Текст книги "Playing with Trouble"

Автор книги: Chanel Cleeton

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Современные любовные романы

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

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I gripped the front door, pulling it open, when all of a sudden—

“Kate.”

I froze, my hand slipping from the doorknob, the sound of my name hitting my body like a blow.

Oh my god.

I knew that voice. Had heard it say my name hundreds of times. Thousands of times.

I told myself it was the stress of the night catching up with me, that it couldn’t be what I thought it was, hoped it was. I told myself to keep running, to call the police, told myself not to turn and face the intruder in my apartment.

It can’t be.

I struggled to calm my breathing, to keep it together when suddenly I felt like I was falling apart.

My hand left the knob, the baseball bat falling from my other hand, my body turning as the power of memory beat out any fight or flight response I might have had.

It was dark in the apartment—too dark to see anything but a shape looming in my open bedroom doorway. A strangled gasp escaped my mouth.

He was tall. Just like Matt had been.

Broader than Matt, though.

It can’t be.

And then I heard that voice again. “It’s me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

My body sagged against the front door. This had to be a dream. All of this. Maybe I was still sleeping.

He began walking to me, slowly, nothing menacing in his stride. He approached me without a sound, gliding through my living room like a ghost. With each step, he sucked the air out of the room.

My throat clogged with unshed tears, my entire world reduced to each step he took. And then he was in front of me, and I looked up, up, and stared at the man standing before me, searching for some sign that I wasn’t crazy, that this wasn’t a dream.

That it really was him.

I blinked, for a moment wondering if I was wrong, if I’d just walked into a trap and gotten myself killed. His face was covered in a dark beard, his hair obscured by an even darker ski cap. Up close, his body was even bulkier than I’d previously thought. His mouth was slanted in a hard line, nothing like the teasing smile I was used to seeing on the boy I’d loved.

He reached out and I flinched.

Maybe this was it. Maybe Blair was right and I’d totally and completely lost my mind.

But he didn’t kill me.

Instead, his fingers curled around the gold chain at my neck, his hand grazing my skin as he touched the little gold disc with my initial etched on it. The one he’d given me six years ago.

Our gazes connected and I stared into familiar dark eyes—

I stared at a ghost.