His skin was warm and smooth under my hand, and I knew I needed to get my butt out of this bed before I did something wholly inappropriate, like slip my hand down under the band of his pajama bottoms.

Carefully, I eased away from him, and rose from the bed. Finding my sweater on the edge, I slipped it on and tugged it close, immediately missing the warmth of his body. Not wanting to wake him since it was still early and he couldn’t have been asleep that long, I crept out of the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind me.

The apartment was tomb silent as I walked back out to the living room. Remembering he had a balcony, I opened the French doors and stepped outside. I dragged in the late-­morning air and looked around. The balcony faced a wooded area and was rather private.

Reece gardened.

Or someone did.

Flower boxes hung off the wrought-­iron railing, full of pretty pink and purple flowers. There were two green stands, and a bushy fern hung in the corner, out of the sunlight. Two wide wicker chairs were positioned close together.

I tucked my legs along the side and huddled down in the comfy chair. I couldn’t believe how cool it was. When I really thought about how quickly the seasons changed, it blew the mind.

My mind wandered as I sat there. I couldn’t remember if I had grabbed my glasses before I’d left my place. Didn’t really matter since I didn’t have my car. I’d have to go back to my place to get it before I headed into work later tonight.

Back to my place.

I shivered and it had nothing to do with the cooler temps. I almost couldn’t believe it—­I was being stalked. Freaking stalked. Me. I shook my head slightly. That’s what was happening. I no longer could joke that it was Casper the Pervy Ghost, and barring some kind of memory disorder, it was someone sneaking into my apartment while I was there. Deleting texts while I was in the shower. Taking pictures of me. Out of everything, those were the two creepiest things ever. But even worse was the fact I really had no idea this was what was happening. I couldn’t even begin to imagine that, or who it could be.

There was Dean, and while he was persistent, he didn’t strike me as a psycho. Unless it was a stranger—­the man responsible for what was happening to the other girls—­who was doing this, and that was even more horrifying. He could be coming in the bar every night for all I knew. I could be talking to him, smiling at him.