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She headed toward the side of her house, peeking over her shoulder more than once as if she were waiting for someone to show up in her driveway. She couldn’t be worried about trick-or-treaters yet. It was still too early. A guest, maybe? But no one was there. And Colby would bet money that no one would be coming. Georgia never had visitors—unless they were only stopping by while he was at work. His gut told him that wasn’t the case.
She plopped the package next to her herb garden, kneeled in the grass, and took one last glance toward the front yard. When she seemed assured she was alone, she put on her gloves, pulled a ball of wired plastic pumpkin lights out of the box, and leaned forward, bracing on one hand and stabbing a stake into the ground with her other. Her jeans sank lower down her backside.
Now that was a sight Colby didn’t need to see. Georgia on all fours, the barest peek of her ass taunting him and sending his thoughts in a decidedly X-rated direction. Damn, what he wouldn’t give to end his night with that view, his hands spreading over those flared hips.
But he knew it would never fly. Georgia Delaune was like some mysterious, uncharted island. One with tall, craggy, stay-the-fuck-back rocks around the perimeter and no lighthouse. Not that she’d ever said a cross word to Colby, but he’d gotten the message just the same. He’d tried to flirt with her when she’d first moved in and though he could tell she wasn’t … unaffected by him, he’d felt that thick wall rise up between them. Since then, he’d had the feeling that, for whatever reason, he’d been given the Look, but don’t touch label in Georgia’s head.
Because, God knows, she looked—and had seen way more than he’d ever allowed anyone outside his circle to see. But he liked it too much to make her stop.
His neighbor thought she had a secret.
Colby knew better.
“Earth to Colby?”
Colby snapped out of his spinning thoughts. “What?”
Kade lifted an eyebrow. “I said why don’t you go over and invite her to the party? It’d be a neighborly thing to do.”
Colby snorted. “Neighborly?”
“Fine. Fuck neighborly. How ’bout this? You’ve been working your ass off. You look exhausted. And I think you need a little fun in your life. Go invite hot neighbor chick over and have some. We promise to behave—mostly.”
“You totally should,” Tessa said with a sage nod from the doorway of the kitchen. Colby hadn’t even noticed her come in. “That lumberjack getup is like girl Kryptonite. She’ll say yes. Plus, we could use another woman around here to even out the testosterone.”
Kade sent his woman a narrow-eyed glance. “Girl Kryptonite?”
Tessa shrugged and with her tattered dress, it reminded Colby of one of the walking dead from the old “Thriller” video. “Just saying. It’s an empirical observation.” She headed over to Kade and slipped her arms around his waist. “But don’t worry, I’m, of course, into blond, blue-eyed zombies.”
Kade kissed the top of her head. “Yeah, you’re kinky like that.”
Colby smirked. Ten seconds, tops. That was how long he’d give it before his friends would have black lipstick all over each other. He turned back to the window to leave them to their own devices and watched as Georgia lined her garden with the pumpkin lights. Her movements were efficient and her posture stiff, like she was performing a duty instead of something she wanted to be doing, which was kind of strange considering no one needed to have Halloween decorations. But she seemed determined to get them set up.
He should probably leave her to it. He’d tested the waters with her before only to find them chilly and uninviting. He wasn’t one to chase. If someone wasn’t interested in what he was offering, so be it. Plus, he rarely hooked up with anyone outside The Ranch. The vanilla world really had no place for him. But as he watched Georgia lift her hair off the back of her neck and listened to Kade and Tessa kissing behind him, the pang of want went through him.
What did he have to lose? Unlike a random girl he met somewhere, Georgia knew what he was. She might not understand the extent of it, but she’d seen it with her own eyes. He’d seen her curtains twitch and sway on that night he was with Tessa and Kade. And he’d watched those same drapes move late at night when he undressed in his bedroom or when he brought someone home. Either the woman was terrified of him and documenting all of his deviant acts in case he turned out to be a serial killer …
Or she was turned on by it.
Tonight, he planned to find out.
It was about time he paid another visit to that isolated island of hers.
The fading sunlight felt good on Georgia’s skin. That was what she focused on—the warmth of the late-afternoon rays, the tickle of the fall breeze against her neck, and the smell of the rosemary and thyme growing in her small herb garden.
But only paying attention to those pleasant things took effort. It meant ignoring the prickling of nerves that was an ever-present companion when she was out in the open. She was getting better at handling the anxiety each time, though. That was something. Even on the days she found it more difficult, she forced herself out at least once a day anyway to keep the promise she’d made via Skype to Leesha, her friend and therapist. Baby steps. That was what Georgia was relegated to. But at least they were steps.
