FALLEN: A Dark Mystery Romance (LOVE IS WAR Book 1) Page 4

  Thoughts start swirling in my head as I near my house.

  Words filled with tension, and bits and pieces of past conversations playing on a loop.

  Allan. Mom. Anna.

  Then the snapshot of those beautiful green-gray eyes.

  I push that image back.

  I’m not ready.

  “I’m not ready,” I say, making absolutely no sense as I slowly lift my gaze.

  The lights are on in my office. It takes a split second before panic spikes through me as I don’t remember leaving them on.

  I swing my eyes to the left and spot Allan’s car.

  He’s back. Thank God.

  A sigh of relief leaves my lips.

  Down the street, I catch sight of another car as it takes a turn and vanishes around the corner.

  I swing my gaze back to the entrance.

  Red.

  “Red?”

  I squint, zooming in on the heap of red sitting on the stairs.

  Top step, to be exact. The door is slightly open.

  “Allan?”

  The light is on in the foyer.

  Cautiously, I climb the stairs leading to the entrance, my gaze trailing the steps.

  Red petals, green stems, and thorns eager to sink into the flesh fill my sight. Everything wrapped in thin foil paper.

  “Roses…? What is this?” I mutter, intrigued.

  I stop and bend at the waist, slowly picking them up, but I quickly drop and straighten my back as I feel watched.

  I spin around and look up and down the street. There’s not a soul in sight.

  Heart pulsing in my throat I swivel back and scoop up the bouquet of roses. Smooth petals touch my fingers, red like blood and soft like velvet. I wrap my arm around the flowers and take a deep breath, their sweet aroma entering my nostrils.

  “They smell so nice...” I murmur, gently brushing them with my fingertips.

  Slowly, I move my eyes and fingers over them, counting them one by one.

  Twenty-five.

  Twenty-five blood-red roses.

  “Alan?”

  He doesn’t answer. He can’t possibly hear me either.

  I enter my home, close the door and lock it. A strange sensation rolls over me as I leave the roses on the wall table for a moment and shrug out of my coat. Thick silence grows around me.

  My eyes stay rooted to the flowers.

  Why would Alan give me another bouquet of flowers?

  And why leave them at the door?

  Has he forgiven me for what I said last night?

  “Alan?”

  My voice bounces against the walls, echoing throughout the house as if it was empty.

  My office.

  Nudged by different thought, I spin on my heel, take a right turn and enter my office.

  All lights are on. That’s odd. I never use the ceiling lights. The bright light is too much for me, overstimulating like the sounds and it messes with my brain. I run a sweeping gaze across the room. Everything seems to be in order.

  Luna?

  Panic rams through me again.

  “Luna??”

  Hastily, I switch off the lights and dash up the stairs. My little dog greets me in the bedroom.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” I say with a calmer voice.

  I pet her for a few moments before I set her back in her bed. The door of the bathroom opens, and Allan walks out clad in silky, lounge pants.

  I check his expression and read his eyes.

  He looks at me with no hard feelings.

  I feel relieved for a split second.

  “Everything okay?” he asks, tossing me a side glance, his eyes dipping to the flowers.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s that?” he asks, motioning to the roses.

  My heart stops.

  I glance down and then up.

  He looks at me intrigued.

  “Who sent those?” he asks again.

  My thoughts pull to a sudden halt before they frantically spin again.

  Red roses. Twenty-five roses. Stairs. Why stairs? The door. The door... was open. The lights were on.

  “Those, um...” I murmur.

  He pivots to me.

  “Yeah... Who brought you the flowers?”

  “No one,” I say curtly.

  The words burst out of me, riding the crest of a short, strained breath.

  “No one??”

  He looks at me suspiciously.

  “Anna. She forgot them home, and she gave them to me a few minutes ago,” I say, panic-stricken. “Have you been in my office by any chance?” I ask with a strained voice.

  His eyebrows flick up.

  “Office? What would I do in your office?”

  Lights.

  The lights. Who left them on?

  A guest perhaps?

  “Never mind. I think I left the lights on when I walked out of the house with Anna.”

  Door.

  No. No. I can’t ask that. He’d think I’m crazy.

  “I have to find a vase for these,” I say, spinning around. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I make the trip back to the first level, suspiciously glancing around. Everything seems to be in order, untouched.

  My dog would’ve barked–– I think, had anyone other than Allan entered the house.

  I grab a pear-shaped glass vase from the kitchen counter, fill it with water and stride to my office.

  I feel better as I walk in. My pulse slows down.

  By far, this is my favorite room of the house. It has a wall of windows and faces the park.

  A faint glow rolls over my desk and my leather chair as I turn the reading lamp on. My eyes sweep the room as I set the vase and the flowers on my desk.

  Velvet armchairs sit next to the windows flanking a small round, coffee table. Not far from them sits the couch.

  Carefully, I unwrap the flowers, avoiding the thick, sharp thorns. For some reason, I can’t stop my eyes from swinging back and forth between the roses and the window.

