Free Hyde, an Urban Fantasy by Lauren Stewart Page A

to look at her.  She was so relaxed and peaceful, as if she was just taking a nap. As if they were regular people. Sitting on his couch as if she was his.
     
    W hoa, where’d that come from? He wasn’t that guy. He wasn’t even the kind of guy to be satisfied with a quick peek into a stranger’s medicine cabinet. No, he was the kind of guy who picks the lock, empties all the bottles onto the counter, pockets the good ones—with zero intention of actually taking them—and then puts all the rest back into the wrong bottles. That was him. Who he made sure he was. Who he forced himself to be.
     
    But she trusted him. Okay, fine. He wouldn’t try to lay down some fucked-up post-hypnotic suggestion just to mess with her. That would be immature. Instead, he’d just ask her one inappropriate question. One.
     
    “Go back to the night at my house. Do you remember us being together?”
     
    “Yes.”
     
    He knew it. She hadn’t slept through that. Okay, did he say one question? He’d meant two. “What do you see? Feel?”
     
    “Afraid.”
     
    He swallowed. He couldn’t stop there. Three questions, just three. “Why are you afraid?”
     
    “I don’t know how she got here. Why I woke up in your bed. What you did.”
     
    Four. “So, I don’t scare you?”
     
    “No. You are mean, but you don’t scare me.”
     
    Understandable. “Go back a bit earlier. What else do you see? Feel?” He lost count what number he was up to.
     
    “How you look. Peaceful. How I feel. Disgusted.”
     
    “Why do you feel disgusted?”
     
    “Because I wish being here had been my decision, but it wasn’t.” Her breath hiccupped. “Carter’s going to be so upset.”
     
    “Who’s—” Nah, he’d used up all his questions. And he really shouldn’t be doing this to her. He had a conscience. He just tried very hard to ignore it most of the time. It won this round.
     
    If only she’d stop mumbling about some guy named Carter.
     
    Bringing her out of hypnosis, he made sure she would feel relaxed, peaceful . . . and forget those last few questions he’d asked. It wouldn’t work, but . . . .
     
    Here’s to hoping.
     
    Damn it, why did he even care ?
     
    §          §          §
     
    Eden opened her eyes, the weight of her relaxation still gently molding her body to the couch. Mitch was staring at her, his eyes soft. A wave of connection passed between them. Like a warm bath after a winter rainstorm. She soaked in it, gaining the strength he offered.
     
    What would he do if he knew how he was looking at her? So peaceful, accepting, open. Did he know that he was showing her his soul? That she could see it in his expression—in the warmth of his eyes, the slight tilt of his head, the tiny curve of his mouth?
     
    No, he didn’t—he couldn’t. He was dangerous. Not dangerous to her, dangerous for her. She shouldn’t get too close. He’d warned her time and time again. She shouldn’t be feeling like—
     
    “So?” she whispered, blinking, wondering how deeply into her he had seen.
     
    He looked surprised when she broke eye-contact, then confused as if he were the one who’d been hypnotized. “Nothing. It didn’t work. It was just you.” He stood quickly and turned away from her. “And you didn’t admit to murder. You can go now.”
     
    “I don’t remember very much—just a few images. Is that normal?” she asked, ignoring his oh-so-polite dismissal.
     
     “As normal as anything is about this situation,” he grumbled. “It depends on the person and the emotional connection they have with what we discuss.”
     
    Emotional connection? Great. Of all people, she’d told him things she was emotionally connected to. That’s just great. She felt her cheeks warm. “So what did we ‘discuss’?”
     
    “Your honor is intact. I didn’t ask any embarrassing questions about how you lost your virginity. I stuck to the topic.”
     
    Thank, God.
     
    “You fall asleep, and then you