Page 30 of The Therapist
And now I am here, standing in his domain, where every fiber of my being screams that I am prey.
“I didn’t realize this was your place,” I say, forcing a polite smile as I reach for my bag. “I’ll find another—”
“No need.” Cooper moves in closer, unhurried but deliberate. “Your room is already prepared. Unless, of course, you’d rather leave.” He tilts his head, studying me, his voice lowering to something softer, something nearly intimate. “You don’t have to go, Robin.”
A shiver dances along my spine at the sound of my name in his mouth. He rarely used it.
And the way he says it now…
I should leave.
But I don’t.
Instead, I nod stiffly. “Fine.”
His smile is slow, victorious. “I’ll show you to your room.”
I follow him up the winding staircase, my pulse a traitorous drum in my chest.
This is a mistake.
The hallway is dimly lit, with warm lamplight casting long shadows along the wooden floor. My heart pounds louder with every step.
He stops before a door at the end of the hall, pushing it open with an easy flick of his wrist.
I step inside cautiously, my eyes sweeping over the room. The decor is simple, elegant. A large four-poster bed dominates the space, sheets crisp and untouched. A reading chair is positioned near the window, its fabric worn in a way that suggests use.
I feel him behind me, watching.
When I turn, his eyes are already on me, locked onto my expression as if reading every flicker of thought, every pulse of uncertainty that ripples through me.
Something shifts between us, thick and unspoken.
“I—” My voice falters.
I shouldn’t stay. I should find somewhere else. Go back to the event hotel.
“I’ll let you get settled in.” Cooper turns and leaves.
I shut and lock the door behind him.
Crap.
***
At seven, I head downstairs to grab something to eat and have a glass of wine, or three. Cooper is nowhere to be found and I’m thankful for the reprieve. I think back to the sessions we’ve had over the last couple months. His descriptions of watchingpeople…the way he always said he watched them in a room. Not outside their home, not from the street, not in public.
Dawning hits me. He owns an Inn. He watches them here. But how? I glance around, scouring the walls and hallways for any sign of a covert spot to watch people, but nothing jumps out at me.Think, Robin.
If this is truly where he watches, his addiction is much worse than I thought. He has free reign, twenty-four-seven here.
All access.
Perturbed, I head back up to my room. The third glass of wine has me feeling loose and warm as I climb the stairs to my room.
Inside, I shut the door and walk to the window. The view is stunning.
Ocean for miles, crashing against the shoreline. The wind whips seaweed on the beach around haphazardly. It is beautiful. I crack the window and inhale the briny scent deeply. I can see why Nora speaks so highly of it.
