“You’re a dork.”

“All right, all right.” I laughed and rolled my eyes. I signed The Silver Cord and Harm’s Way MATTHEW R. SKY JR.

Melanie traced her finger under the scrawl. “Junior,” she said.

“Yes. Matthew was my father’s name.” I rose and moved away from the couch. “You can sit there, if you like. Before I forget—”

In the desk drawer was an envelope containing three thousand dollars, which I’d separated from my funds last night. I handed it to Mel. Her eyes widened at the feel of it; three thousand in fifties is quite a wad. “There’s that. It’s the amount I mentioned on the phone, and it should cover your travel expenses to and around here, and back to Iowa, with money to spare. If you stay on another week, I’ll pay you again.”

She fumbled with the envelope before shoving it in her duffel bag.

“You can count it,” I said. I fetched a bottle of water from the fridge and set it on the coffee table. “Please drink that. You look pale.”

“You look pale.” She plopped onto the couch. “Your hair…”

“What about it?”

“It’s so black. It makes you look a little pale.”

“You’re one to talk about hair color.” I gestured to Mel’s wild red locks. “That cannot humanly be natural.”

She shrugged.

We stared at one another in a silent deadlock.

My God, a twenty-two-year-old. I wanted to kick myself. Had I known Mel was so young, I would never have invited her. It felt weird—wrong, almost—to have this girl at the cabin. I should keep my distance. Keep this as professional as possible.

I cleared my throat.

“I’m going to my room,” I said. “Your room is down the hall to the left. Knock if you need anything.” I checked my watch. “I was hoping to go to Denver tonight, but it’s getting late and I’m sure you’re tired of driving. We’ll head down tomorrow.”

“Sure thing.” Mel began to unpack her duffel. I loitered and watched as she got out an iPad and a laptop and turned them on.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a hotspot.” She grinned at me. “You know, so I—”

“I know what a f**king hotspot is. I mean why?”

“I have to update my blog.”

“You can’t blog about this!” I towered over Mel and glared at her laptop.

“Down, boy. I’m not blogging about this. I’m just writing about my trip.”

“Typical.” I threw up my hands. “Typical.”

Melanie began to laugh, the sound high and fluting.

“What are you laughing at?” I snapped.

“If—if you could see yourself.” She was breathless with laughter. “Oh, my gosh. You looked so mad just then, like you were going to attack my laptop.” She gulped down another laugh. “Oh, wow. I’m sorry. Please don’t have a heart attack.”

“You know I trust you, Melanie.” I stabbed a finger at her. “Don’t f**k me over.”

That chastened her. She frowned and looked at her feet.

I stalked toward the bedrooms, then doubled back to collect my notebook. I glanced around. “And don’t … try anything funny. Don’t make any trouble in here.”

I closed the bedroom door behind me. I stood with my ear pressed against it.

No sound.

I stood like that for fifteen minutes. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Mel had deceived me. She wasn’t simply a fan of my writing. She had an online presence, some silly blog. If she wanted to out me as the author of Night Owl—and as being alive, for that matter—she had an audience ready to listen. Fuck.

Plus, she acted like a thirty-year-old on the phone. I’d been duped.

The smell of garlic drifted down the hall.

I stormed back out of my room.

Mel stood at the stove humming and doing salsa steps, her h*ps swaying. I blinked. She’d removed her coat and wore a tight black sweater with a silver skull on the back.

“Stop dancing.”

She whirled. A piece of scrambled egg flew from her spatula.

“Unless your name is Hannah, this is a no-ass-shaking zone.” I padded over to inspect Mel’s cooking—a heap of scrambled eggs.

“Want some?” she said.

“No.” I popped a piece of egg into my mouth. “Yes.”

She made two plates. I pulled out a chair for Mel and took the opposite seat. As I was shoveling a forkful of eggs into my mouth, she said, “Do you mind if I say grace?”

I paused and regarded Mel from across the table. She held out her hand. After a space, I nodded and took it.

Her hand was tiny and feverishly hot.

