“No,” he answers, matter-of-factly.
Detective Hernandez watches us from the front of the other building, then walks toward us. “Everything okay?”
“Fine.” I shake my head in dismissal, wanting to be away from him—from everyone.
“Mr. Clark,” Hernandez says, turning his attention on Green Eyes. Mr. Clark?
“All good, Detective.” His tone is calm, soft.
“Are you going inside?” Hernandez asks.
“Yes,” both Mr. Clark and I say at the same time. I dart my gaze to his, which is already focused on me. He moves forward again, and I move out of the way, allowing him to open the door for us. The door slams behind us, Detective Hernandez watching through the glass panel.
As we take the stairs, my cheeks flame and a million-questions zip through my brain. “So, Mr. Clark?” I ask, my voice shaky. “That’s your name?”
“One of.” He smiles, and it’s breathtaking and haunting all at once.
“What does that even mean?” I scoff.
The pulse in his neck bulges as he ponders my question. “It means sometimes there’s a more complicated answer and people aren’t ready to hear it.”
“Am I people?” I slow as we reach my floor. There’s an energy when we’re together that’s impossible to deny, but why, how?
“You’re the one person who makes who I am terrifying to me,” he says, his expression etched with pain and need. “So, for now you can call me Clark.”
My brows crash together. He’s speaking in riddles. “I’m done with this. You can go now,” I croak, fear of what’s happening assailing every part of me. I know you.
“I was waiting for the right moment,” he calls out to me as I search for my key.
“Right time for what?” I ask, exasperated.
A wisp of air flees my lungs as his scent invades my senses. He’s so close, pushing against me, pinning me to the railing, his face hovering above mine, so close, I can taste his breath. His body melds to mine, engulfing me. So broad and tall. Strong hands grasp my cheeks, so gentle, it’s a beautiful agony. Thick, plump lips brush over mine, tightening my core. What the hell is happening? I both want to pull him closer and push him away, afraid of what this could lead to, who he is, what this means. It’s madness. My body dissolves against him as his tongue probes my lips, parting them. I give in to the sensation and grasp him by the lapels, pulling him into me, starved for affection, contact. The kiss turns desperate and messy, our tongues dueling, bodies trying to get closer. I’ve never felt this need before. It’s overwhelming. He pulls away abruptly, and I make a mewling sound.
We’re both breathless. I mourn the loss of his mouth on mine. What the hell was that? I feel drunk, giddy with a million emotions, and incredibly insane. Who does this shit? I thought he was stalking me not a minute ago, and now I’m making out with him like a…a…Charlotte. Like a Charlotte.
“I have to go,” I announce, my finger to my lips. They still vibrate from his touch. I fumble for my keys but can’t find them, so I pound on the door. “Charlotte, open the freaking door!” Looking back over my shoulder at him still standing there, I say, “You can go now.” Every part of me is on fire. “Charlotte,” I cry out. “Open the damn door.”
“Liz…” he says, my name and my insides vault. Did I tell him my name?
“Charlotte.” I’m almost crying, but have no idea why. My calls go unanswered, and I continue to search for my keys. Just as my hand grasps them, his hand comes down on my shoulder, making me twist to shrug him off.
“Leave now,” I snap.
“I live here,” he says with a wide, probing gaze, pointing upstairs. My mouth drops and eyes expand as I follow his finger. Oh my god. He’s the new neighbor. Suddenly, my door opens, and I stumble backward inside the apartment. Two strong hands catch my fall. Nervous energy buzzes in my veins.
“What the fuck?” Charlotte screeches
Charlotte and Paul, the bakery boy, both naked, stand there, gaping at me. “Lizzy, what the fuck?” she barks again. She’s covered in bruises, and so is Paul. They look like they’ve been ten rounds, and not the sexy kind. “We thought you were being murdered!” she says, making no attempt to cover herself up. Paul has his junk cupped in his hands, like I haven’t already got the image imprinted in my brain. He looks sheepish, not making eye contact.
“I’m sorry.” I gasp for breath, acutely aware Mr. Clark still has his hands clutching my arms. “This is the new neighbor,” I announce, tugging myself from his hold.
“The coffee shop guy?” Charlotte appraises him with her slutty eyes, but his eyes remain on me.
“Paul, the delivery guy?” I quirk a brow. “Not Tim?” I scoff.
“I didn’t want to be alone,” she grinds out. “I’m not like you, Liz. This isn’t second nature for me.” That hurts more than I’ll ever be able to convey to her, so I turn and walk straight to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
