Vivian Arend - High Passion

The creak of floorboards to the right snapped her gaze over to discover Vincent rising from the old wooden chair tucked into the corner of the room. “My God, how did you get in?”

She backed up slowly as he stepped toward her.

He ignored her outburst, looking her over carefully, his face expressionless. “You’re home late. I expected you hours ago.”

Trapped in her own home. Alisha retreated farther, flipping on all the light switches as she moved. “You have no right to be in here, and no right to be expecting me. Get out of my house, Vincent.”

“I was worried about you.” He moved to the right as she reached for the door, his body blocking her escape. “Since you left on your call this morning I’ve been waiting to hear that you were safe. Such a dangerous field you’ve chosen to be involved in. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.”

She shook her head. He knew about the call-out; he’d gotten into her home. Terror and confusion were brought under control through sheer determination. “Are you spying on me? Get out.”

Vincent smiled, a horrid expression made more terrifying because it was so obviously fake. “You were with your lover. Did you tell him yet that it’s over between you?”

This was not happening. Alisha eyed the window that led to the fire escape, wondering if she could cross the room and get out before he could stop her. “That’s none of your business. You’ve gone too far, Vincent. This is breaking and entering—I didn’t give you a key, and I didn’t invite you in. Leave before I call the police.”

He waved a hand. “I’ll be gone in a minute. I had planned a more intimate evening for us, but I’m not interested in Devon’s leftovers.”

The thought of doing anything sexual with Vincent made her stomach churn. She held her ground and waited for him to finish.

He stepped toward her and her heart leapt. “I want you ready to return to Toronto by the new year at the latest. There’s no use resisting. At some point you won’t be able to hold out any longer. Once you have no roof over your head, and no friends who want to help you.”

“You can’t believe that you can force me to marry you. What do you think this is, the Dark Ages?”

“I believe you are a smart enough woman to see the benefits once you think them through.”

She had her fingers on her phone ready to blindly call anyone in the hopes they’d figure out she was in trouble. “Get. Out.”

He cast one more icy glare in her direction before he left.

A tumble of emotions swept her, and with shaking limbs she raced to lock the deadbolt. Dragging a chair under the doorknob seemed very cheesy, but necessary. How had he gotten in?

She clutched her phone as she ran from window to window to make sure they were all locked. Nothing. No indication of how he’d gotten inside. Alisha calmed her breathing and thought through her options.

Impossibly, Vincent must have a key. But if he did have a key, that meant he could get in again anytime.

Did she call someone at the wonderful hour of one A.M. to come and stay with her, or did she go crash on someone else’s good nature? The warmth of Devon’s bed beckoned, his comforting arms. Fleeing to him was what she wanted, but was it the right choice?

Dumping this situation with Vincent on top of everything else would complicate matters. Because Devon would expect an explanation if she showed up on his doorstep not even half an hour after she’d insisted on leaving.

But who else could she turn to?

Marcus was out of town, meaning Becki would be alone. Erin lived alone, and Alisha wasn’t about to bring stalker Vincent anywhere near another woman.

The perfect solution hit. She grabbed a spare gym bag and packed clean rescue gear into it. A second bag with all the things she’d need for a couple of days, just in case she ended up gone for that long before feeling comfortable Vincent would behave.

It took two trips to get her gear all into the car, and she watched over her shoulder the entire time. She felt like a fool driving in circles, taking the long way around to her destination, but as far as she could tell she wasn’t followed.

She parked down the road from Tripp’s and called him, inspecting the shadows as she waited for him to respond.

“Do you know what fucking time it is?” he growled sleepily. “You okay? You need a hand?”

Her throat went tight at his instant offer. “I love you, Tripp. I need a place to stay for the night.”

“No problem. Do you need me to pick you up?” His voice clearing, tone sharpening as he woke.

“I’m in my car and looking at your house. Is there room in the garage?”

“There is. I’ll open the door.”

She followed his progress through the three-story town house as he flipped on lights and made his way to the ground level. The garage door opened, and she eased her car in next to his truck.

Tripp was right there when she stepped out, the large overhead door closing on them, hiding them away. He checked her over carefully. “I hope I don’t need to go beat on some stupid blond boy.”

She choked out a laugh. “Devon? Oh God, no. He’s not the cause of this mess.”

“Get upstairs, we’ll talk in a minute.” He helped her with her bags, abandoning the one with her dirty clothes from the day’s rescue in his laundry room and placing her emergency bag next to his in a safe spot. “You can have the guest room, but first, reassure me. You’re not hurt in any way?”

She shook her head. “Just didn’t think it was safe to stay in my apartment tonight.”

He nodded. “Sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He gave her a huge bear hug, then sent her into the spare room, the cozy quilt and soft pillows enticing her to drop all the worries and panics of the day. Tomorrow she’d figure out what to do. Tomorrow things would make more sense after hours of sleep and a good breakfast.

Only she tossed and turned restlessly. Every time she closed her eyes the darkness sent images flying at her. Sometimes it was a rush of water enfolding her in its icy grip. Sometimes it was Vincent, the ice in his stare cold enough to make her wake, shivering, whimpering in fear.

She dragged the blankets back on for the third time and tried to stop her rapid breathing. The door opened, and Tripp peeked in.

“You’re not okay, and don’t lie about it.”

She felt about three years old. “I’m having bad dreams.”

Tripp laughed softly. “Oh, girl. Fine, shove over.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m dead on my feet and you must be as well. Marcus is going to kick our butts with training tomorrow, so I’d like it if we could rest before then.” He stood beside the bed and waved at her again. “Don’t be a bed hog, though, or I’ll kick you to the floor.”

He crawled in beside her, a wall of warmth, and she sighed. Tripp turned his back and she snuggled up tight, only partially ashamed for taking advantage of him. “You’re a good friend, Tripp.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

She laughed, and this time the warmth crowded over her fears and pushed the darkness far enough into the distance that she could sleep.

The bed was empty when she woke, morning sun lighting the sky without being high enough to show its face over the mountains yet. Alisha pulled on sweats and headed to the kitchen to find Tripp and his boyfriend seated at the table, cups of coffee in their hands as they read the paper. Cereal boxes were stacked high on the tabletop, but there was an empty place setting waiting for her, and thankfulness rushed in.

Jonah noticed her first and poked Tripp. “Your cuddle bunny is awake.”

Tripp laughed, and her face heated as she stepped to Jonah’s side and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for the use of the spare bed.”