Georgia got the string of pumpkin lights all lined up and turned on. She smiled that they were working but quickly realized they only illuminated a bunch of weeds that had popped up since the last time she’d cleaned the garden. Damn. Well, what did she have but time? The kids wouldn’t be coming around for candy for a while still. And even then, she didn’t plan on opening her door. She’d bought a big bowl and made a sign that said Help Yourself to put out on the porch. So she went to work weeding the garden.
She’d never been particularly into yard work before moving to Texas. It was hell on the nails, and she used to care about shit like that. But now it had become an outlet for her—one where she could let her mind wander and relax. Grab and yank, grab and yank. In a way, it was like meditation. And tonight she could use a bit of serenity. It would be a late night of hearing unfamiliar noises outside.
She pulled at a stubborn weed, but it didn’t give. And it was blocking one of her pumpkin lights. That wasn’t going to work. With a huff, she put her other hand at its base and got into a squat to tug harder. The roots didn’t want to release but she was determined to get it out of there, so she gave it one last yank. The weed came free and sent her sprawling backward, a trail of soil arcing through the air. She landed on her ass with an oof, and the dirt showered her shirt and jeans.
A shadow enveloped her. “And she’s down for the count.”
Her heart gave a start at the deep voice and the nearness of it. She scrambled, spinning around onto her knees and pulling the canister on her hip in an automatic gesture. But as soon as she had the pepper spray aimed, her subconscious thankfully processed the voice before her systems could go completely haywire. “Colby.”
He had his hands up in a whoa, there gesture but didn’t seem overly concerned, as if instinctively knowing she wasn’t going to attack.
“Shit.” She lowered her arm and let out a shaky breath. “Sorry. I—you must think I’m a lunatic.”
He gazed down at her, blocking out the sun, and then put a hand out to her. “No, it’s my fault. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She eyed his hand, reluctant to even go there, but she didn’t want to be rude. She put her hand in his large, warm one and he helped her to her feet. “Thanks.”
He let her hand go immediately, as if aware that the contact made her nervous, and took a step back. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just … Halloween makes me jumpy.” The excuse was lamer than most she came up with, but that was all she had at the moment.
He gave her a friendly smile. “I’m not sure pepper spray works on ghouls and ghosts, but it’s never a bad idea to protect yourself. Did you hurt anything on the fall?”
“Only my pride.” She glanced down and brushed the dirt off her ratty clothes. But it just made dark streaks smear over her shirt. Nice. She looked like she’d been rolling in the mud and he looked like … wait. She let her gaze travel over him again. He’d pulled a knit cap over his curly dark hair and had let his beard grow a little extra. And though it was cool outside, the red plaid flannel shirt and dark jeans seemed a little out of place for the night. Frankly, the whole rustic woodsman look was kind of working for him—and her—but she couldn’t quite figure out if it was supposed to be a costume.
He must have noticed her perplexed expression because he smirked. “I’m supposed to be Paul Bunyan. If I had my ax or an ox, it’d probably make more sense.”
She bit back a smile. Well, he was a giant of a man—well over six foot and broad—so it sort of made sense. “Right. That’s … creative.”
“I lost a bet.”
A laugh escaped, the act feeling foreign in her throat. “Well, I guess it could be worse then. They could’ve made you wear a tutu or something.”
“I don’t know. I think my friend is bringing over a stuffed blue ox for me to carry around, so there’s more humiliation to come,” he said, hooking his thumbs in his jeans and making his shirt stretch across what she knew was a well-honed, to-die-for chest.
She had to press her tongue to the back of her teeth to keep herself from inadvertently licking her lips. Don’t think about him naked. Don’t think about him naked.
“So anyway, I was coming over to see if you’d like to play witness to that humiliation.”
She blinked and her brain scrambled for a moment. “What?”
He cocked a thumb toward his house. “I’m having some friends over tonight. Nothing major, just pizza, movies, and a little alcohol in between handing out candy. If you’re not doing anything tonight, you should come over.”
She glanced down at the ground, that familiar push and pull yanking at her. The shadow of her old self leapt at the idea of going to a house party and meeting new people, at hanging out with the guy she’d been spying on for over a year now. Before everything happened back in Chicago, she’d never been an introvert. But that was then. She wasn’t stupid enough to think she could handle this. She could already feel the electricity working through her, the nerves priming for fight-or-flight. If she attempted to go over there, she’d make a scene whether she wanted to or not. No. Freaking. Way.
