CHAPTER NINE
Kristina
I arrive at Ian’s apartment to find him deep in work on our book, his dark eyes flashing with inspiration as his fingers fly across the keyboard. I love watching him create like this.
After a few minutes, he sits back and smiles at me. “Just finished another chapter. I love how it’s coming. Take a look.”
He opens his arms for me, and I sit on his lap to read what he’s written, sure it’s as wonderful as everything else he’s written. Before I can read a word, Ian pulls my face to his and kisses me long and deep. My body yearns for his touch, yearns for him to make love to me right now.
“I missed you,” he whispers in a hoarse voice that hits me deep inside. “I’ve missed feeling of you next to me.”
“I missed you too,” I say as I slide my fingers through his dark hair. “I thought about you today. I was reading the inscription you wrote in my copy of Caligula’s Dream. Your best fan. I love that.”
His hand slowly caresses the tops of my thighs, teasing me every so often when he sneaks a finger over the front of my panties already damp from my desire for him. I watch his tongue slowly glide over his lower lip as his gaze travels to where his hand comes to rest, and I’m desperate for him to ease the ache inside me.
“I love how wet you get just from my touch,” he says and presses his fingertip to my clit, sending a jolt of need through my body.
“I want you, Ian. Please don’t tease.”
He removes his hand from under my skirt and kisses me softly on the lips. “After we read the scene I just wrote.”
I can’t help but pout at his insistence in reading instead of getting me off, but I try to be understanding, even as he quickly shifts from lover mode to author mode. He turns the laptop to face me and begins to read and it doesn’t take long for a sense of uneasiness to creep in between us.
His eyes fix on the words that tell how Kate Silk stands on the street across from her lover’s house thinking about how much she cares for him, but all I hear is the story of a woman stalking a man. After too many brushes with the media and paparazzi, I feel nothing but dread at the idea of someone watching me from the street below.
I thought Ian felt the same way, but as he continues to read I realize Kate is him. Has he stood across the street from my building and watched my apartment windows for any sign of me like his character does? I want to ask him, but I’m too afraid of the answer.
Ian’s fingers stroke the insides of my thighs as he speaks, but all I want to do is run. With every word, I’m more convinced than ever that the scene he’s written is one he’s lived out before with me.
I need to get away from this place.
I need to get away from him.
“Ian, I’m not feeling well,” I say suddenly, tearing him out of his work.
He looks confused, but his expression changes to concern and he asks, “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”
Those dark eyes look at me like I’m more important than anything else in his world, but I can’t forget how I felt as he read to me just moments before. I need to get out there now before he realizes I don’t like what he’s done.
“My stomach is upset. I need to go home.”
He says nothing but studies my face for a long moment. “Is something wrong, Kristina?”
The edge in his voice tells me he knows something’s wrong. I need to leave. Standing, I look for where I dropped my purse on the way in. “Just don’t feel well. I’ll call you after I lie down for a bit.”
I scramble toward the door, forgetting to even kiss him as I leave like I always do. He follows me and catches my arm as I reach for the door. “I don’t even get a kiss goodbye?”
I don’t want to face him now. He scares me. But slowly, I turn to see him standing behind me, a look of hurt in his eyes. For a moment, I regret my fear. He’s been nothing but sweet and accepting of me. The problem is even as that regret makes me feel bad, the fear of being stalked makes me feel much worse.
“Of course. I’m sorry,” I say before I lean in and kiss him as I have every time I left his apartment.
This time is different, though. I can’t come back here.
He tenderly cradles my face and looks into my eyes as if he’s searching for the answer to why I seem so different. His gaze unnerves me, and I say in a shaky voice, “I’m sure it’s just a touch of the bug or something. I’ll call you.”
“You don’t want me to call you a cab? I know you only live a few blocks away, but if you’re sick, you don’t want to walk all that way.”
He knows I’m lying. I see it in his eyes. He knows and he can’t figure out what’s wrong.
“I think a little fresh air will be good for me.”
“Do you want me to walk you home?”
“No. I’ll call you later.”
His hands slip from my face, and I turn toward the door. A quick twist of the doorknob and I pull the door open and leave as he calls after me to be careful. I don’t look back, afraid of feeling bad if I see hurt in his eyes or terrified if I see he knows I don’t plan to come back here ever again.
I frantically press the down arrow to get the elevator to come, hoping he doesn’t decide to ignore what I said and walk me home. It feels like it takes forever for it to finally arrive, and I step in and sag against the metal walls as I press the button for the ground floor. I let out a deep sigh as if I’ve been holding my breath for too long and look down to see my hands shaking.
The elevator doors open and I bolt out into the lobby, nearly running over the doorman as he stands talking to a woman about the weather or something. I hear him wish me a good night just as I hit the doors to the outside, but I don’t reply.
The October wind hits me as I step onto the sidewalk, making me all the more conscious of how much I want to be safe and sound in my home. I run down the block toward my building, turning around once or twice to see if Ian’s behind me, but I don’t see him. Maybe he believed my lie.
When I finally reach my apartment, I truly do feel sick to my stomach. The vision of him standing on the street watching my every move as I walk around my apartment blissfully ignorant of being stalked terrifies me.
But deep inside a tiny voice whispers that he would never hurt me. Ian cares for me. I’m his muse. He would never mean to frighten me intentionally.
I want to think all this is true, but then I remember him reading that scene so full of details of his character watching the one she loves and all I feel is afraid.
Afraid of him.
Closing my apartment door, I fasten every lock and deadbolt, something I never do when I’m home. I see his book sitting where I left it on my coffee table when I walk to my windows to draw the shades and a pang of loss bites at my heart. Curling up on the couch, I hold the book to my heart and sob. Had I been wrong to leave him? Was that voice that told me Ian would never hurt me right, or was my fear of him stalking me like a crazed fan right?
I pick up my phone to text him, but I don’t know the words to say. Finally, my fingers type the only words that make sense.
I can’t see you anymore.
Seconds later, his text comes in.
Why?
I just can’t. I’m sorry.
He answers immediately with a text that breaks my heart. I love you. Please don’t leave me.
As the tears roll down my face, I type I’m sorry. We can’t be together anymore.
He doesn’t answer, and my sadness grows until I want to call him and know why he won’t speak to me anymore. I know it’s crazy. I love him too, but I know my fear is real. How will I go on without him after everything we’ve been to one another?
My therapist is right. I am addicted to people. No, not people. Him. I’m addicted to him.
How will I be able to let him go?
As the reality of life without Ian settles into my brain, my phone vibrates against my leg one more time. Looking down, I see his reply to me.
There is no running from what we are, Kristina. I crave your touch as much you crave mine. There’s no point in denying it. We will see each other again.
Terror courses through me as I read his words again and again. We will see each other again. I walk to the window to see if he’s standing down on the sidewalk across the street watching me, waiting for me to open the blinds and see him. People walk past my building, but he’s not there. I stand there for a long time peeking out to see if he ever shows up.
He doesn’t.
In some small way, I wish he would. I know that’s crazier than even I want to admit, but I’m disappointed when I finally step away from the window an hour later. I sit back down on the couch where he and I first kissed and made love and read over his message one more time.
There is no running from what we are, Kristina.