Thankfully, he kept his hands on my hips, holding me steady and saving me the embarrassment of sliding right onto the floor.
“You’re killing me,” he said, his voice totally hoarse. “I didn’t come here to take you to bed. But if we don’t stop, that’s exactly what I will do.”
“Then,” I said, drawing in another breath, “why did you come here?”
“You need me,” he answered simply. There was no smug arrogance in his voice or any kind of challenge.
Before I could tell him I certainly did not need him, he swept me off my feet.
Literally.
One minute, I was standing on still trembling legs, and the next, he was holding me. “You need sleep. The only way you’re going to get it is if I make sure.”
With one strong pull, he peeled the covers of the bed away and laid me against the cool sheets. My body melted against the mattress because it felt so wonderful to lie down.
I started to sit up. “I can’t.”
He pushed me back down. “You can.”
I shook my head. “I’m going to sleep in Jack’s room.”
“No,” he said firmly, pulling the covers over me. “You aren’t.”
“Don’t you tell me what to do!” I snapped.
He grinned. “I like a feisty woman.”
I glared at him. I couldn’t help but stare at the way his hair was flopping in his eyes.
“I’ll sleep in his room,” Spencer said.
“You can’t.”
“Why not?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Jack doesn’t know you. You’ll scare him.”
“I didn’t realize Jack would see me.”
“Jack isn’t your responsibility.” I argued.
“You are,” he retorted.
Shock rendered me speechless. Why would he think that? Spencer lowered himself on the side of the bed beside me. “Get some sleep, Elle. You need it.” He brushed the back of his hand over my cheek as he spoke.
I yawned.
He smiled.
“I’ll make sure everything is safe.”
Maybe I’d just lie here a few minutes. This bed really was comfortable…
Beside the bed, Spencer switched off the lamp, and I felt his lips brush over my hairline. Not once, but twice.
Maybe I was just so exhausted I couldn’t fight sleep another second, or maybe it was knowing he was there that made me slip into blissful oblivion.
9
Blissful oblivion is overrated.
At least murderous criminals seemed to think so.
My body was heavy. Sleep was like a drug rendering me immobile, when a tiny noise first echoed through the room.
It wasn’t enough to alert me that something could be wrong.
The soft footfalls across the carpet intruded on the heavy curtain of slumber that draped me, yet it didn’t seem to be enough.
I slept on, not knowing how close danger really was.
A rough hand assaulted my shoulder, squeezing until the bone felt like it might break. I woke with a sudden start, like I spent too long without oxygen and my body gulped it in with desperation.
As my brain was trying to assimilate what was happening, he flipped me over and pinned me to the mattress. Pain lanced through me like the sharp cut of a sword, and I opened my mouth to scream, to alert Spencer.
But a heavy hand beat me to it.
He slapped his palm over my mouth and dug his fingers into the sides of my face. I felt his nails dig into my flesh, and my eyes opened in horror when he straddled me on the bed.
I tried to buck him off, to kick and yell, but he was entirely too heavy, and then he pulled out a blade.
The moonlight filtering through the now open window glinted off the steel blade and caught my attention. How something so shiny and smooth could be so deadly I didn’t understand.
The man held it up for me to see, a silent threat. His heavy weight pinned me and his hand was suffocating. So much so, I began to panic. My lungs began to seize, so I pleaded with him, trying to put every ounce of desperation I felt into my eyes.
Beneath the black ski mask, his teeth flashed white with his nasty smile.
“I told you to kill him,” he growled, leaning in close. It was dark in my room, but even still I could see the blue in his eyes.
I always associated the color blue with the cloudless sky and an endless ocean. From this moment on, it would always be the color of death.
I shook my head, trying to make some excuse for the reason I had to commit murder, but his beefy hand blocked my mouth.
Once again, I remembered I couldn’t breathe.
In desperation, I bit down, catching the fleshy part of his finger. He gave a roar and lifted his hand. Greedily, I sucked in air as I silently thanked him for making such a loud noise.
Spencer would barrel through the doorway any minute.
Spencer would help me.
Spencer never came.
“If you won’t do the job,” the man growled, “then there is no reason to let you live.”
He raised the blade high above his head, with the wicked-looking end pointing down at my chest.
I started to scream. The guttural sounds ripped through my vocal chords, vibrating everything in my throat.
My shriek didn’t deter him.
In fact, I think it excited him.
The blade slashed down, and I closed my eyes, not wanting to witness my own bloody murder.
“Elle!” Spencer called my name urgently. My body was flopping around like a lifeless ragdoll.
My eyes shot open and my body registered two large hands digging into my shoulders, pinning me down.
I started screaming again.
“Fuck,” he swore.
He released my body, and I fell against the bed, but I didn’t stay there. He lifted me completely and began walking with me in his arms. He strode across the hallway and into the bathroom, where he reached behind the shower to turn on the water.
The sound of water pressure seemed to break through my panic.
My eyesight seemed to clear just as Spencer flung back the curtain to step under the spray.
“Wait!” I gasped, stiffening in his arms. “I don’t want to go in there!”
I stopped and looked down. His entire face was grim and shadowed.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, mortified. “I must have been having a nightmare.”
“That was some fucking nightmare,” he muttered, turning off the water and moving out of the bathroom.
Without me asking, he carried me into Jack’s room and stood beside the crib so I could stare down at my sleeping son.
At least someone was still experiencing blissful oblivion. Thank God I hadn’t woken him.