For the first time in a long time, I lowered my head for prayer.

Mel began. “God is great, God is good. Let us thank Him for our food. Amen.”

“Amen,” I said, and I finally smiled.

Chapter 27

HANNAH

Chrissy dropped me off at the condo. We had a tense, silent ride home after I bawled her out for bailing on me. “Did something happen with Seth?” she said. I told her no. I told her it was the “principle of the matter.”

My heart was still speeding.

I climbed the steps to my door and fit the key in the lock. I wondered how much longer Seth would be in town. He had a gig, he said. Singular. One gig. If I had to guess, it would happen tomorrow or Saturday.

So I needed to sneak into the agency by the back door tomorrow, get to the release party on Saturday, stay in on Sunday, and hope to hell that Seth was out of town by Tuesday.

Then I would spend the week watching The Surrogate destroy the bestseller list.

I smiled as I let myself into the condo. Yes, and then Friday would arrive and I would see Matt, and forget about all this confusion with Seth.

“You look happy.”

I jumped and screamed, the sound somehow airless. Oh, God. Oh, my God. There was a voice, a figure where none should be—a man in my condo—this is happening, this is happening.

All my instincts for self-preservation fled.

“Hannah, it’s me.”

My eyes adjusted marginally.

Matt stepped in front of a window and a streetlamp lit his profile.

I couldn’t suppress my panic.

Matt … he shouldn’t be here.

“It’s me,” he said again. “I didn’t want to turn on any lights.”

“How?” I said.

“I got a cab. Hannah, relax. I just got a cab. I had to see you.”

I flattened myself against the wall. Adrenaline stormed through me and I laughed. God, I felt strange and wonderful. Terror mingled with desire, mingled with happiness.

Matt advanced, tugging me into his arms. I wriggled in his hold. Helplessly, I remembered the way Seth felt as he pressed me close—the way my struggling excited him.

Matt tilted his head. His eyes flashed in the dark.

I kissed him, my tongue lashing across his mouth.

“Do it,” I whispered. “I want to fight it.”

Understanding dawned on Matt’s face. A smile moved his lips. My heart thumped, and I felt his beat harder against my chest.

“You remember our word?” he whispered.

I nodded. He meant our safe word, peaches, which I chose not long after we moved in together. Matt worried peaches might sound too much like please, but I wanted peaches, and so it was peaches.

Besides, I never needed the word. Not yet.

“Say it,” he murmured.

“Peaches.” I tried to pull out of his arms. They tightened around me and I gasped.

“Run away,” he whispered in my ear. “Make this good for me, Hannah. Make me believe you don’t want it. Fight me.”

He gave me a push and I stumbled into the wall. My purse fell.

I was viscerally reminded of Seth’s force, and of Nate with his black hair. This hour is dreamlike, Matt once said when I arrived at the cabin, and nothing feels real in this light. I understood as we faced off in the condo. Nothing feels real. The light goes out. We can be whatever we want to be.

I sprinted past Matt, my boots sliding on the hardwood.

The bitter taste of panic coated my tongue.

My night picked up where it left off at the mall. I was being chased. A stranger wanted me. He wanted to touch me in the most intimate way, and I wouldn’t let him.

I flew into the office and locked the door. Papers rustled in the dark. I never worked in this room, never sat in this room. The memory of Matt lived here.

I crouched in a ball behind the desk, my br**sts pressed into my knees.

And I waited.

In the silence, I heard the loud rush of my breath and hammering heart.

“Come out, come out,” Matt called, “wherever you are.”

His voice echoed eerily through the condo. His footfalls sounded in the hall.

I scooted under the desk.

He tried the knob—lightly at first, then harder, the brass rattling.

He pressed against the door. “In here, is it?”

Then came a long, weighted silence, and a crack like a shot. I yelped and scrambled out from under the desk. The door hung open at a slant. Matt stood in the frame rubbing his shoulder. When he saw me, his eyes widened.

I leapt past him.

