Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 122550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
“What are you doing answering the door without asking who it is?” he barked.
She stepped back, staring up at him in shock. Her mouth opened and closed.
That wasn’t exactly what he’d meant to lead with.
“And you shouldn’t turn the light on in your bedroom without pulling the curtains first,” he added. “Anyone could see what you were doing.”
She stepped back farther.
He didn’t like that. Or the worry he saw on her face.
“You could see me?”
“Yes.”
Jilly chewed her lip, and he resisted the urge to reach out and free it.
To order her not to hurt herself.
“I, um, sorry?”
Part of him realized he was being a bit of an asshole. But he was angry at her. Didn’t she have any sense of self-preservation? He could’ve been a pervert. He could’ve been watching her. He might have realized that she lived alone in this big house . . .
Fuck.
Did she even use the alarm system?
Being curt might seem harsh, but the alternative was worse.
And he was holding his temper back.
Barely.
“Pull the curtains. Keep this door locked. And do not open it to anyone before you find out who they are.”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” Her head dropped so she was staring at her feet.
He felt a pang of something. Regret? Guilt? Those weren’t normal feelings for him.
Regent cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. Are you all right?”
As soon as he’d said it, he realized how ridiculous it sounded. She appeared to be just fine.
“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He nearly told her to call her mother but then remembered that Anne had asked him not to.
“You need to get to bed.” Now he sounded like an idiot. His voice had softened and he was tempted to do something stupid—like pull her into his arms and tell her not to worry because he’d take care of her now.
“Shut the door. I want to hear it lock. Then go upstairs and pull the curtains. And get into bed. It’s late.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fuck. That ‘sir’ sent a shaft of desire straight to his cock.
What was wrong with him?
She might be gorgeous with that soft, light-brown hair that sat in waves around her face. And those big, blue eyes that had always stared at him like he could do anything.
He couldn’t really make out her body in the oversized dressing gown she was wearing, but from what he’d seen in the window . . . fuck, he needed to forget he’d ever seen her like that.
She shut the door and he heard it lock. Instead of leaving straight away, he took a moment just to compose himself.
The last thing he needed was to show anyone how he felt about her. Not even Jose, who he trusted with his life.
Getting back into the car, he told Jose to head home.
As they were driving away, it hit what had been bothering him.
There had been no security light. There should be. He was certain the house had one. Or it previously had.
He sighed. Maybe Anne was right to worry about Jilly. She didn’t seem to be doing such a great job of taking care of herself.
And perhaps he needed to take some responsibility for her. Technically, the house belonged to him.
And, in a way, he guessed that meant Jilly did too.
Jilly’s phone beeped as she walked into her bedroom in a daze.
What had just happened?
Had Regent Malone really turned up at her house? And why had he been so grumpy?
Sure, he’d always been quite serious. And maybe a bit stern.
But he’d never snapped at her like that.
And all because she’d been getting changed in front of the window without pulling the curtain?
Well, that was slightly embarrassing now that she thought about it.
He’d also been a bit upset about her opening the door without asking who it was.
But she did that all the time.
What was the big deal?
Grabbing her phone, she saw several texts from Mrs. Yards.
Mrs. Y: There’s a strange man outside your place. Do you need me to call Scott?
Mrs. Y: Oh, it’s all right you’re hugging him.
Mrs. Y: Is this a booty call? Hallelujah! The drought is broken!
Drought? It wasn’t a drought! It had been about seven months since Lowell. Maybe eight or nine months since they’d had sex.
Nine months wasn’t a drought.
Jilly: It’s not a drought! Just a small dry patch.
Mrs. Y: Otherwise known as a drought, dear. But I saw you let him leave. That’s so disappointing. Short and anticlimactic.
Dear Lord.
Her phone buzzed again. This time it was Dan. Oh, great. Mrs. Yards had created a group chat with Jilly, Dan, Scott, and Sasha. It was called: Breaking the Drought.
Dan: Mrs. Y said the drought is broken. Oh no . . . wait, never mind. Bummer.
Jilly: It’s not a drought!
Dan: Honey, it’s nearly the Sahara desert. Not a drop of moisture in sight.
Kill her. Kill her now.
Scott: Who is this guy? I want a full name, photo, and D.O.B. Got a cop friend who will run his background. Do not do anything or go anywhere with this guy until I give you the okay.