I’ve finally started to get Chris out of my head. I caught up on my blog and even pre-wrote a review for next week to make sure I don’t get off track again. I managed to find someone at the bank to at least talk to me about a loan for Amelia’s beauty school, and I’ve barely thought about the fact that Ryan and Claire’s wedding is just a few months away. All in all, it has been a pretty successful week.

But when I hear a loud knocking at my door, I’m gripped by a sudden certainty that things are about to get complicated again. Amelia’s out working and Brooke is sleeping in, so I can’t just ignore it and hope someone else will answer. Besides, part of me is worried it’s Alec again. I’m only holding on to my resolve to stay away from Chris by a thread, and the hundred thousand dollars that might hang on that decision isn’t helping. Besides, if it were Alec at the door, and he decided to tell Brooke about the offer he made me, I’m not sure I could look her in the eye and tell her I was letting a chance at enough money to fix all our problems slip by.

I pull the door open and have to tilt my head up, because Chris Savage is standing on my porch. He’s actually wearing a crisp dress shirt and pants with a tie. He smells faintly of something manly that makes me think of forests on cool mornings and freshly cut wood. It’s intoxicating. I’ve seen this version of him on magazine covers and in tabloids, and it’s actually more impressive in person. That’s not to say his less put together mountain man look doesn’t have its own appeal.

All I can do is frown up at him as I try to piece together what he’s doing at my house and why he looks like he actually tried this morning.

“Your offer,” he says. “Does it still stand?”

I cross my arms because I don’t trust myself not to slam the door in his face. Only a man who looks and carries himself like Chris could just walk up here after a week of pretending I don’t exist and act like it was no big deal. I can feel the urge to nod my head so strongly it hurts. I can’t help thinking that I’m a glutton for punishment.

“It depends,” I manage.

He leans against the railing with an amused grin. “On?”

“On whether you’re going to behave.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I thought part of the deal was I could still be an ass. You’re telling me I’d have to be nice to you?”

“Civil. At least.”

He makes a show of thinking it over, tapping his perfect chin with his finger before finally shrugging. “Fair enough. After all, civility is always up for interpretation.” He extends a hand for me to shake.

I stare down at it. I could close the door and forget any of this happened. I could leave him as a strange, bizarre part of my past and keep living the life I've been living. Or…

I could forget my pride and all the logical bones in my body that are urging me to teach him a lesson. I could accept that he’s not perfect and probably never will be, but that maybe, just maybe if I take his hand and try this thing with him, things might get better. Not just for me, either. He might finish his book. I might find something worth remembering. My family might even end up a hundred thousand dollars richer; I don’t want to fixate on that particular outcome because it makes me feel sleazy, but I can’t completely forget it, either.

I grab it his massive hand, letting it swallow mine up. He yanks me in for a hug, squeezing me too tight and grunting like we’re old friends. He doesn’t let go immediately though, and when I try to pull away he keeps me squeezed to his body, bending his neck to whisper in my ear. “I just need to make one thing clear before we start all this.”

“Okay,” I say, throat tight. He smells so good it’s not even fair, and the power of his body practically pulses through me, driving me into a dark place in my mind where I can’t help thinking how easy it would be for him to hold me with those powerful hands and keep me where he wanted me while he—

I squeeze my eyes closed. Stop it, Lindsey.

He chuckles softly, an almost taunting sound, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s about to say but he’s going to do it anyway. “If you follow through with this,” he says. “I’m going to end up fucking you. You realize that, don’t you?”

It’s like an invisible hand is gripping my neck, squeezing my vocal cords so tight that the only sound I can make is a whimpering kind of grunt of disagreement. I want to think this is part of his act, just another line to try to drive a wedge between us and keep me from liking him, but I have no real way of knowing.

He pulls back so I’m forced to look in his eyes; there’s a new light in them I haven’t seen yet, like this whole time he has been in some sort of hibernation but now the furnace inside is blazing and he’s completely and terrifyingly awake. “Fight it if you want,” he says. “Deny it if you want, too. But I’m going to prove you’re no different than the rest of them. I’ll fuck you like a wannabe groupie and I may even let you have a signed copy of my book for your trouble. Make no mistake though. If you let me, I’ll use you. That’s what I do. You wanted the real me? Take a long fucking look,” he says, the amusement suddenly draining from his face. His lips twist as he looks down at himself, arms splayed.

He watches me, eyes still blazing and chest heaving, waiting. He doesn’t rush the moment, in fact, Chris never seems to rush. Even now when his anger is flaring and he’s clearly at the edge of control, he’s content to wait. He lets his anger stew and the moment hang between us, granting weight to his words with every second that passes until I feel like they press down on me, squashing any argument or complaint I might voice.

I can feel myself standing at a sort of crossroads. This is where I really decide. I shook his hand but I can still turn away. If I take one more step though…

The hunter just showed me his trap and dared me to walk into it. No, he practically taunted me and said he knew I would. But he’s forgetting there are more options. This isn’t some game with only two outcomes. If I know where the trap is, I can skirt the edges, avoid it entirely. Because I don’t believe him. Maybe he thinks he’s finally pulling away the mask and showing me who he really is, but it doesn’t match up with the words I’ve seen him write and the emotion he’s poured into those pages. It’s not the good guy I’ve seen glimpses of.

“Sounds like you’re going to be disappointed,” I say finally, but my voice lacks conviction.

He ignores me, eyes still blazing.

God. I thought I understood how he roped girls into his bed even while he probably degraded them and promised to toss them aside the next morning. I thought I had felt all the powers of attraction he had.

Now though?

I realize he wasn’t even trying yet.

I remember reading stories online once about a phenomena known as the "call of the void", or the unconscious fixation we sometimes get with how easy it would be to swerve into oncoming traffic or walk over the edge of a cliff. I sat in front of my computer trying to make sense of it, because I had felt it too. Eventually, I decided it's just a natural curiosity, an almost unavoidable need to explore how easy it would be to throw everything we've built away in the blink of an eye, if we only wanted to.

Chris Savage is that void.

It’s impossible not to look into the molten brown of his eyes and not see how easily I could lose myself, how effortlessly I could take just one step into his trap and watch my life burst into a thousand unrecognizable pieces.

The scariest part is that sometimes I don’t want to recognize my life anymore. I don’t want to be the girl who is always doing the rational thing or making the responsible choices. I don’t want to be the smart one. I just want to be. For once I want to do something totally stupid and reckless, whether it makes financial sense or even logical sense.

“We start tonight,” he says. It feels like hours have passed since he pulled me into his arms but it has only been moments, a minute at most.

“Start what?”

“You’re going to help me write the manuscript.”

“How am I going to do that, exactly?” I ask.

He grins. “Remember when you said you’d do anything?”