He caught me, and the air burst out of my lungs. We went down struggling.

I didn’t need to remember Matt telling me to fight him. I felt real fear—cold terror.

I twisted onto my stomach on the floor and scrabbled at the wood, but I couldn’t crawl away. Matt pinned me with his body. His strong legs locked against mine, and with one powerful hand he held down my neck. Air whistled through my windpipe.

“There you are,” he crooned. “Ready for me now?”

I kicked and spat. I clawed at the arm holding me down. With his free hand, Matt yanked up my sweater dress. He squeezed my breast through the cup of my bra.

Unbidden desire wet my thong.

“No,” I moaned, and a low thrill went through me. “Stop!”

“Your tits feel good,” Matt growled in my ear.

He squeezed harder, fondling me with his hand trapped between my chest and the floor. He pushed up my bra and pinched my ni**les.

I rasped.

Fuck, that felt good …

Matt’s hand dove down the back of my leggings, between my legs, inside my thong. I squirmed furiously. I was practically humping the floor, slamming my ass against Matt and driving my h*ps into the wood, and the motion played right into his hands—literally.

He poised two fingers at my entrance; I jammed my sex onto them and cried out.

“Stop!” My voice was hoarse.

On some level, I knew that Jamie might hear us from her condo, but I didn’t care. I screamed bloody murder while Matt laughed and fingered me.

He told me I must want it. He told me how wet I was.

I writhed on his fingers, trying to get away and succeeding only in stimulating myself.

The pressure of Matt’s body lifted. I had a moment. A moment to move. I gave a great push. Matt’s fingers, though, were hooked over my leggings and thong, and when I lunged forward, the fabric dragged down my thighs.

The cool air of the condo hit my bare ass. I moaned.

Matt pounced on me. He wound my hair around his hand and yanked.

The skin of my inner thighs was slippery with lust, and though I squeezed my legs together tight, I felt the head of Matt’s c**k pressing between them.

Damn … I wasn’t the only one enjoying this.

I closed my eyes and panted. “Please. No…” God, but it felt good to say no. Why?

“Shhh,” he whispered. “You see how hard I am? Now, where do you want it?”

Between my clenched thighs, Matt’s c**k felt larger than ever. It throbbed and I groaned. My arms were sore. I couldn’t catch my breath.

If this were real, would I give up the fight? I felt exhausted, and Matt wasn’t even winded. His superior strength overruled me.

“Where?” he taunted. He nudged his c**k against my pu**y and then up, toward my ass. My breath caught. “If you don’t say your pu**y, I’ll put it in your ass.”

“No, no…”

“Say it.”

“My pu**y,” I whispered.

Matt penetrated me in one thrust. My body tightened, resisting the invasion, and my low, humiliated moan cut away when he wrapped a hand around my neck. My eyes rolled. My nostrils flared. Fuck … this felt amazing.

Matt moved against me ruthlessly, and he whispered yes, yes … God, yes, lost in his private ecstasy. I stopped struggling. I saw spots, white and yellow. Matt hadn’t undressed; he’d only freed his cock. The zipper on his jeans scraped my thigh. Our bodies slapped together and thumped against the floor. I lapped at his palm. I was close, so close.

“It’s over,” he groaned. “Just lie here and take it. It’s over baby, it’s over.”

He was right.

I came—a spasm that squeezed Matt’s hardness, then pushed with equal force—and made a sticky mess on the floor. My pleasure was a throaty howl.

“Fuck!” he snarled. “Ah—I’m coming, Hannah, Hannah—” As he sometimes liked to do, Matt pulled out and jerked off, and he came on my bottom.

I felt his pleasure dripping down my crack. It trickled over my swollen pu**y.

We lay together on the floor collecting our wits.

I caressed Matt’s face and he checked me over for scrapes.

A moment ago, he was convincing in his force. Now he was convincing in his gentle concern. I didn’t ask myself which was the real Matt. People are light and dark.

“Who knew?” he murmured, kissing my throat. “You like it so rough, Hannah.”