Page 24 of Hunt You Down

We exited the parking deck and crossed the street to the apartment complex. Before we even approached the door, a tall man with dark skin pushed it open. He smiled at us, tipping his hat. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

“Evening, Charles,” André greeted.

“How was your trip, Mr. Collins?” Charles returned to his post next to the door, letting it slowly swing shut.

“It was good.” André stopped and put his arm around my waist. “This is David, he’s going to be staying with me for a while. Can you help him out a little when I’m not here? He’s not too familiar with the area.”

“Of course.” The man turned to me. “Welcome to New Orleans, Mr.…”

“Oh, uh, just David is fine, really.”

André instructed me to wait by the elevator, but I was none the wiser as to his true motives. He handed a small slip of paper over to Charles—a picture of Regan. He was warning him to keep an eye out for the psycho ex-boyfriend to show up and try and kill me again.

I averted my gaze quickly. I didn’t need to see the pity on Charles’s face. André strolled across the lobby, and I distracted myself by drinking in the picture. He pressed the button, sliding his arm around me as we waited. I rested my chin on his chest and gazed into his eyes. He looked exhausted. He must have stayed up after I fell asleep the night before. I could only tell by the way his eyelids drooped. His skin didn’t go dull like mine, nor did he have a hint of bags under his eyes. God forbid I sleep an hour less than normal and risk looking like a raccoon—which had been more than normal lately. “Whatcha thinking about darlin’?” he slurred, combing his fingers through my hair.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked. “About bringing me here? Things could get really messy.”

André curled his hand around my cheek, brushing the pad of his thumb over my lips. “Baby, if I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have let you get this far.”

I was interrupted by any further thoughts by the elevator dinging on the thirty-fifth floor. I didn’t even think it was possible for a building to have so many.

André gave me a gentle kiss and led me out of the elevator.

There were only two doors on that floor, yet the area was spacious. The suitcase wheels rattled against the hardwood floors and the sound echoed off the clean white walls. We passed the door on the left, continuing down to the one on the right. André asked me to take over pushing the suitcases while he opened the door and waited for me to enter before he closed it behind me. He kicked his shoes off, and I followed his lead, bending down to untie my sneakers.

“This way, baby.” He directed me down a long hallway behind the kitchen. André flipped on a light switch that illuminated the room and separated our suitcases, setting mine inside the door. For a single man who lived alone, I was pleasantly surprised. A full-sized bed sat in the middle of the room, bracketed with sleek black nightstands. Crisp, white cotton sheets made up the bed and a fluffy blue throw blanket was neatly folded at the bottom of the mattress. There was a door to my left, and another across from the bed. A couple paintings decorated the walls, and dark blue curtains covered the window.

“Closet’s here,” André said, gesturing to the door beside me. “And that’s the bathroom.” He led me over and opened the door to the Jack-and-Jill style bathroom. “That door leads to my office, but I never come in here, so you can keep that locked.”

Back out we went, and down the hallway to the living room. A blackout curtain covered the far wall. André dropped my hand to cross the room, taking two steps down into the sunken sitting area, bypassing the two leather couches that faced the flat screen on the wall. He pulled the curtain open, revealing the terrace and the aforementioned hot tub. Beyond that was the most stunning view of New Orleans I’d ever seen. It felt like we were on top of the world.

“Come here,” André commanded. I crossed the space between us, stepping into André’s open arms.

He motioned to the door behind him. “This is my bedroom, and I’m sure I don’t have to explain the kitchen. You can help yourself to anything you need.” He pushed his lips against my forehead. “I want you to be comfortable here. You’re more than welcome to stay in my room, but I thought you’d want your own space. Everything is entirely up to you.”

André put his fingers under my chin and lifted my head to kiss me. “Do you need anything?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m just tired. I think I’ll lay down for a bit.”

“Okay. I’m going to take a shower. You come find me if you need me.”

André stepped away and went into his ensuite bathroom. I smirked, and instead of going back to the guest room like I probably should have, I waited for the shower to turn on before I stripped and climbed into André’s bed, setting my phone on the nightstand. The silky-soft sheets nearly made me moan. Instead, I sighed in relief, settling into the plush mattress.

I heard my phone vibrate, but I ignored it. I was way too close to dozing off. When the shower turned off, André slipped into the bed behind me. Only then did I close my eyes, listening to the buzzing continue as I fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter Thirteen

Hot water pelted my back and soaked my face. Dripping wet hair stuck to my forehead and the top half of my body pressed against the glass. Then I felt a rock-hard body behind me, and I moaned. One of his hands went into my hair, latching onto a thick fistful. The other stabilized my hip, and I whimpered. I wanted him to grab something else, damn it! “Brace yourself, baby,” he whispered.

I gasped, awaking with a start. The first thing that I noticed was that I was in bed alone. The second? I was hard—painfully hard. No sunlight poked around the curtains. I glanced at the alarm clock on André’s nightstand: three in the morning.

I trudged out of bed, detouring to the bathroom before going in search of a drink. As I stood at the sink, a glow from beneath an almost shut door caught my attention—André’s office.

Before I could stop myself, I’d drifted over to that door. I nudged it open and stepped into the room. Dark, wooden bookshelves lined the walls and were full to the brim. André sat at a vintage roll-top desk, laptop open and his headphones in. He clearly hadn’t heard me enter. I took a step closer, and André whirled his head around, nearly jumping out of his seat. “Jesus Christ, you scared me,” he said, removing his headphones. “I wasn’t expecting you to be awake.”

I apologized. “I saw the light on and thought you might be in here. Did I interrupt something?”

André spun his chair around to face me. “Not much. I was just doing some research for a client.” He noticed me shrinking back into the doorway. “What are you doing up?”