Busted!

"That guy who was changing your locks. He gave me a pretty dirty look when you went inside." He leans over the kitchen counter, making his riding jacket really bring out his muscles. Even now, several years later, it still fits him perfectly.

Most men would have lost their shape after their early twenties, but that was never King's style. If he wasn't racing or with me, he was at the gym pumping iron. He always told me that he had to keep up appearances. I wonder what his excuse is now. Probably likes the attention he gets from other women gawking at his bulging biceps and hard shoulders.

"You're just imagining stuff. Maybe, even a little jealous that someone was here before you," I tease, letting the hot coffee run down my throat. My hands shake and I lower the mug, my knuckles completely white.

"Jealous? Me?" he says, pushing away from the chair and grabbing himself a mug without even asking. "That doesn't sound like me." We both know that's a lie, but I'll let him get away with it. Just like he let me get a sneak of his package.

"What do you want, Arthur?" I use his first name. The only time I use his first name and not his street one is when I'm mad at him. I'm the one who gave him that racing name after all.

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he pours himself a cup of black coffee, brings his lips to it, takes a sip before resting his elbows down on the counter next to me. He flutters his eyelashes at me, like we're two girls having a drink and talking about gossip. He then spends the next couple minutes alternating between staring at me and sipping his coffee.

"I want you. I've always wanted you," he finally says. He lets go of the mug and inches his fingers toward me. I jump off the seat and move to the opposite side. The last thing I need for him to do is touch me. He lost that privilege a long time ago.

Or maybe it's the fact that I'm scared. Scared of the fact that I might want more of him if he touches me. Nothing good could come from him getting close to me and telling me his lies. As far as I'm concerned, every word that comes out of his mouth is just something to get me back in bed.

I'm not going to give into his temptations that easily. I didn't spend the last four years running away from him just to have him saunter back into my life in one afternoon. Every minute since last night has been spent trying to convince myself that I'm still better off without him. That I can find someone else that will treat me better than he ever did.

Yet, here I am, with nobody in my life. Jean's set me up with multiple people and none of them have gone further than the first date. It always ends with no calls after I reject their advances.

Why is that every man just wants to get laid on the first date? What ever happened to working for the right girl?

It also doesn't help that I'm being picky as hell. There was always something wrong with every guy that I went on a date with. He was either too skinny. Too fat. Didn't listen well enough. Or talked too much.

Or he wasn't Arthur Stone.

"Camilla, did you hear me?" It's his turn to use my full name. He didn't have to. I know that he's serious about getting back with me. That much is obvious when you move across the country and open up a garage shop. But there's no way that I can let him back in my life. Not after all that he's done to me. That doesn't even change the fact that it's possible he's been stalking me for the last couple months.

"I heard you. But first you need to do something for me." I make my way across the room, eyes falling on the corner of the coffee table in the living room.

This is his only chance to come clean. To show me that he's serious about not hurting me anymore.

I need to watch his reaction. Every move that he makes in the next couple minutes will tell me what I need to know.

"Anything," he answers, without any hesitation. There's an eagerness in him to prove anything. And for some reason I feel like if I told him to jump out the window, he would do it.

I press my hands on my jeans, smoothing them out. Part of me doesn't want to ask him. What if he really is the stalker? Is it a good idea to be so close to him? And alone?

I let myself breathe before turning my focus to King, taking in every little feature on his face. The way his pupils contract and release on me. How his chest rises and falls. Or how tightly his fingers are intertwined in front of him.

"I need you to give me back my panties." I hold my gaze on him, waiting for the reaction that hasn't come.

He tilts his head to the side, brings his hands up to his face, and runs them through his hair. One hand stays on his head like he's in disbelief while the other props his body away from the counter. He looks around the room and back at me. "You want me to do what?"

"My panties. I want you to give them back to me," I repeat.

The stool screeches as he pushes it away. He shakes his head, opens his mouth like he's stretching his jawline, and makes his way to me. He looks at me for a moment, and holds up a finger before putting his hand back down to his side, and sits down next to me.

The cushions sink and I slide down next to him. Our hips touch, but I'm the only one to notice. He's still trying to comprehend my request.

The subtle, soft smell of burnt cigarette and beer wafts into my nose. It mostly comes from his jacket. That's what happens when you hang with that kind of crowd, it becomes part of you.

He rubs his palms on his dark denim riding pants before turning his attention to me. His eyebrows rise and fall, and his mouth opens before it shuts again. "Okay, I'm having a little trouble understanding what you want from me. Maybe you can fill me in. What underwear are we talking about?"

I watch him for a moment, taking in his chiseled jawline with the nicely trimmed black hair that covers it. He runs a hand through his long, wavy red-gold hair, moving it out of his eyes before looking at me.

I thought that it would be easier than this. Nothing that he's doing is giving me a weird vibe. Although, I do like the confused look he has on his face.