  The blinds are up, the view clear all the way to the park. No cars pass by, which is normal for this time of night. This is one of the quietest areas around, despite being located only minutes away from the pulsing core of the city.

  My focus shifts back to the flowers. One by one, I retrieve them and slide them into the vase. They’re fresh and beautiful, their color, a shade of deep red, like good old wine.

  Once the last one slips into the vase, I take a step back and look at them, admiring them in full splendor.

  Who left these roses?

  Was it a messenger? So late at night and with no card attached to them?

  Puzzled, I step forward and lean closer to the armful of red roses, my fingers fanning gently over the velvety buds. I bury my face into their petals and inhale deeply.

  Their sweet aroma tickles my nostrils, lodging a memory in my brain. I take another long breath, my lips touching them, feeling their smooth texture. A hint of something else enters my lungs.

  A spicy, exotic fragrance.

  Male cologne?

  I take one rose and gently rub the petals against my skin, making sure I don’t damage the flower. I wait for a moment as I let it set in and then I smell the back of my hand.

  The two aromas become distinctive. The smell of roses and the scent of male cologne, both oozing from my skin. The latter is a seductive scent I’ve never smelled on anyone before.

  I straighten my back while staring blankly at the flowers. My fingers start to tremble, and a flutter wrecks my heart as my pulse explodes.

  Frozen, I can’t tear my eyes away from the vase, my mind flipping nonsensical thoughts.

  He left the roses on my stairs.

  Twenty-five. For my twenty-fifth anniversary.

  Who is he?

  The side of my face begins to burn as if exposed to a stare again. I shift my eyes to the window. A dark silhouette vanishes behind a tree.

  What the…?

  My knees begin to shake. I b
link and gasp a few times, but I can’t make my feet move away, or my voice come out.

  Am I seeing things now?

  I bring my eyes back to the roses as if I’m hoping for an answer, and then I hear the man’s steps. Calm, paced, climbing the stairs in front of my house.

  “Alan??”

  My voice is lined with panic, and yet I can’t unpin my feet from the floor.

  Silence hovers over his steps. I listen, spooked. Waiting for the bell to ring.

  My chest gets tense as my heart keeps pounding, an invisible force drawing me to the door.

  I slowly turn and listen.

  I no longer hear the steps, only the wind chimes.

  Ding-a-ling. Ding-a-ling.

  Quiet, I sneak out of the room and tiptoe to the main door. I push up on the tiptoes and peek through the peephole.

  I see no one.

  I wait for a few minutes, my body tense like a coiled spring. Nothing moves or makes a noise.

  With a shaky hand, I unlock the door and slide it open.

  There is no one.

  Not on the stairs, and not on the street.

  I hear the echo of the wind chimes. And then it dawns on me.

  There is no breeze.

  Soft lips trace my jawline, the scent of aftershave sliding over my skin. Our mouths connect into a familiar kiss. Warm, and tender. I wrap my arms around my husband’s neck and press myself into his body. His hand runs up on my flank, riding my silk camisole. He cups a breast, gently stroking the hardened nipple with his thumb.

  In a smooth motion, I roll to my back while he slides on top of me, smoothly entering me.

  The room feels suddenly quiet and cold, despite him being hot on top of me. Our lips disconnect, our bodies moving together, perfectly in synch.

  He smells good and feels good.

  Some of his warmth transfers to me, but not enough to warm me up. Soon, my mind disconnects from my body, and I float in this alternative universe, in which I coldly watch this man taking my body.

  My hands go up on him, my touch relishing the way he feels.

  There’s nothing wrong with me.

  And everything is wrong with me.

  I feel him pulsing as I climb toward that high as well. Quiet, I come beneath him, closing my eyes, and letting my mind go adrift, feeling and envisioning things that are not within my grasp and only live in my imagination.

  Having my mind divorced from my body, I experience a calm I rarely get to feel.

  Half an hour later, Allan walks out of the bathroom and slides onto the bed. Within minutes, his rhythmic breathing suggests that he has smoothly drifted off to sleep.

  I roll to my side, my back turned to him, and set my eyes on the dark sky peeking through the window. Stars flicker against the backdrop of the night, lights and shadows dancing on the wall.

  I’ve never felt so awake.

  My eyes slip to the phone. It’s nearly two in the morning. After a few more minutes, with no hope that I’d ever get asleep, I smoothly crawl out of bed and tiptoe out of the room. On my way out, I grab a pillow and a blanket.

  I make another stop in the kitchen and spend a few minutes preparing a herbal tea. The house is quiet. So is my mind.

  At last.

  Holding the cup of tea steady, I shuffle all the way to the office. I set the mug on my desk and toss the pillow and the blanket on the sofa.

  I crack the window open, and let the fresh air roll in, with it coming the memories of the past years spent in this house.

  For some unknown reason, I feel good.

  I’m no longer hunted by the mix of sounds, images, and thoughts.

  Smiling, I take a sip of tea.

  I place the cup on the coffee table, sprawl on the sofa and put the laptop on my lap. My back sinks into the pillow as I slide my laptop open, musing for a moment.

