Voyeur - Lacey Alexander [29]
With that, she hung up the phone, then pushed to her feet and walked away.
It took every ounce of strength she had to do that—really walk away from him, or as close as she could come to walking away given that he was actually three states away from her—but she meant it. She’d been reminded this morning of how little she really knew about him and just how intimate she’d become with him. It was too much. Too risky. Too strange.
His liquid voice still reverberated in her ear as she forced herself to eat a little breakfast—a bagel and coffee—then walk upstairs and get dressed.
And when she came back down, she gasped when she nearly tripped over last night’s velvet panties and the purple vibrator, still lying on the floor in front of the couch.
Yes, this was too much, and it had simply gotten too real.
And that’s why it had to end, once and for all.
Much to her surprise, Laura still managed to get some writing done, despite the morning upset with Braden. She’d waited to return to the computer until she felt certain he’d be busy doing other things, and as hoped, no IMs arrived. Outside the window, the sun shone brightly, the sky crisp and blue above a sparkling mantle of snow, and it somehow lifted her spirits and helped the words flow onto the page. Her only fear by day’s end was that much of the afternoon’s work might eventually have to be scrapped—for she was beginning to fear Riley was obsessed with Sloane Bennett ad nauseam.
That night, another hamburger, this one eaten in front of the TV—where sitcoms reigned. No reading, no thinking—just sitcoms. When ten o’clock rolled around, she felt predictably tense. And she even glanced at the computer once or twice, but she wasn’t tempted. In fact, she didn’t know if she was imagining it, but she had the oddest feeling that he wasn’t even there—as if he’d finally really believed her when she’d said it was over.
Of course, just as Riley had thought of Sloane all day, so had Laura thought of Braden. She didn’t regret her decision, but she supposed she wished things were somehow different—wished they’d met under more normal circumstances through Monica . . . heck, wished they’d really even met.
Then again, if they’d met through Monica at some family event, Braden Stone wouldn’t even have noticed her. She wasn’t the blond bombshell type she suspected could generally be found on his arm, not the type he probably would have categorized as even a possibility—if he’d not stumbled across her masturbating in the living room of his vacation home. As she shut off the TV a few minutes later, then headed upstairs, she shook her head once more, not quite able to believe she’d touched herself that way in the first place, let alone where it had led.
A few minutes later, she lay down to sleep in a pink cami and a pair of cheerfully striped flannel pants. She felt at once adrift, yet also settled, centered. The excitement with her voyeur had ended now—but that was okay. She would write her book, go home at the end of her retreat, and life would get back to normal. And that’s what Laura thrived on—normalcy.
Wasn’t it?
She ignored the vague sense of loneliness she felt for the first time since arriving here—writers like to be alone, remember? she lectured herself—and tried to fall asleep peering out yet another enormous picture window at a bright, nearly full moon hanging low in the Colorado sky.
When blessed sleep came, it brought dreams. Of Braden. Of sex.
Only . . . when a kiss came on her cheek, waking her, she knew instantly it wasn’t a dream, nor was the warm male body crawling into bed with her.
She should have panicked, but didn’t. Somehow she knew it was him, and that this wasn’t really over at all—even before he said low, near her ear, “Don’t be scared, honey. It’s just me.”
Chapter Six
She still hovered on the edge of sleep, that place where everything was dreamy—yet there was no doubt in her mind that he was very