Page 79 of Stranger to Love

But then, a few minutes later, there was a soft, hesitant knock at my door.

Those fucking tingles were back instantly, racing across my skin before I could even say "Come in." The door swung open, and there she was. She’d changed into a deep emerald silk nightgown that clung to her in all the right places. Fuck, she looked devastating, as usual, her hair slightly mussed from the evening.

"Just checking," she said, her voice regaining a bit of that composed, cool edge. "Do you have everything you need, Alex?"

I couldn't fucking help it. I sat up, a slow smirk spreading across my face as I made a deliberate show of looking her up and down, letting my eyes linger on the curve of her hips.

"Alex," she scolded, her tone light but warning, a faint blush creeping up her neck.

I just shrugged unapologetically, my smirk widening. "I think I've got everything I need right here."

Suddenly, a loud, muffled thud echoed from downstairs—the sound of a door or perhaps a heavy object settling. Dr. Carter practically fucking teleported into the room, her composure vanishing in a heartbeat as she stared at the hallway with wide, panicked eyes.

I stood up immediately, my protective instincts flaring even though I knew it was just the house settling. "Hey, baby, it’s okay. It’s probably nothing."

She didn't look convinced. A flicker of something else sparked in her eyes for a moment, but it quickly died. She was still clearly on edge from the films, looking incredibly small and adorably fucking rattled in the middle of my room. I tried my absolute best not to grin at how such a powerful woman could be defeated by a 90s slasher flick.

I chuckled softly, stepping toward the door. "Stay here. I'll go see what it was."

I slipped out of the room, my bare feet silent on the hardwood. Even though I was 99% sure it was just the old house complaining about the temperature, the way she looked at me—that genuine, wide-eyed flicker of fear—made me want to clear every square inch of the place.

I headed downstairs, noting that the lounge door was then closed. Strange. I thought she left it open. I pushed it open, scanning the dark corners and the empty sofa where we were just tangled together. Nothing. I moved into the kitchen, checking the back door—locked tight—and then peeked into the downstairs toilet. All clear.

I paused in front of the one door I hadn't been allowed in yet: Dr. Carter’s office. I hesitated for a split second, then turned the handle. It was a quick sweep, my eyes darting over floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a heavy mahogany desk. Everything seemed to be in its place, smelling of old paper and expensive pens. It felt fucking weird to look into a space so personal to her. There were no intruders, no ghosts, just a quiet room.

I headed back upstairs, my heart still thudding a little from the adrenaline of playing the fucking protector. When I stepped back into the guest room, Dr. Carter was standing exactly where I left her. She was trying her absolute hardest to look composed—chin up, shoulders back—but her eyes were glued to the doorway, and she was hugging her arms across her chest as if she was trying to hold herself together.

She looked so out of her element that it made my chest fucking ache.

"Everything's fine," I said softly, closing the door behind me to seal the room off from the dark hallway. "Checked the lounge, the kitchen, even your office. It was just the house settling. No Ghostface, I promise."

She took a long, visible breath, her shoulders finally dropping an inch. "I'm being ridiculous," she muttered, though she didn't move to leave. "I know it’s just fiction. The psychological manipulation of those films is simply... effective."

I walked toward her, not stopping until I was right in her space. "It's not ridiculous. It's just a reaction." I reached out, my hands settling on her waist, and she didn't pull away. In fact, she leaned into me just a fraction. "You still look a bit rattled, though."

Dr. Carter cleared her throat, the sound a sharp attempt to reclaim her dignity. "I’m just being stupid, Alex," she said, her voice regaining a bit of its clinical detachedness. "I’ve probably just had too much to drink."

I nodded, but I was completely fucking unconvinced. The way her eyes kept darting toward the sliver of darkness under the door told a different story. I reached out, my fingers slowly combing through her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. What was I fucking doing? As I did, her eyes flickered to the hallway again, a tiny, involuntary flinch that made my heart absolutely melt.

I was fucking doomed, I thought to myself. I was actually, irrevocably screwed. This woman could ruin my life with a single phone call, but right then, she was terrified of a creaky floorboard and a movie from the nineties, and I wanted nothing more than to wrap her up and keep the world away.

I let my hand linger on the back of her neck, my thumb stroking the soft skin there. "You know," I said, my voice dropping into a low, comforting hum. "If you're scared, you can stay with me tonight."

She opened her mouth to protest, probably to tell me how logically sound her security system was, but I cut her off with a smirk and a wink.

"I'll protect you while you sleep, Dr. Carter. I’m a very heavy sleeper, but I promise I’ll fight off any masked killers that try to get past the guest room door."

The protest died in her throat. She looked at me, really looked at me, and for a second the "Professor" was completely gone. There was just a woman who didn’t want to be alone in a big, dark house. Fuck, yep, I was screwed.

"You're being incredibly smug about this," she whispered, though she was already stepping closer, her hands finding the hem of my nightgown.

"A little bit," I admitted, grinning. "So? Are you staying, or am I walking you back to your room and checking under your bed for you?"

Dr. Carter hesitated, the internal war between her pride and her nerves playing out right across her face. Then, probably because of the three bottles of wine we’d shared and the way I was looking at her, she finally softened. She nodded once, her teeth catching her lower lip in a way that made me absolutely fucking melt.

She didn't say a word, but she leaned past me toward the door. I watched, my grin widening, as she reached out and twisted the lock with a decisive click. She pulled her hand back quickly, smoothing her emerald gown as if she just happened to notice the door was unsecured and was merely being thorough, but we both knew she was terrified of that hallway. It was so fucking adorable I could barely stand it.

"Just for safety's sake," she murmured, her voice still trying to hold onto that professional weight. "The guest room lock can be temperamental."