Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Her curiosity should make her easier to predict.
It doesn’t.
We reach a set of doors that open onto a narrow balcony overlooking the lower level.
I stop.
She steps up beside me.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
“You built this,” she says.
I did not. This house was built a century ago. But my father built the structure. And my brothers and I—well, Nate and I; Cain left before he had much of a role—honed it.
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t feel like a place people live.”
“It’s not.” I thin my lips. “I mean, that’s not its main purpose.”
“Then what is its main purpose?”
A simple question.
A complicated answer.
I don’t reply. Simply lead her back to the front of the house.
At the door, she pauses. “So,” she says, turning to face me. “Was the tour part of the invitation I didn’t get?”
A faint smile touches my mouth. “You came anyway.”
“Yes.”
“And did you find what you were looking for?”
“No.”
She’s honest. I respect that.
“Then I suppose you’ll have to come back,” I say.
“Maybe,” she says.
Not a promise. Not a refusal.
Good enough.
I open the door. I could walk her to her car. I should offer.
I don’t.
She steps out into the cooler air.
She turns once at the top of the steps, as if she might say something else.
She doesn’t.
Then she walks to her car.
I watch her this time.
Not the whole way.
Just long enough.
I return to my office and close the door behind me, shutting out the rest of the house.
Silence fills the space.
I stand at the desk for a moment and then sit. My thumb finds the ring before I consciously think about it. The edge of the engraving presses against my skin as I turn it slowly.
The key.
Always the key.
I run my thumb along the teeth, feeling the uneven cuts, the deliberate asymmetry.
I think of her fingers hovering just above the carving on the wall.
Not touching.
Some doors aren’t meant to be opened.
The words sound different now.
Less like a rule. More like a challenge.
I turn the ring again.
And again.
The metal warms under my touch.
I’ve never had trouble opening anything I’ve set my mind to. I’ve never left a question unanswered once it’s taken hold.
Delaney Cross is becoming a question.
And I don’t like leaving things unanswered.
Especially not when they stand in front of me and look back without flinching.
I still feel the echo of her presence in the room.
I press my thumb harder against the ring, feeling the edge bite just slightly into my skin.
Some doors aren’t meant to be opened.
Delaney Cross is certainly not meant to be opened by me. She’s trouble. Trouble wrapped up in dark hair and steely blue eyes and the most luscious pair of lips I’ve ever seen.
I should stay away. Take care of her. Make it so she never crosses my path again. But I already know I won’t. I already know I can’t.
Some doors aren’t meant to be opened.
Delaney Cross opened a door. She stepped through it.
Now that she’s inside?
I decide what happens next.
10
DELANEY
I don’t go home.
I sit in my car at the bottom of the Vexley drive, engine off, hands still on the wheel like I’m waiting for something to settle.
It doesn’t.
The house looms behind me, all stone and secrets carved into places no one is supposed to notice. I can still see it—the repetition of the symbol, the key hidden in the lines.
And him.
Samson Vexley.
I tighten my fingers on the steering wheel.
I should leave.
I should go home, lock my door, write up my notes, and put as much distance between me and Samson Vexley as possible.
Instead, my fingers drift to the inside of my wrist.
Where he touched me last night.
My pulse is quick and sharp, like my body remembers something that didn’t actually happen.
I exhale abruptly.
Enough.
I start the car, shift into drive, and pull out.
If I stay still, I’ll think.
Somehow, instead of driving home, I end up at the marina again. The sun has set, and I shouldn’t be here at this hour. I shouldn’t be here alone at night.
It’s the same stretch of dock. The water is darker, and it ripples from the cool breeze.
Last time I took a cab and didn’t need to bother with parking. I find a small lot with space available, but it’s farther out…and I’m wearing heels.
I know better than this, but it’s like someone else has taken over my body.
I end up outside the same bar.
He’s there—same man, same position, same half-worn expression like he’s seen too much and is too tired to care about any of it.
He looks up when I step inside. Cocks his head. Does he recognize me from the other day?
“You again,” he says.
Yes, he recognizes me. I don’t smile.
I step up to the bar and rest my hand on the edge. “Hi there.”
“Hi, again.”
“You said it felt inevitable,” I say. “Like it was going to happen.”
He shifts, glancing past me for a second before his gaze returns. “So we’re back to that. It was a long time ago, ma’am, and I say a lot of things. Why are you still on this?”