I Want You To Want Me. Kathy Love

she was lucky he conceded to letting her rent.

      Her heart leapt, pounding in an uneven, breath-stealing way as she heard more sounds. The distinct creak of feet on a hardwood floor. A sound she easily recognized, because the old hardwood in her apartment squeaked the same way.

      Careful to make no noise herself, she rose from the sofa and moved to the front door. Her apartment and the upstairs apartment shared the glassed-in front porch.

      Her heart still pounding, she peeked out her window. Light from the courtyard illuminated a swath of the porch, leaving the corners shadowed in darkness.

      Behind her, she heard footsteps. She spun, expecting someone to be right behind her. She jumped as she saw a figure in the center of the room. Then she realized it was her distorted creation. Before, she’d considered the sculpture to be frustrating, disappointing, and mostly a disaster. Now it looked almost ominous.

      She sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm her rocketing pulse. Calm down. Calm down.

      More footsteps. But overhead—not in the same room. Nothing was going to hurt her. The assurance didn’t persuade her heart to stop hammering against her rib cage.

      She looked back out the window, trying to angle her head so she could see up the staircase to her right, which led to the upstairs apartment. The stairs, as much as she could make out, just ascended into pitch black.

      Hesitantly, her hand went to the doorknob. She turned it slowly and eased the door ajar. Sticking her head out, she squinted into the darkness. And she listened.

      Nothing. Not a sound.

      She glanced around the door to Maggie and Ren’s place, a carriage house across the courtyard. Aside from a dim glow from a lamp in the living room, their house was dark too.

      She looked back up the staircase, debating whether she should go up and investigate. Peering into the menacing blackness, she decided that was a colossally stupid idea. Instead she pulled the door closed, carefully clicked the lock into place, and went in search of her cell phone.

      “See,” she said to Boris as she rummaged through her purse, then among her art supplies, only to find the phone buried under a pile of clay-caked rags. She grimaced at the grimy phone, then turned back to Boris.

      “See, I’m not that foolish woman in the horror movies, who traipses off to investigate the noise from the attic.”

      Another creak sounded directly above her head. She quickly swiped off the worst of the filth and flipped the phone open only to see the faceplate wasn’t illuminating. She pressed the On button. Nothing. She pressed again, harder. Still nothing.

      She stared at the useless phone, knowing that even if she plugged it in, the battery would need a while to accept enough charge to even turn on.

      “Okay, so I am apparently the foolish woman in a horror movie who has an ancient cell phone that never holds a charge.” She snapped the phone shut. “Crap.”

      Now would be the time to regret not getting a landline turned on. She glanced toward the windows. She could go to Maggie and Ren’s and use their phone. She debated the idea of leaving the security of her apartment, then decided she really had no choice.

      “It’s dumber to stay in here, listening to someone robbing the place,” she told the cat. He blinked, but she wasn’t sure if that was in agreement or not.

      She rifled through her purse again, looking for her voodoo-doll keychain, which held Maggie and Ren’s spare key. Then she tiptoed to the door.

      “Wish me luck.”

      Boris had already curled back into an indifferent black ball of fur. She shook her head. “It couldn’t have been a stray dog that showed up at my door, could it? At least a dog would care if I was going out to greet my imminent death.”

      She took a deep breath, then unlocked and eased open the door. Everything was quiet, but she didn’t take the time to survey the murky corners. Instead she stepped out and rushed to the porch door, which led into the better-lit courtyard.

      “Hey.”

      Erika’s already tensed muscles reacted on instinct as soon as she heard the male voice close behind her.

      She spun toward the faceless voice and hurled the object in her right hand. Without waiting to see if she made contact, she shoved open the porch door and propelled herself out into the courtyard, her legs pumping under her as she raced toward Maggie and Ren’s carriage house. She fumbled with the keys, even as she ran. Thank God those weren’t what she threw.

      “Wait! Erika!”

      The words, called out from behind her, took a moment to register in her panicked brain. But gradually she realized that the disembodied voice had just used her name. She stopped, the key poised to open the lock of the carriage house door.

      Slowly she turned.

      At first she couldn’t locate the speaker in the shadows and greenery of the courtyard. Then a figure stepped forward into the glow of the courtyard’s dim garden lights.

      Erika squinted. “Vittorio?”

      Chapter 2

      He strolled closer, giving her a better glimpse of his lean frame, languid movements, and the sheen of golden hair.

      “Yeah,” he said, his voice a deep rumble, answering her question.

      Not that there had really been any question there. She’d have recognized Ren’s younger brother anywhere. She’d thought of this man innumerable times over the past several months. Yet now she could think of nothing comprehensible to say to him. Not even, hello. Not even, you scared the crap out of me.

      “I’m sorry to startle you,” he was saying, his words almost unintelligible through the still-thundering beat of her heart echoing in her ears. Although that wasn’t just fear now.

      She could only gape at him. What was he doing here?

      “Do you have a towel?” he asked.

      Erika frowned, not following that line of questioning at all. Then she realized his hand was pressed to his brow.

      “Are you okay?” she managed, still feeling like she’d just stepped off the world’s most frightening roller coaster only to discover her heart’s desire at the bottom of the exit ramp.

      Her heart’s desire? She was more shaken than she realized.

      “Aside from the blow to the head?” he asked, dryly. “Sure, I’m good.”

      She squinted at him. “Blow to the head?”

      He held up an object. Erika blinked.

      “That’s my cell,” she murmured, staring at the scratched black phone with its dead battery. Then she realized that was what she’d flung in her utter terror.

      “Yes, I gathered that it was yours when you threw it at me.”

      Erika cringed. “You scared me. I didn’t expect anyone to be in the upstairs apartment.”

      “I didn’t expect anyone to be in the downstairs apartment.”

      “I’ve been renting it for about two months now,” she said automatically, then she realized that she sounded apologetic. Which she had no reason to be.

      “So a towel? Do you have one?”

      Erika immediately started. “Oh. Yes, of course.”

      She stepped down from the carriage-house steps and headed back toward her place, making sure not to get too close to Vittorio. Something about him still made her feel wary—even as her body reacted to him. How was that even possible?

      She was aware of him right behind her. She could feel him there, as if he were pressed against her, rather than a couple of feet away. The sensation surprised and unnerved her, although she wasn’t sure why.

      Vittorio