Out of Sight

by Cleo White

What I want from Isobel Bradley… It isn't normal.

I'm a snake waiting in long grass for a chance to strike the little mouse, and turning away isn't an option.

I still don't know what it is about this woman that draws me in so intensely, but as I linger in the doorway to her bedroom, watching her sleep, I ache to crawl into bed behind her and hold her in my arms again.

I want to be angry with whatever it is inside me that seems to have decided that this is the woman for me, but I'm not. Every time I get a hint of who she is beyond that stoic, cold facade, I fall harder, and a part of me knows it's already too late. I can't not feel this.