The Taking (Seven Deadly Sins #3)(47)
Author: Erin McCarthy

As was the fact that every night when she went to bed, Felix was sitting across the street from her house, watching her.

At first it had seemed odd but strangely thoughtful. Then it had just seemed weird. And now it was making her angry. Sitting on the sidewalk practically stalking her was not acceptable. Normal people picked up the damn phone and called each other if they had concerns. They didn’t hover on the fringes of your life, watching you, instead of trying to have actual person-to-person contact.

She was going to do something about it. She wasn’t sure what, but it needed to stop. It was damaging her already fragile peace of mind. Bad enough to have amazing sex with a man and then have him blow you off. Even worse to have amazing sex and then have the man practically pitching a tent in your bushes. It only wanted a pair of binoculars in his hands.

What made it even stranger was that he knew she knew he was there. She was absolutely sure he saw her glancing out at him night after night. Wouldn’t most men slink off in shame or explain themselves? Felix didn’t seem inclined to do either.

Regan hauled herself off the floor and winced. She was going to deal with Felix, but first she was going to have to deal with this sleepwalking issue. If for whatever reason, she was going to keep winding up in this room, she was going to have to put a bed in here. There was a full-size bed in another one of the bedrooms that she had deemed a guest room, but she was going to have to move it to this room and hope that if there was at least a bed present, she wouldn’t keep waking up on the floor.

She’d been in this house eight days and she had yet to get a single night of quality sleep. It was making her cranky.

Or maybe, just a little bit crazy.

So cranky, and possibly crazy, that after another party-planning meeting with Jen that afternoon, Regan found herself heading to Felix’s shop to confront him. The sign outside was wooden, giving the appearance of being hand-painted. It said simply “House of Voodoo.” The bell over the door jangled when she entered.

The layout of the store, the items on display, were familiar to anyone who had grown up in New Orleans or visited frequently. Some voodoo shops went for the fantastical, displaying gruesome dolls, catering to tourists who wanted a thrill or a chill. Others were designed to attract tourists more interested in a spiritual souvenir, and those who wanted to burn a candle for luck or love or money.Felix’s store was somewhere in between the two. He had candles and altars to the gods and goddesses of voodoo. There were beautiful dolls handmade by local practitioners and artists. But there were also cheap manufactured dolls, chicken-foot key chains, and Marie Laveau refrigerator magnets. It was an odd mix, the baskets of inexpensive items on tables up front, the back dedicated to the altars, candles, expensive dolls, and a built-in case of herbs.

Maybe it was good business sense. Put the disposable tourist trap items in front for a quick sale. If anyone bothered to go all the way to the back of the store, where Felix did his readings, they were probably genuinely interested in voodoo, or aspects of voodoo.

Regan liked the back of the store better herself. The herbs smelled pungent, the candles sweet, the altars comforting and beautiful, with all their various offerings of money, perfume, honey, cinnamon, lipstick, depending on the god or goddess, tumbling in front of them. It was quiet, peaceful, as Regan wandered around, no sign of Felix.

Standing in front of Dantor, the goddess who helped women invoke strength in themselves according to the placard in front of her statue, Regan tried to ignore the pounding of a sleep deprivation headache and the anxiety she felt about confronting Felix.

She was reaching for the dragon’s blood ink, curious what it was and what it did, when she heard, “Regan.”

Whirling around, she almost dropped the vial before putting it carefully back on the shelf. “Hi,” she said to Felix, who was standing in front of her, not looking particularly surprised to see her.

His expressions were irritatingly difficult to read. She had no clue if he was pleased to see her, indifferent, annoyed. He was just … there. Casual, good-looking, in his usual uniform of jeans and a gray T-shirt that showed off his muscular chest.

“How are you?” he asked.

All her years of training to be polite almost had her saying that she was fine, but at the last minute she stopped herself. If her relationship with Beau had taught her anything, it was that she was no longer content to be silent. That if she had feelings or wants or opinions, no one would ever know unless she spoke them.

“I’ve been better,” she told him honestly. “I’m here to see if you’re still planning to be at the party since I haven’t heard from you.”

“Of course I’ll be there.” He was standing a few feet from her, his hands in his front pockets, and the way he said it, like there was never any doubt, irritated Regan.

Adjusting her handbag on her forearm, she crossed her arms over her black sleeveless tank. “Great. I’ll have Jen call you then with the final details. Now maybe you can explain to me why you’ve set up camp outside my house.”

There was still no reaction from him. “I just want to make sure we don’t have a repeat of the other night.”

Of her dangling off the balcony or the sex? It was so hard to believe that her safety was really the sum total of his motivation. “So you’re just going to watch me every night? That’s hardly practical. Or normal.”

He shrugged. “No one has ever accused me of being normal.”

“That doesn’t give you an excuse to behave however you want ”

His head tilted and his voice shifted, went lower, a fissure of anger creeping into it. “Oh, and how would you have me behave, Regan?”

That knocked her off balance. She fought against feeling flustered. Needing to feel in control, she fought to revive her anger, so she wouldn’t crumble. “I would have you call me after we had sex.”

“So that’s what this is about?” he asked, his hands falling out of his pockets as he took a step closer to her. “You didn’t call me either.”

Regan clutched her handbag in front of her, swallowing hard. “You’re right. I didn’t. But first of all, you said you would call me. And when you didn’t, I didn’t know what to say to the man I imagined a snake in front of and then came home to see him sitting outside my house three nights in a row. It made me feel a little insecure and unnerved, and I don’t think that’s just me. Most women would probably feel the same way.”