His eyes narrowed.
“The truth is you’re a Death Escort. You kill people. Repeatedly. I’m just trying to figure out if that’s something I can live with.”
“Something you can live with?” he repeated. “Are you saying you thought of me and you… together?”
“I—well—” Words failed me. I felt like a complete idiot. Maybe I was suffering from a major case of jetlag. I have no idea what would possess me to say that stuff out loud.
Well, no. I did know what it was. It was the pull, the attraction that was always there between us. It was the swirl of energy that seemed to only encompass him and me when we were in the same room. It was the beat of butterfly wings inside my stomach and the way my skin vibrated beneath his touch. Hadn’t he felt those things too?
The way he kissed me, the way his fingers reached for mine… the way he sometimes whispered the truths that lay deep inside him. I wasn’t making those things up. The electricity between us was so thick I could almost scoop it out of the air. Why would he pretend it wasn’t there?
“So is it?” he said. His tone sounded weird and it broke through my inner monologue of panic. “Is what I do something you could live with?”
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to know without a doubt that I could look him in the eyes every day when he came home and not wonder about who he killed that day, who he plotted against. I wish I wouldn’t have to think about the person he was taking away from loved ones, tearing an entire family apart with a senseless death.
I looked up. “I don’t know,” I whispered.
“Don’t look so upset,” he replied, his voice even. “It isn’t like we have a future together anyway. There is no happily ever after for someone like me. There is only death.”
He turned and left the room then, exiting so quietly and quickly that it was almost like he’d never been there at all.
But even if my eyes and ears were fooled by his departure, the rest of me wasn’t. My heart would bear the marks from those words, the echo of finality in them, forever.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Storm - an atmospheric disturbance manifested in strong winds accompanied by rain, snow, or other precipitation and often by thunder and lightning.”
Charming
The minute we drove onto the Mainland, here on the Shetland Islands, I felt like a weight the size of a walrus was lifted off my chest. I wasn’t sure how long it was since I visited here last—a year, maybe two? But even after all that time, it still felt like home to me. It felt that way from the very first time I came here on some job for G.R. to escort a Target. After the job was done, I stayed on and bought a house, a house that took me years and years to remodel. It was probably the only thing I’ve done in the past ninety years that gave me any pleasure.
The pull to come here had been stronger than ever before. I wanted to feel linked to something, something other than the job—something other than death. Something that was mine and no one else’s. That was why I should have stayed away. It was an assault to my already confused senses. My only excuse was that being around Frankie was seriously messing with my head.
And with my heart.
I reached up and rubbed the spot in the center of my chest where the organ that pumped blood throughout my body lay just below my ribs. It felt weird. Almost like it hurt.
I dropped my hand and rummaged around through the kitchen cabinets, looking for the antacid tablets. It was probably just heartburn.
Crunching on the chalky tablets, I glanced at the clock. It was afternoon, still too early for dinner, which was a good thing because I wasn’t hungry and I didn’t feel like cooking. Frankie was still out of sight, likely off snooping through the house. I hadn’t seen her since she told me she thought about us beyond a temporary annoying relationship.
The words caught me off guard. I knew she was attracted to me; her body responded every time I touched her and the pounding of her heart did not fall on deaf ears. Still, hearing she even considered anything more was just unsettling.
She wasn’t the first girl to ever have feelings for me or imagine a future together. It happened all the time, because I wanted it to. Making a woman fall in love with me or so close to it was my job. It’s what I did. Hell, a couple times I’d gone so far as to propose marriage. But those times were different. This was different.
I never tried to make Frankie feel anything other than hate for me.
But she did. She admitted as much.
I was just too charming for my own good.
I moved away from the kitchen and into the great room, where I knelt in front of the stone fireplace and lit the kindling already laid out in the hearth. It wasn’t cold here, but it was chilly, and after coming from L.A. the extra warmth was needed.
I didn’t want feelings between Frankie and me. I didn’t want anything from her other than for her to stay out of my business.
That’s not true, something inside me whispered.
I rubbed at my chest again. Those damn pills weren’t helping.
I accepted my solitary existence. It suited me. Trying for anything more would just end badly.
I heard her soft footfalls coming toward me and the muscles in my body tightened, getting ready to face her anger.
“Is there a path or road that will lead down toward the coast?”
She was asking me about a walking path? She didn’t want to yell at me? I stood away from the fire and looked at her. She wasn’t scowling. She didn’t look like she was going to throw something at my head. She was calm.
Well, this was different.
“Yeah, it might be a bit overgrown. It’s a couple miles, though, to get down by the water.”
“That’s okay. I feel like walking.”
“I should probably go with you. The ground is a bit uneven and if the path is overgrown, you might get lost.”
She looked slightly alarmed at the mention of me tagging along, but she covered up the look very quickly. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want to have to come looking for you when you get lost,” I growled, irritation running rampant through my veins. Was I that easy to get over, then? Did my rebuff not affect her at all?
“I won’t get lost with this giant house to use as my reference.”
“Fine. Go.” Time away from her would likely do me some good anyway. “The path starts behind the house.”
She nodded and left without another word.
I picked up a book written by Mark Twain and sat down, determined not to think about her anymore.