3. STORM

It doesn’t occur to me until after he’s gone that Nick saw me naked.

I mean, he must have – he changed me out of the dress I was wearing on the boat into the sweater and pajama pants I’m in now. And my underwear is nowhere to be found.

No man has ever seen me naked before, let along touched my bare skin. And yet he must have done to get me changed. I don’t know how I feel about that. Anyone else and I probably would have felt totally creeped out by the thought of it.

But it was Nick, and I’m not. In fact, I’m almost … excited by it? Is that insane?

Beside me, Delilah chucks her snout under my hand. Pet me, if you’d be so inclined, she’s saying, so I do. Samson looks on jealously, so I reach my fingers under his chin and give him a scratch, too.

Nick. Who is this guy? I tell him to scuttle a catamaran worth probably a quarter-million dollars and he agrees without batting an eye. And making promises about keeping me safe – is he really as tough as he tries to sound? The men who are after me are seriously dangerous. A couple of German shepherds and a creepy old house won’t even break their stride.

But there’s something about Nick that makes me believe he can back up what he says. Maybe it’s that inky hair and those steel-grey eyes. Or that body – he’s easily twenty years older than me, but I could see the rock-hard muscle under his shirt every time he moved. Or the fact he moves like some jungle cat, as if anything that’s in his way would simply step aside and let him pass.

Or those tattoos on his knuckles. I didn’t recognize the symbols, but even I’m old enough to realize they’re not there out of vanity. Nick’s ink is there for a reason, unlike all those Millennial hipsters who think tattoos will make them look tough.

So what is he, then? A thrill runs through me at the thought of finding out. But is it excitement I’m feeling – or fear? Or both?

Whatever it is, right now Nick is the only thing standing between me and Arkady. And so far, he doesn’t seem interested in my past. He doesn’t even mind that I haven’t told him my real name. That’s enough for me.

It has to be.

* * *

From what I can tell, Nick’s house is bigger than the elementary school I went to back in Arkansas, and I’ve only been through half of it so far. A quarter, really, since it’s two stories.

So far I’ve been through the main floor of the wing on the ocean side – mostly bedrooms and bathrooms, but also a few sitting rooms, a home theater and a library. All of it is like my bedroom, with rich, dark wood, ornate rugs and beautiful antique furniture. The last purple light of sunset filters in through tall cross-hatched windows, casting shadows on the walls behind the statues of old men in military clothes. It’s what I imagine an English manor house would look like.

Yeah, like I would know. The sum total of travelling I’ve done in my life was Arkansas to New York a few years ago.

True to Nick’s word, Samson and Delilah haven’t left my side since I started exploring. They pad along beside me as I pass through the main entry foyer on my way to what Nick called the east wing, where the kitchen supposedly is, in search of something to quell the grumbling in my stomach.

“Hungry?”

Jesus! I freeze, and my mouth suddenly tastes like pennies as adrenaline courses through my body. The sound of my own blood roars through my ears as my mind imagines Arkady standing behind me with a gun pointed at the back of my head.

“Ah shit,” the voice mutters, and I manage to finally breathe when I realize it’s Nick. “Sorry. I thought you heard me come in.”

My legs tremble as I turn to face him in the wide hallway. The sheepish look seems so out of place on his grim face that I almost let out a hysterical laugh.

“It’s okay,” I manage to say despite my galloping heartbeat. “I should have been paying attention.”

He places a warm hand on my lower back, sending a jolt up my spine.

“No, it’s not okay,” he says. “I’m too used to being the only person in the house; I should have realized you wouldn’t hear a door in such a huge place. I need to get used to that if you’re going to be staying here.”

Staying here? I – I like the sound of that.

“No, really,” I say. “You’re the host, I’m the guest. I’m the one who needs to get used to things.”

His smile and the fading light combine to soften the features of his face. He doesn’t seem nearly as grim as he did when I first woke up in the bedroom. Or maybe it’s just me.

“How about we both start thinking about it?” he offers.

“Deal.”

He points toward the far end of the hallway. “The kitchen is down this way. I was asking if you were hungry when I scared the shit out of you.”

“Starving,” I say with a giggle. “All that terror really worked up an appetite.”

He leads me past a huge formal dining room with seating for twenty, and into the kitchen beyond it. As he hits the light switch, I can see that, unlike the rest of the house, this room has been renovated and updated, with a restaurant-sized refrigerator and a ten-burner gas range. The towering windows open out onto the gardens at the back of the property.

Now that we’re in the light, I can see Nick also has a canvas shopping bag. He lays it on the counter as he turns towards me.

“Would you like me to cook something for you?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t want to put you out. Just a piece of toast and some tea would be great.”

“You’re sure?”

I nod. He seems disappointed, but fills the kettle from the sink next to the stove.

“What’s in the bag?” I ask.

“Clothes. I figured you’d get sick of my sweater and pajamas pretty soon, and your dress wasn’t exactly practical.”

My heart skips a beat. I never even thought about clothes, and here this stranger has gone out of his way to buy me some. It’s one of the most thoughtful things anyone’s ever done for me.

“Thank you,” I say. “Again. I’m starting to sound like a broken record.”

He shrugs. “Can’t have you running around naked.”

That makes me think about him changing me, and I feel that unfamiliar thrill down there again.

The tea he makes is black as tar and the toast is some strange dark bread I’ve never seen before, but both are delicious. As I finish my snack, I see Samson and Delilah snoozing on the floor several feet away and realize suddenly that I’m exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” I say through a yawn. “I think I need to go back to bed.”

Nick nods. “There are real pajamas in the bag. Women’s, I mean.”

He actually looks uncomfortable as he says it, and I can’t help but wonder if he kept his eyes closed while he was changing me. The thought makes me feel – I don’t know. Comfortable, I guess.

“You think of everything.” I smile.

“It’s kind of a new experience,” he says. “There hasn’t been a woman in this house for a very long time.”

His words make me instantly curious, but exhaustion wins out and I start the long journey back to my bedroom. I stop to touch his shoulder as I pass.

“Good night, Nick.”

“Good night, Storm.”

I smile sleepily at the name as I leave the light of the kitchen and venture into the vast darkness of the rest of the house, both dogs silently flanking me.