Talk Me Down

The thought made him cringe in memory, though it was just habit at this point. Molly was here now to replace that old incident with new, more spectacular disasters. He’d probably care more once his dick gave up hope and eased its monopoly on his blood flow. But right now everything seemed okay, because Molly was gorgeous and flushed and confused and still perched half on his lap.

“Molly?”

“Yeah?”

She looked up from tugging on her hat, and he caught her in a simple, soft kiss. “I had fun tonight.”

“Oh,” she sighed, eyes closed, lips turned up in a secret smile. “Oh, so did I.”

There was nothing to be done, so Ben walked her to her door, gave her a quick lecture because she’d forgotten to lock it, declined her invitation to spend the night, then told her to sleep well. She assured him that she would.

Whatever his regrets, Ben walked back to his truck feeling glad that one of them was in for a peaceful, sated night.

UNBELIEVABLE. Molly Jennings was out of control.

An owl screeched from somewhere close by, probably irritated with the human hiding in the moon shade of the trees, scaring all the prey away. But the shadow watching Molly didn’t budge.

The girl had just had sex in a truck, in public, with a man she barely knew. She’d been in Tumble Creek all of, what? Four days?

She didn’t even look ashamed of herself as she closed her front door. Hell, she probably knew she’d been watched, and had enjoyed it all the more. It would be in keeping with her personality. Always drawing attention.

Perhaps she slept with strange men in public all the time. Perhaps she’d screwed all the patrons in the bar tonight before leaving with Chief Lawson.

Damn it.

She probably felt safe here, living a charmed life in these mountains, but the razor peaks and icy nights had broken thousands of men over the centuries. It would be easy enough to change her mind about returning to this town.

The lock-pick gun shifted in the black bag, heavy as a gold bar but so much more valuable. People—single women in particular—locked their doors at night and felt secure, but that was pure ignorance. Every locksmith owned one of these gadgets that could open any cheap lock. Every locksmith…and every police department.

Molly would sleep soundly tonight, satisfied with her evening’s fun, and she’d have no idea of her vulnerability. No idea that someone could stalk through her house with no fear, even stand over her bed and watch her sleep.

But she would realize her ignorance soon enough. Her female instincts would try to warn her, niggling at the edges of her consciousness. Fear would worm its way into her head, but there’d be no proof of anything, no implication that her terror was well-founded.

She’d be afraid. She’d feel confused. Soon enough, paranoia would set in. And then she would move away from Tumble Creek and back to Denver where she belonged.

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