Ready or Not (Aspen Ridge Holiday Novellas)

8. Lily

Chapter Eight

LILY

M y alarm goes off well before I’m ready to wake for the day. My sleep was haunted again by dreams of Wes Draven. They are always the same, Wes sneaking into my bedroom deep into the night, watching me, touching me until he brings me to orgasm. I stay asleep, scared that if I were to wake up he would stop and leave me unsatisfied. They’re so vivid, the orgasms so real, that every morning I have to question my reality.

Reaching out to my end table, I blindly slap around for my phone to get the blaring, annoying ringing to stop. On my second slap, my palm comes down hard on spikes, and I jerk my hand back with a loud, surprised yelp. Sitting up quickly, my body freezes as I take in the sight in front of me. Sitting right next to my blaring, vibrating phone, plain as day, is a single, long-stemmed red rose.

With shaky hands, I reach forward to grab the flower, and my phone to silence it. I bring the delicate petals to my nose and inhale the sweet fragrance, a rush of excitement and terror battling for dominance inside me. I can’t help but wonder if this is the start of something enchanting or something much more sinister. I know I should call the police, call my parents or Emma, but I can’t shake the feeling of longing for the person who was in my room and left this for me.

After getting ready for the day, I pack up my laptop and head to Bean Haven for a latte and to get some work done. I lock up my apartment and walk down the quaint cobblestone sidewalk, kicking my boots through the dry autumn leaves and loving the noise of the rustling. A thick layer of clouds covers our small town, cocooning us in an autumn chill. It won’t be much longer before the first snow comes, officially putting an end to my favorite season of the year.

Despite the familiar walk to the coffee shop, I feel a heavy presence surrounding me. That ominous thrill is like an old friend at this point, and I can’t help but wonder if the secret of my stalker will be unveiled or if this is all it will ever be. The latter possibility disappoints me. I open the door to Bean Haven, the bell chiming over my head and the warmth from the shop assaulting my face. I stop in my tracks when my eyes immediately go to Wes. He’s sitting at one of the few tables by himself with a laptop, a coffee, and a mouthwatering Bean Haven signature—an apple cinnamon muffin. He’s wearing a black sweater—which clings to his body in all the right places—with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing the thick lines of ink that cover his corded arms and hands. Just looking at him leaves me breathless, my mind hazy, and warmth slinks through my veins until it reaches my core. The yearning I have for him is strong, but I shake my head slightly, pulling myself out of my lust-driven craving, and walk up to the counter to place my order.

Hannah works the counter like an expert, her violet hair dancing around her shoulders in loose waves. She fits the boho vibe of the coffee shop she’s overhauled and updated from her grandmother perfectly.

“Hey, Lily, latte?”

“Hey, Hannah. Pumpkin spice and an apple cinnamon muffin if you have any?”

“Just sold the last one to Mr. Draven over there. Sorry. Anything else?”

Disappointment falls over me. I stick to ordering just the latte and pay, turning to find a place to sit and work when I find Wes’ eyes on me. He motions for me to take the spot across from him, and heat instantly pools between my legs. Which seems to be my body’s natural response to this large, tattooed, gorgeous man. Picking up my to-go mug of the sweet autumn nectar, I walk across the shop to greet him and sit down.

“Good morning, Wes.”

“Good morning, Lilith. How was your night?”

His question stuns me before I realize that’s a perfectly normal thing to ask someone first thing in the morning. It’s impossible for him to know of my erotic dreams that took center stage the entire night. With him as the star.

“It was incredible,” I tell him truthfully. He smirks at me with a devilish grin before pushing his small plate in my direction. My eyes dip down to the apple cinnamon muffin sitting untouched, then slide to his hand. His thick fingers are covered in tattoos that spread across the top and over his wrist in an intricate design. I lift my eyes to find his already on me, his focus so strong that it nearly forces the air from my lungs.

“Hungry?” he finally asks, not breaking eye contact.

“It’s yours, I’m okay,” I answer, my voice shaky from being under his powerful stare.

“I overheard you order one though, please. I want you to have it.”

“That’s sweet, Wes, but it’s yours. You enjoy it.”

“I will enjoy it more if I get to watch you eat it, knowing I’m the reason behind your pleasure.”

Any coherent thought I could have conjured eludes me as I take in this perfect man in front of me and what he just said.

I will enjoy it more if I get to watch you eat it, knowing I’m the reason behind your pleasure.

All I can do is smile and nod my head in agreement. His face brightens, his smile turning up, and his eyes squinting slightly, crinkling the skin at the corners. He pulls his hand back, running it through his thick beard, and my eyes track the motion, wondering what it would feel like if it was my hand instead of his own.

“Are you excited about tomorrow?” he asks, breaking me from my haze. I take a sip of my latte before picking off a piece of the crumbling streusel topping.

“I am. It’s my favorite day of the year. Anything goes on Halloween, and I tend to lean into it. What about you?”

“I’ve never been more excited about anything.”

“You must have some special plans then,” I joke, a bit of jealousy coursing through me like a disease. The thought of Wes with someone else leaves a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I swallowed battery acid.

“I do.” The look he gives me as he says those two words ignites the flutter of butterflies throughout my body. It was delivered in a way that sounded not like a statement or fact, but a promise.

We work across from each other for the next several hours in comfortable silence. I glance up from my computer every few minutes, his presence both a calming balm to my nervous system and the reason my heart hasn’t slowed down in excitement.

I run last-minute errands the rest of the day, and by the evening I’m so eager for tomorrow and all of its possibilities, that I eat a quick meal and take a long, hot bath to help me relax. My mind never strays from Wes, my stalker, and the foreboding feeling that’s been haunting me for weeks.

Feeling like tempting fate tonight, I walk through my apartment in nothing but a silk robe that hangs to the top of my thighs, barely covering my ass. I open the back door to my apartment, stepping out into the cool autumn night, the cold hardwood of the small deck chilling me through my bare feet. I look around the backyard, finding it peacefully empty. With shaky fingers, I untie my robe, letting the fabric fall open, exposing my naked body underneath. I trail my fingers down my neck, over the divots of my collarbone, and between my breasts before turning and walking inside. Instead of locking my door like I always do, I leave it unlocked, walking straight to my bedroom like a fucking crazy person.