Page 51 of No Control
I look to Lydia, who gives me a soft smile.
“I was actually just thinking of heading to bed.” She stands to her feet and pats her leg for Duke to follow her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her attention is on me, the warmth in her eyes triggering that feeling in my chest again.
“Good night, Lydia.” I watch as she disappears from the kitchen, and a few moments later, the sound of a door closing fills the silence. I shift my gaze back to Jude. “What?”
He shakes his head. “You’re actually getting to her.”
“It’s meant to be.”
Jude gives me an incredulous expression. “Says who?”
I shrug. “Me.”
“Well, here we go,” he groans, but then straightens up. “Carlson is on a rampage.”
“What?”
“He’s destroying his office…And his wife.”
“Shit. Keep an eye on Lydia.”
twenty
Lydia
I heard Henry leave nearly thirty minutes ago, not long after Jude appeared in the kitchen. But who leaves for work at this time? Aren’t they just in tech? I shake my head and roll over in bed, my face down in the pillow. The sting of my lip has long faded, though between my legs is still slightly sore.
And it’s a strangely sweet reminder that he was there.
He still scares me, but it’s now laced with excitement and intrigue. I want to know who he is, and there’s a nagging feeling in my gut there’s a lot more to him. I push myself up on my elbows and reach for my phone. I unlock the screen, hoping to see a text from Emma, letting me know she made it.
But there’s none.
I send her a quick message, asking how she’s doing, and then sit up, pulling my knees up underneath me. Duke is sleeping soundly on the bed, and I give him a pat before slipping out of bed, phone in hand. For all I know, Henry could just be running a couple of late-night errands and he'll be back sooner rather than later…
But I’ll hear him if that happens.
Besides, Henry told me that if I needed anything, I could come to his room. Now, I need something. I need to know who he is. I pad quietly to the door, opening it silently. I peer out and down the hallway. The curtains are closed, and the house is pitch black. I steady my heart and close the door softly behind me. My eyes flicker to the door at the end of the hall.
Please don’t hate me for this.
I feel guilty for snooping, but it doesn’t stop me. If I’m going to let him touch me—and claim me, apparently—I need to know who I’m making this arrangement with. I make it to the solid black door and cast a glance over my shoulder. No one is there.
My hand tries the knob, and it turns. I push the door in and slip inside, shutting it behind me. I blink to adjust to the darkness. His room is nearly twice the size of mine and I click on the flashlight function, shining it across the room. Shelves line the walls, and they’re full of books. His king-sized bed sits in the center of the back wall and there’s a desk on the only spot without shelving. There’re two other doors, which I assume are a closet and bathroom.
I breathe in the heavy scent of him, committing it to memory. I begin to creep around the room, shining the light across the books on his shelves. Most of them are nonfiction, classics, and titles I’ve never heard of. However, it doesn’t take me long to realize that they’re listed under alphabetical order by author last name. I can’t help it.
I search for my pen name, Piper Lewis.
It takes a few minutes, but I finally find them. All six of them. They don’t belong in the mix of his taste, but there they are. I tug out the first one, flipping through it. It’s not annotated. I put it back and move to the next ones, flipping through them until I make it to the last one, which just so happens to be the first one I ever released.
I flip it open, and freeze.
This is the author I was telling you about. It’s not your style, but I swear this guy reminds me of you. Actually, all of the men in her books bring you to mind. It’s crazy. -Cher
Who the hell is Cher? Unwarranted jealousy courses through my veins, and as I flip through the rest of the book, I see a few highlights. I don’t read them. I stick it back on the shelf with a frown. Some girl is the reason he started reading my work. Yuck.
It shouldn’t matter though.
