Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
When I walk back into the living room, Diesel is standing by the window, peering through the blinds. He looks like a predator surveying his territory, his body coiled and ready for a fight that hasn't happened yet. He turns when he hears me, and his eyes drop to my duffel bag and rolling suitcase. He reaches out, taking the heavy duffel from my hand like it weighs nothing at all. Our fingers brush for a fraction of a second—a micro-beat of contact that sends a jolt of static electricity straight up my arm. I pull back, but the ghost of his heat lingers on my skin.
"Ready?" he asks.
"As ready as I’ll ever be," I say, clutching my purse tighter.
The walk to the parking lot is a blur of hyper-vigilance. Diesel walks behind me, his shadow stretching long and imposing over mine. He’s watching every car, every pedestrian, every rustle of the bushes. It’s exhausting to watch him be so alert, but it allows me to finally stop looking over my shoulder. His SUV, a massive black beast with windows tinted so dark you can't see the interior, is parked in the guest lot. It smells like him inside. It’s an intoxicating mix of leather, expensive upholstery, and that woodsy cologne that makes my head swim and my girly parts wake up. He helps me inside, then heads over to help Alana load her bags into her car.
Alana comes over to the SUV and smiles at me. "Call me the second you get there. And don't let him be too much of a grump, okay? Give him hell for me."
"Count on it," I whisper, attempting to smile back at her. It feels like I’m leaving a part of myself behind in this apartment, but as I settle into the comfy leather seat, the heavy thud of the door closing feels like a vault locking shut. For the first time in a week, the world feels small enough to manage.
We follow Alana until she pulls up outside the dorm. Then we watch as she grabs her bags and steps inside the dorm’s locked doors; only when she’s safe behind glass and steel does Diesel swing the car toward the highway. The exit from Los Angeles is a long pulse of gridlocked taillights and muffled quiet. Diesel drives with one broad hand curled on the wheel, every motion deliberate. He doesn’t bother with music, doesn’t break the silence with words. He just maneuvers us through the river of red lights, intention radiating from him in waves. The city blurs and thins away behind us, and still, Diesel says nothing; he simply drives, sharp and steady, the dark pouring past on either side. His gaze flicks to the rearview mirror every few seconds, checking for a tail.
I watch his profile in the fading afternoon light. He has a nose that looks like it’s been broken at least once, a strong, stubborn jawline covered in dark stubble, and eyelashes that have no business being that long on a man that gorgeous.
I try to focus on the scenery outside my window. My mind keeps drifting back to the way he looked when he walked through the door. He’d come all the way from Vegas, probably at breakneck speeds, just because Alana called. He didn't ask questions. He didn't hesitate. He just came for me.
"You're staring," he says, his voice cutting through the hum of the SUV. He doesn't look away from the road, but a tiny muscle in his jaw twitches.
"I'm assessing," I counter, shifting in the leather seat. "It’s a personality trait. I’m an accountant, Diesel. I like to have all the data before I make a conclusion."
"And what’s the conclusion, Ren?" He glances at me then, his dark eyes hooded and unreadable. There’s a challenge in the look, a quiet heat that makes the interior of the SUV feel ten degrees hotter.
"That you're incredibly bossy," I say, lifting my chin. "And you like to be in charge."
A ghost of a smile touches his lips—a rare, fleeting thing that transforms his face from a mask of granite into something devastatingly handsome. "That isn’t exactly a secret."
"It was just an observation." I shrug, looking out the window at the passing landscape. The silence stretches. I can feel the weight of Diesel’s stare like a laser beam on the side of my face.
“Tell me what you know about this asshole. The stalker. Start at the beginning.” His voice is flat, but there’s an edge to it that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
Well, that’s a mood killer. “There isn’t much to tell. His name’s Kirk Voss. He was in my Advanced Accounting seminar last quarter. We were barely even acquaintances. I mean, I’m not exaggerating, Diesel. I literally just lent the guy a highlighter once.”