He must’ve thought she was looking down at her clothes. “You don’t need a costume or anything. It’s going to be laid-back.”
Was laid-back his way of saying all his friends would end up in bed together? Because she’d seen some of the parties at his house. But she couldn’t imagine that he’d ask her to something like that. He didn’t know her at all. And though she knew he was kinky, she got the sense he kept that side of himself very separate, only exposing it to a trusted circle. He did work at a local high school, after all, and had to maintain a certain image. “That’s really nice of you to ask.”
“So come,” he said simply.
She forced a weak smile. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I need to work tonight. I’m doing online interviews for a virtual assistant and … I’m not great with crowds anyway.”
Shit. She hadn’t meant to confess that.
His eyes narrowed as he studied her for a second. If he was trying to figure her out, she wished him luck. Most of the time, she couldn’t figure herself out.
“All right.” He gave a nod and she appreciated that he didn’t push the issue.
That was one of the main reasons she’d managed to act halfway normal around her neighbor. Most men made her anxious these days. The girl who was never afraid to go after a guy and flirt could barely breathe when guys approached her now. But Colby seemed to sense her skittishness and always stayed a couple of feet away from her, giving her space, and he never got pushy about anything.
“I appreciate you thinking of me, though,” she added.
His sexy half smile almost made her rock back on her heels, the sensual power of it like a physical blow. “You’re easy to think about, Georgia.”
Her stomach dipped.
He adjusted his knit cap, more dark hair escaping around the edges, and turned. “Invitation stands if you change your mind.”
“Okay,” she said, but it came out small, and she wasn’t sure if he’d even heard her.
When he crossed the invisible line back into his own yard, she felt more alone than she had in a long, long time.
If he took one of those women at the party to his bed tonight, Georgia knew she would watch. And it might kill her. Because this time, she knew it could’ve been her.
But when she went upstairs late that night, Colby’s curtains were shut tight.
THREE (#ulink_0e4daca2-9513-54d7-bd0d-0bce49f4ad35)
At dawn Monday morning, Georgia shuffled to her living room with a steaming mug of coffee and a headache. She hadn’t slept well, but she wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore this morning. Once she was up, she was up. Plus, she had a video chat session scheduled this morning with Leesha, and they were supposed to discuss Georgia’s progress now that the trial was only two and a half months away. Georgia blew across the top of her mug, but it was more a weary sigh than any attempt to cool off her coffee.
Progress. It was going to take Georgia the hour before the call to come up with things to list in that column. Everything was going so much slower than she, Leesha, or the prosecution had hoped for. The notion that she was supposed to get on a plane in January, fly back to Chicago, and face her ex-boyfriend, Phillip, was too much for her to think about right now. In the last six months, her biggest accomplishment had been managing to go back and forth to the grocery store without having a complete meltdown. Even in that, she wasn’t a hundred percent successful every time. Last week, she’d left a basket of groceries defrosting in the middle of the store because she’d seen someone who looked like Phillip and had to run out to the car before she made a scene.
But if she didn’t figure out a way to get herself to Chicago, functioning at full capacity, Phillip could walk. He’d murdered the person she’d loved most in the world, and he could stroll out a free man. The thought made her want to retch, but it was a real possibility. Phillip was a brilliant attorney and had hired an equally brilliant one to represent him. Most of the evidence was still circumstantial and Georgia’s testimony was key. But if she got on the stand and freaked out, jurors would believe the things the defense attorney would say about her—unstable, overactive imagination, drama queen.
Not an option. If Phillip went free, she was done. Revenge would be swift and deadly at his hands. Or worse. He’d take her and not kill her at all. He’d try to keep her.
Georgia shivered and went to the front window to let in some light. There were too many shadows surrounding her all of a sudden. But when she cracked her blinds open, her breathing ceased, and she almost dropped her mug to the floor.
There was a man in her front yard. Fear swept through her in a rush. But before she could tumble into full-fledged panic, the man turned and she caught sight of his familiar profile.
Colby reached up toward the tree in her front yard and tugged something from it. Only then did she take in the rest of the scene, her tunnel vision widening out. Her front yard was a complete disaster. Toilet paper hung in sagging loops from every branch and bush, and the flowers around her tree were flattened into a brightly colored carpet.
Seeing all her hard gardening work dismantled had the fear morphing right into anger, helping her shake off the dark memories she’d been plagued by a few minutes before.
She set her mug down and went to her front door, unlatching the three deadbolts and deactivating the alarm before pulling it open. The sight was even worse outside. Her entire garden out front looked like a herd of elephants had trampled through it. “What the hell?”
