He didn't believe in telepathy or the unexplained. If there wasn't an explanation for something, then that explanation just hadn't been discovered yet. The fact that he knew Addison Sterling was standing down the hall on the other side of a solid steel door from where he stood was simply heightened senses and intuition. He was in tune with this woman's every movement, every breath, every heartbeat. He imagined, if he closed his eyes he would know at any given moment where she stood in her apartment. Right now she was preparing to leave, like she did every morning at the same time. If she belonged to him, he would break her of that dangerous habit.
Lucky for her, she would never belong to him.
She stepped out of her door and turned gracefully on her ballet flats, her long white and blue pattered dress swishing around her legs. Her long, slim fingers unerringly found the lock on the door, where she inserted the key as she'd done a thousand times and turned it. Dropping the key into a small knit purse, which was strapped across her body, separating the lovely mounds of her breasts over the elasticized top of her dress. She bent her knees and reached to pick up the leather case containing her cello.
As he did every morning when he came down to her floor, he ruthlessly stopped himself from reaching out to snatch the case from her, the muscles under his shirt bunching in anger. The case was too big for her. She was too fragile. She loved it too much, far more than she loved anything else. He wanted to take it from her and destroy it. Which confused him. He didn't usually have impulse control issues.
She strode confidently toward the elevator, stopping only steps from where he stood, and reached for the button, her fingers so close to his stomach she nearly touched him. He planned it that way, imagined for a second what it would feel like if she did touch him. The elevator dinged, letting her know it had arrived. She waited for approximately three heartbeats and then stepped forward as the doors swished back. He stepped out in unison. As the doors closed, she turned to face them. He used the sound of the elevators closing to move swiftly around her.
Confident she was alone, she relaxed her stance, allowing her shoulders to soften. He stood so close to her back that if she'd leaned just a little she would've touched him. It was worth the risk for him to be able to reach out and touch the ends of her soft, wavy chestnut hair. To lean in close and smell the delicate tropical, flowery lotion she used on her skin after her morning shower. He inhaled deeply, savouring her scent, imagining her in the marble bathroom of her condo, naked, rubbing the hemp lotion over her curves in circular motions, as was her routine.
In his desperation to be near Addison, he must've gotten closer than he'd dared before, because she suddenly went rigid beneath the shadow of his body. Her face snapped to the side, her lips nearly brushing his where he'd bent into her neck. Her blank, dark eyes were wide with apprehension.
He stopped breathing. Not for fear of being caught. He was more than capable of taking down a dozen mercenaries, let alone one small blind woman. No, he needed to protect her. For some reason he cared for Addison Sterling, and if he got involved with her, he would hurt her, probably irreparably. The black part of his soul already called for him to reach out and grab her, to make her beg, to subjugate her, to hunt, hurt and humiliate her. Already, he couldn't leave her alone. He'd never experienced such driving need to possess a woman. At best he usually considered them unnecessary distractions that he usually avoided.
Somehow Addison was different.
"Is someone there?" she whispered, the sweet warmth of her breath rushing over him.