It brings me back to when we took high school math together. Every time the teacher started a new lecture he would always look at me, tilt his head, and shrug his shoulders. His math smarts was never what won me over.

"So, you didn't take my panties?" I say, clearing my throat and trying to figure out how much I should tell him. The more information he knows; the more reason he'll give me to get back in my life.

The last thing I need is for him to be back trying to protect me from every person on the street. Not that he can even give me that much of his time, since he just opened up a new garage. I'm sure he's busy with that more than anything else.

Although, having him next to me day and night might not be the worst thing that could happen to me. Knowing that I have a friend who could look out for me, even if it is King, might not be a bad thing after all. The police weren't going to give me any help unless I was already dead. Someone like King by my side might get this stalker off my back.

"I mean I might still have some of your old panties. You left in a hurry after graduation and I never did get an address. Is that what you're talking about?"

The memories start to flood back. The reason I left so fast after graduation was because I wanted to put as much distance between King and I as I could. The less information he had, the better off I was. I didn't even bother telling my parents where I was going when I left, for fear that King might guilt trip them into telling him.

"There was a reason for that. You know that." I grind my teeth and hiss at him.

King holds his hands up at his sides and slides away from me like I'm a ticking time bomb. And in a way I am. There are still so many unanswered questions about that part of my life.

"I know. I know. That's not what I meant. Cami, what the hell is going on?"

For the third time that day I finish explaining what happened last night. At this point, it's practically imprinted into my brain. I recite the events after I left the garage. He doesn't say much, just nods along to my words to let me know that he's paying attention.

When I get to the part about the guy taking my panties, he clenches his fist and his nostrils flare. A dark shade of red covers his face, his chin sticks out, and he bites down on his lip.

He's mad. It's in every movement that he makes. I've spent enough time with King to know his every little habit. Some that he doesn't even know about himself.

The way he picks at the wrinkles that aren't there in his denim pants, the ones he cherishes the most. Or how he flexes his hand into a fist every time I mention how scared I was last night.

It's almost adorable. I have to turn away a couple times to hide a smile that creeps up on my face. Knowing that he's still concerned over me is something that I can't help but feel happy about. But that doesn't mean I have to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I still care how protective he is of me.

Back in high school, he would get pissed at any guy who made a pass at me. I always pretended like I hated how protective he was, but I know that he meant well. That he just loved me so much and didn't want to lose me. It was never about him not trusting me. He just never trusted the guy who hit on me, even though I was never interested in anyone beside him. He won my heart long ago.

Having someone care about me, beside Jean, would be refreshing. Having someone in my life other than Jean and my artwork would also be a huge improvement. The feeling of Arthur by my side, watching over me and taking care of me, would be a nice touch.

Even if I hate his guts right now.

Chapter 5.

I run a hand through my brown hair, tucking it away behind my ear. It always gets in the way and I've been meaning to get it cut. One of the first things I did when I got to Portland was cut my hair short. At the time, long hair reminded me of King and how his fingers twirled through it, creating knots around his digits.

Now, four years later, it's grown to around the same length as when I left.

King moves a little closer to me, closing the space from when I threw accusations at him before. Just opening up to him about last night has rekindled something inside of me. The fact that he isn't the stalker that I feared means something to me, even if I won't admit it to him right now.

King's long, powerful arms drape over me and pull me in close. There's a flutter in my heart, but I hold myself together. I can't show a sign of weakness. Not when the last four years have been about getting over him. I should slap him right here and now for even making this kind of move.

Yet I don't pull away from his touch. I know that I should, but the lack of intimate contact over the years has worn me down. So much so that I'll even accept King's tainted touch.

His fingers curl around my arm and bring me close to his chest. Every move that he makes brings out a soft crinkling sound from his leather jacket. I sink my head into it and let the old, rustic smells overwhelm me.

This jacket has been through so much trouble over the years. All of King's races and all those years we were together. And the last four years we were apart. For a moment, I wish that it could tell me what King's been up to. That way I won't have to let King into my life.

A mixture of cigar smoke, whiskey, and the open road. I reach out and grab his right cuff. I poke a finger through a ripped hole, one that he'd gotten during my freshman year in college when we were learning to cook.

That night he almost lost a finger and I almost peed my pants crying with laughter. Both of us learned an important lesson that day. Always pay attention in the kitchen. Especially when there's a knife involved.

"How long has this been going on for?" He runs a hand through my hair. I pretend that I don't hear him. My finger pull down on the zipper in front and peel off his jacket, placing my hand on his chest.

The rhythmic beat of his heart greets me back and I run my hands along the subtle curve of his pecs. With my head against his chest, I close my eyes and listen to his breathing.

This is getting into dangerous territory. And fast.

Every second that I spend in his embrace is like a scuba diver swimming deeper and deeper to the bottom of the ocean. It's only a matter of time before I get the "bends." Diving head first into his touch and warm embrace will only hurt me in the end. Yet I can't seem to pull away.