  Silence is beautiful.

  That’s why I always loved my lonely nights.

  My focus shifts back to the screen as I start browsing. I check my email and read the previews of a couple of books on my ‘to be read’ list before I decide to organize my bookmarks. They are split into two folders, one for work, and one for personal things.

  Going through them, I erase the ones that are no longer relevant. I move on to my private folder. The first bookmark at the bottom–– and also the most recent one, catches my eye.

  I stare at it, a bit baffled. I don’t remember bookmarking that website. I click on the link, and I’m taken straight to the thread I checked on a few days ago.

  The words start playing in front of my eyes, no longer holding power over me.

  I check a few more threads before I come back to the initial conversation. Someone asked a question.

  Blue123

  What if you experience something real? Would you still deny the existence of love?

  Random Thoughts

  I’m not against love. I’m against the crimes love does.

  I tilt my head back, my eyes still trained on his words.

  Love. Crimes.

  Love...?

  Before I realize, my fingers fly over the keyboard. I pick a name and set a password, and then I type my first question.

  Broken Dreams

  Have you ever been in love?

  I stare at the screen and my lonely question, and I nearly close the laptop when an answer pops on my screen.

  Random Thoughts

  You?

  I jerk upright, automatically registering the time 2:43 AM. What time zone is he in?

  Broken Dreams

  Yes. I think so. I am now.

  Random Thoughts

  Have you had your heart broken?

  Me

  I don’t know. Have you?

  Random Thoughts

  I think you had it broken too.

  I smile incredulously and type my next question.

  Broken Dreams

  How can you tell?

  Random Thoughts

  Your name.

  Me

  It’s only a name.

  Random Thoughts

  Have you?

  I stare at the question, and type the answer several times, erasing it every single time.

  I give up eventually, slide the laptop onto the coffee table, and turn the light off. Moonlight licks the windows, dressing everything silver-blue inside.

  I fall asleep late, my mind playing beautiful images inside my head. Red roses, golden leaves, and blue sky vaulting over the park. The sound of the wind chimes echoes in my ears as a strong exotic scent fills my nostrils.

  My sleep is dreamless.

  5

  The window bursts open with a loud noise, the gust of wind jolting me out of my sleep.

  Dazed, I look around, a wet gray sky filling my sight. The clouds hang low, bloated with water.

  Eyes heavy with sleep, I jerk upright, a throbbing migraine wrapping around my head.

  Annoyed, I rub my eyes.

  What time is it?

  I swing a foggy gaze to the side table as I fumble for my phone. Within seconds I register the colorful ceramic mug and the laptop that’s been left open. I also register the time in the upper corner.

  Is it eleven already? How come I slept so much?

  And then. Oh, my God. What is this?

  Several windows are open on the screen. The forum where I spent some time last night, my email account and a clip that’s been playing on a loop.

  My mouth falls open. Where is this coming from?

  Breathless, I stare at the screen.

  A man is the focus of the slow-motion video clip.

  Filmed from his chin down, he smoothly unbuttons his slim fit, white shirt while pivoting in front of the camera. My eyes sweep his athletic frame, broad shoulders, hard chest, and muscular neck.

  Mouth agape, I register his beautiful hands, his sculpted fingers moving smoothly, flicking buttons open, one by one. A special tenderness and confidence flow through his touch.

  Fluidly, he opens his shi
rt as he turns toward the camera, and untucks it from his black suit pants.

  His pants. Oh, my.

  He shifts again, giving the camera a side view of his abs and obliques, his flat stomach, and the bulge pushing against the fabric of his pants below his belt.

  My eyes slide up onto the curvature of his back and then dips to his muscular backside. He does a slight shift of his hips as he peels his shirt off, crumples it up and throws in on a chair nearby.

  He entirely turns his back to the camera, and I can finally absorb every detail of his well-cut body––the ropes of his back, the chiseled line of his shoulders, as well as his tapered waist.

  The image reveals a part of his neck and his dark hair.

  I let out an exhale as the loop begins to play again.

  I watch it over and over again, unable to remove my eyes from him. It’s only when the phone rings that I snap out of the paralysis.

  I pick up the phone.

  “Hey,” I say, my cheeks burning, my breath short.

  “Is everything okay?” Alan asks.

  That very second I combust, my hand flying to my mouth.

  Oh, my God.

  Has he seen it?

  “Yes,” I mutter faintly. “Why?”

  “Nothing. I wanted to make sure you’re fine,” he says, nothing in his voice suggesting that he had seen the clip.

  I pull the laptop shut.

  “You couldn’t sleep again?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” I say, sounding a bit more relaxed this time. “I started to read, and then I fell asleep. Is everything okay with you?” I ask.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  A smile lines his voice.

  “How’s work?”

  “Good,” he says. “What about yours?”

  “Um...”

  I push off the coach, feverishly collecting the cup of tea and heading for the shower upstairs.

  “It’s good,” I say with renewed confidence as I start walking. “The book I’m working on needs to be finished by tomorrow evening. It’s going to be a long night,” I say, leaping up the stairs.