Colby turned at the sound of her voice, his jaw set. “Morning.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, remembering she was only wearing a thin robe. “What’s going on?”
He dropped the pile of soggy toilet paper to the ground and took a few steps toward her. He was dressed for his morning run—baseball cap, track pants, and a blue Nike shirt. The man was like clockwork with his routine. Not that she’d noticed or anything.
“Apparently, some of the neighborhood kids decided to go on their own post-Halloween rampage and went a little overboard last night. My house got hit, too. When I came out, I figured it was probably a group from the school I work at targeting the staff. But then I saw your yard. My kids would know better than to tear up someone’s garden. At least they better or I’d have their butts out here fixing all this.”
She glanced over at his house and saw that it had gotten the same treatment. The white streamers of toilet paper billowed in the breeze. “Why are you over here, though? Looks like you have your own mess to handle.”
He shrugged. “You work hard on your yard, and it’d be tough for you to reach this stuff in the tree. I figured I’d help.”
“Thank you. That’s really nice of you.” She fought past her tendency to evaluate the kindness. She’d learned that a favor could be an aggressive move, a way to make someone feel indebted without permission. But every instinct told her Colby wasn’t a danger to her. The man was dominant and a sadist, but he lived by a code. She’d done her research on his lifestyle and had seen it in action through the window—structured, practiced, controlled. He only hurt with consent. “Do you want some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”
He wiped his hands on his pants and smiled. “Sure, that’d be great.”
She stepped back inside and put her hand on the door, giving him the subtle signal that he wasn’t invited inside. No one was. “I’ll grab some and bring it out to you. Cream?”
“No, black with a little sugar is fine.”
She shut the door and locked it. With lightning-fast precision, she pulled on a pair of yoga pants, a bra, and a long-sleeved T-shirt, then made her way back toward the front of the house with two cups of coffee. Colby was sitting on her front steps when she walked out. He stood when he saw her and took the cup from her hand.
“Thanks,” he said, leaning against one of the brick columns on her porch. “I usually don’t let myself have one of these until I get to school.”
She wrapped both hands around her mug, the heat warming her cold fingers and soothing her nerves a bit. This was just coffee with the neighbor. “If I don’t have it within ten minutes of opening my eyes, I’m ruined for the morning.”
He took a long sip and recoiled a bit. “Whoa.”
She bit her lip, trying not to smile. “Sorry, I make the kind with chicory in it. My dad’s originally from New Orleans, and I picked up the habit. I could get you some cream if you want.”
He coughed, but his eyes were smiling. “No, I’ll be fine. Just didn’t expect that kick. That’ll grow hair on your chest.”
“I certainly hope not,” she said, taking another sip.
He chuckled and his gaze drifted downward ever so briefly to the V-neck of her top, making her instantly aware. But as quickly as the glance was there, his attention was back on her face again. “So is that where you’re from? New Orleans?”
The question was a simple one but held more drama than he could know. “No, my mom’s a college professor, so we moved when I was little from New Orleans to Chicago once she landed a tenured position.”
“How’d you end up here?”
This had been a bad idea. She knew her story, had it memorized for anyone who asked, but somehow Colby had her wanting to tell the truth. Something about him made her want to pour it all out there on her porch. But of course she couldn’t do that. “I don’t like harsh winters. And since I’m a writer and can work from anywhere, I figured I’d set up shop someplace warm with a low cost of living.”
It all sounded logical. Of course, it was all bullshit except for the writer part. She was simply renting this place because a good friend had inherited the house from her grandmother and offered to let her stay there. She hadn’t cared where she landed as long as it wasn’t anywhere close to where Phillip would be. As soon as he was safely behind bars, she could return to her cute little house in Evanston and start living again. Find that happy girl who used to have great friends and a busy social life.
“What do you write?” Colby asked, bringing her mind back into focus.
“Lately?” Really hot, kinky scenes loosely based on my neighbor. “I do freelance stuff for websites and am working on a novel. A thriller.”
He couldn’t know that she already had an ongoing thriller series published under the pen name Myra McKnight and that she made her living from that. As far as anyone knew, Myra had moved to some exotic island to write her next book about well-loved undercover agent Haven Fontaine and would be making no public appearances in the near future.
“Wow, that must be fun,” he said, sounding genuine. “I’d love to—”
But his cell phone buzzed and cut off whatever he was about to say. He apologized and pulled the phone from the clip on his pants. He frowned when he read whatever text message he’d received.