A hand comes up and his finger hooks onto the bottom of my chin. With a gentle, but hard tug he pulls me out of the water and straight into his moonlit eyes. He rubs a thumb across my cheek, just like he used to all those years ago, and opens his mouth, descending toward mine. His tongue flicks across his lips, and at the last possible second, he pulls away. His hand leaves my face and he massages his temples, clearly having an inner fight with himself.

When I pull away from his squeeze, he opens his eyes and studies me for a moment. He lets out a sigh and props his elbow the cushions and rests his head against his palm. "You haven't answered my question yet."

This time I hear his question and see his lips move, but the last thing that I want to do is talk about my stalker. Doing that would mean giving in to him. Letting King into the day to day problems that I'm having. Forcing him to be there for me in my time of need, like a queen in distress waiting for her King to rescue her.

What the hell is going on with me?

Just an hour ago I hated his guts. I hated everything about him. The gloating smile he gave me or the way his blue eyes reflect the sunlight. But that isn't what I feel now.

Instead, all I want to do is sink back into his arms with his hands strumming through my hair. Let him whisper sweet nothings into my ear and let him take care of all my problems. Just like it used to be when we were younger and didn't have any real problems.

I bring my knees up to my chest and hug them. I rest my chin on top and let my head sink into the crevice between my legs. "Almost a year. It started around the time when I had my first exhibit. It's been slowly getting worse and worse," I mumble.

Half of me wants him to stay and listen to me. The other wishes he would leave. That he wouldn't make this harder on me than it needs to be.

I hold my breath for a moment. I only told the cops about last night; it didn't even cross my mind to tell them about the last couple months. Something deep down inside of me hoped that the person who was following me the last year wasn't the one who broke in last night.

Even I wasn't dumb enough to believe that lie.

"At first, I would just find strange notes on my windshield in the morning. Something that made me do a double take, but I always dismissed it. As time passed, he got a little more curious." I could feel my chest grow heavy. Tears on the edge of my eyes.

Why does it hurt to talk about this? Is it because I thought no one else would believe me? Or is because only King can make me open up like this?

I rub my face against my jeans and turn my head to the side, resting my ear on small, wet splotches. I look up at him and he half leans over, his arm stretching out to touch my back, but stops inches away from me. He pulls back and reaches out to me, hesitating and unsure if he should touch me. I wipe away the last remaining tear and grip his hand, bringing it to my knees and resting the side of my cheek on it. His hard knuckles comfort me for a moment.

I run my hand up the side of his arm and take in every little wrinkle and speck along the way. He's still the same King, yet different. I remind myself that a person can change a lot in four years.

Enough to forgive him?

I shake my head.

No.

I can never forgive him for what he put me through.

I wouldn't be here in Portland if it weren't for him. I wouldn't have someone stalking me if I was still in Long Island. My life wouldn't have been put on hold for four years if it wasn't for him.

It's all his fault.

But not really.

Inside my head, there's a little battle raging on. The past fighting with the present. One side remembers the good times King and I had. The other only brings back the hurtful things he did to me.

King pulls his body in a little closer, but not close enough that any other part of him is touching me. He's keeping his distance and letting me make the next move. "Cami, you can tell me anything," he whispers into my ear, his lips only inches away from my neck.

I open my mouth and let out a low whimper, watching the hairs on his arm move from my breath. On either side of his forearms, there's a vein that runs up his arm and rounds around his shoulder, getting lost underneath his shirt.

I grab hold of his elbows and pull him in. His body hits mine and I sink into him. He brings his legs up and wraps them around me, resting his chin on top of my head. Every time he swallows, I can feel the weight of his head press down on me. In less than a minute, I've wrapped myself up with him.

So much for that inner battle.

"It's progressed. He sent me some explicit things through emails. He'll switch his user name every time he contacts me. Someone even broke into Jean's gallery and destroyed two of my works. I don't know if it's him, but I wouldn't be surprised."

I press my back against his chest and King's arms wrap tighter around me. An intense heat forms all around me and for a moment, I feel safe and protected. "Unfortunately, Jean didn't have any cameras set up at the time. And sometimes things even disappear from my van. Now, he's broken into my apartment."

Everything is becoming too much. This freak is turning my life upside down. Destroying everything that I've built over the years. And no one will help me.

Not the police. Not anyone.

Except King.

From deep inside his hold, I catch glimpses of the loft. There is nowhere else I can fully feel safe besides in his arms. If he weren't holding me together, I would be nothing but a broken mess right now.

Changing the locks did nothing to take away the fear of being watched. From the uneasiness of living in my own home.

"Have you gone to the cops with all this information?" His stubble digs into my scalp. It tickles a little, but I hold myself together.

"They won't be able to help me. They weren't able to do anything when he came into my house. They'd probably just think I'm being paranoid." After how they treated me the last time they came here, I'm almost positive of that.