of the moment isn’t lost on me.
The strangeness between him and I is astounding.
Despite that, I let him coax me back down from the anxiety swirling through me, like the blustery weather outside the house.
His eyes bore into mine while we breathe in tandem.
“My name is Gage,” he says, my heart racing, but now for another reason.
Gage.
“Gage,” I whisper, and he moves closer, eyes closing as he leans his forehead against mine for a moment.
“Do you know how long I’ve longed for you to say my name with those pretty lips?” he asks, his gravelly voice rumbling through me.
Tilting my head back, I try to keep in mind he’s dangerous, but I forget as his lips travel down my nose and skim my lips.
“Carina,” he whispers, haunting my ears with my name.
Never has my name sounded like it filled someone with such happiness. Yet there was a sad tone buried within his voice when he’d said it, as if he knows we will never be more than voyeur and the watched.
“Gage,” I answer, leaning forward and coaxing his lips with mine.
In only a matter of a moment, the scene between us changed from panic and fear to longing and lust, and the insanity isn’t lost on me.
Gage pulls back, looking at me with concern and restraint painted on his features.
“We have to go. We need to get your answers.” Turning, he moves down the stairs, shaking his head at himself as he shoves his hands into his pockets.
Capturing my breath as I slowly step down the stairs, I try to regain my composure. Something about him throws me off axis. One minute I’m scared of him, running, and hiding in a closet with tears flowing down my cheeks. And the next, I’m leaning into the enigma of him, begging with every fiber of my being for him to kiss me.
With my past, a man like him is the worst idea for me. I need someone like Ryker, someone good. Someone who’ll keep my heart and body safe and the memories away. Gage is the kind to take my memories in his grasp and rip them to shreds. Murder is his vibe.
But I’m not all too sure that’s not what I need.
I follow Gage outside, locking the door behind me. My camera’s lights blink red when I glimpse them on the side of the house. Not that they helped me keep Gage out.
Coming to a stop behind Gage, I eye a beautiful car as he holds the door open for me. It seems he’s comfortable enough to drive right up to my house. My eyes drift toward Ryker’s house, but it’s dark.
“He’s gone. Working, or watching someone else, I suppose,” Gage says offhandedly, motioning toward the car.
I slide inside. The front seat is leather and smells recently polished. The door shuts, followed by ringing in my ears in the cold night air. I run my hands over the dash.
Gage drops into the seat next to me.
“What kind of car is this?” I ask, risking looking like an idiot. I don’t know cars, but I know I like the look of this one. It’s old, that’s all I do know.
“1969 Chevrolet Corvette,” he answers, caressing the steering wheel lightly once before turning the key and igniting the engine. The rumbling stirs through me like a smooth shot of whiskey, skimming my nerves like an old friend. My body jolts to life, momentarily forgetting I’m with a man who’s been stalking me for over a year, headed to confront someone who brutalized me and lives in my nightmares.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur as we pull away from my curb, rambling down the street in a loud cacophony of gears shifting and wheels screeching. I’m sure the last action was for my benefit only because Gage turns and smirks at me when the ass end fishtails.
Every so often, Gage turns his eyes toward me, watching every intricacy of how I move with his car, and something about it gives me a thrill that boils inside white-hot.