He probably should have felt guilty about watching from outside her window as she undressed. He probably should have feared getting caught. But, as he leaned against the passenger side of his truck with his arms folded across his chest and a cigarette in his mouth and watched as she lifted her floral tank top over her head, all other thoughts evaded him. Her back was to him and he watched as she pulled the ponytail holder from her hair, her dark waves cascading down her back. She was mesmerizing.
He instinctively took a step closer, his subconscious willing him forward without the permission of his brain. Snap. He looked down; in his effort to get as close as possible to this extraordinarily beautiful creature, he had stepped on a tree branch, causing it to snap in half.
She froze, like the wary, fragile doe that she consistantly reminded him of, before turning to investigate. Her chocolate brown eyes locked with his sea-green ones as her breath hitched in her throat. He knew it was too dark for her to distinguish any of his features but that didn't stop the fear from coursing through his veins. He rushed to the driver's side and hopped in, speeding off despite his heart telling him to stay.
Three more days, he reasoned. Three more days and he wouldn't have to run. He wouldn't have to hide. She would be his—all his—and he would no longer be a prisoner of the shadows.
YOU ARE READING
Hell on Earth
General Fiction"I'll tell you I've changed. I'll tell you, the red on my lips isn't wine. I hope you've heard of horns, but that isn't half of it." Daniella Michallen, "Persephone Speaks"
