Free Secrets and Sins: Chayot: A Secrets and Sins novel (Entangled Ignite) by Naima Simone Page A

couldn’t account for the skittering across the nape of her neck. She shot a glance at the window.
    The shade was drawn. Men hired to protect her were parked outside guarding her home. The alarm was set, the security cameras active. She gripped the knot in the towel, loosened it…
    “Damn it,” she hissed, then stalked to the bed, snatched up her tank and pajama bottoms, and retreated to the bathroom. One of the photos had reflected her undressing in the bedroom. Tearing the towel off and pulling her nightclothes on, she couldn’t stifle the creepy sensation of being watched, even though every shade in the house was now drawn.
    Minutes later, more material covered her body, but the feeling of exposure didn’t dissipate. Pulse tapping out an erratic rhythm, she flicked the wall switch, plunging the room into shadows except for the small pool of light from the bedside lamp. Hurriedly, she crossed the room and slid under the sheets, pulling the covers over her shoulders. When images of the photos hunkered at the edges of her conscious, ready to sneak in, she curled on her side and shoved the panic back. Instead, she conjured something guaranteed to distract her.
    Chay.
    His last words continued to haunt her.
    Forgetfulness. Oblivion.
    She understood seeking forgetfulness. Hell, there were nights she convinced herself she felt herself coming down with a cold so she could down some Nyquil. Nightmares couldn’t reach her in medicated sleep. But oblivion. He sought a total void of thought, of consciousness. From what? What haunted him so much—what hunted him—that the only way of escape was nothingness?
    Her chest ached with the pressure pushing against its wall. If he’d assumed his raw, blunt description of sex and the warning of using her would disgust her, alienate her, he was sorely misguided. And wrong.
    So wrong.
    Yeah, reason presented a strong argument in favor of maintaining distance.
    But instinct, intuition, emotion—whatever—skipped the logic bullshit and gunned for how he made her feel . Safe. Protected. Special.
    Alive.
    Ninety days be damned. If he’d find oblivion in her arms and body, then she’d give both to him.
    Because she yearned for the same from him.
    Her cell vibrated on the bedside table seconds before a generic ring tone pealed, cutting through the silence of the room. She rolled over and stared at the phone. Liam was the only person who called her on the cell she’d purchased just before leaving L.A., and she’d assigned him a special tone.
    Moisture fled from her mouth. She sat up, the sheets pooling around her hips. Her pulse echoed in her head, almost drowning out the jazzy tune emanating from the phone. Finally, the noise stopped.
    She exhaled.
    The cell buzzed and rang again.
    Palm dotted with sweat, she grasped the phone. Swiped the answer key. Pressed the cell to her ear.
    Silence echoed over the line.
    Then, “Hello, Aslyn.”
    She squeezed her eyes shut, clapped her hand over her mouth to physically trap the whimper in her throat behind her lips. The voice… Oh Jesus . The voice was electronic as if the person on the end used one of those gadgets designed to purposefully distort and conceal. And male. Unmistakably male.
    “Aslyn, I know you’re there,” he cooed. “Did you get my pictures today? I wanted you to see how beautiful I find you, but I kept the originals for myself. I love looking at you.” His tone deepened, the device unable to hide the lust thickening the voice. “I love your hair. Your skin. Your body.”
    “Who are you?” Aslyn whispered. “Who is this?”
    Harsh, rough breathing rasped in her ear.
    “I’m coming for you, Aslyn,” he promised. “You’re mine, and I’m coming for you. Very soon.”
    She jabbed the “end call” key and hurled the phone on the bed.
    Shaking, she drew her legs to her chest, wrapped her arms around her knees, and rocked.
    She wouldn’t sleep tonight.

Chapter Nine
    Fury poured through Chay’s veins in a molten