“You don’t have to do that. I’ve got it.”

  “I’m not letting you walk around campus carrying all this while I’m right beside you. It would make me look like a jackass.” He flashes his golden retriever smile.

  I take the paper he pulled from his car, walking alongside him to campus. “So what is this?”

  “Your stalker’s background check.”

  My eyes nearly cross at all the tiny words across the page. Will the background check reveal the childhood that Saint recounted for me? A life with a mother who was forced to sell her body to provide for her child, only to lose her life at the hands of a violent man.

  “Thank you,” I manage. “But can you give me, like, the quick summary version of this?”

  “Sadly, there’s not much.” Trevor steps up onto the sidewalk, careful to balance the precarious stack in his hands. “We know where he was born, where he grew up, and where he went to boarding school. He was taken in by his grandparents at age twelve after his mother died, but they shipped him off to boarding school pretty much immediately. After that, the guy’s managed to keep a low profile. Definitely somebody with something to hide.”

  “Where did he grow up before he went to boarding school?”

  “We don’t really know where he and his mother lived most of the time. The grandparents claimed she was a dropout, a drug addict. They didn’t even know they had a grandson until they got the news their daughter was dead. They lived in some small town called Nicholson, New York.”

  Movement in my peripheral vision draws my attention to a tall, slender blonde hurrying for a black BMW. The lights flash as she unlocks the doors, and my heart stops.

  The black BMW that followed me to campus the other day.

  I can only make out her profile, but the Roman nose, delicate jawline, and blonde ponytail aren’t familiar in the slightest. Who the hell is she?

  My heart races. What if she’s FBI? A private investigator? Someone the cops sent to trail me.

  She takes off before I can chase her down and demand to know why the fuck she’s following me.

  “Briar? Did you hear me?” Trevor’s brows are furrowed in concern.

  “Yep. Thanks, Trev,” I blurt.

  He accompanies me across campus. “Everything good?”

  “Mhmm. Just thought I saw someone.” I come to a halt outside of the Fine Arts building. “I’ll take these back. I’ve got to get to class.”

  He nods. “See you later. Remember to call me if you see him. And I may have some brownies for you if you catch me at lunch.”

  “You’re the best!” I hurry off, definitely late for class now.

  I beat Dr. Barrett to class and nearly sigh with relief. I drop all the binders and papers on the desk, shoving the background check on Saint into my bag before he waltzes in and finds it.

  My finger lingers on the spine of my copy of This Book Will Haunt You.

  S.T. Nicholson.

  Trevor said Saint’s grandparents lived in a small town called Nicholson, New York.

  S.T. Nicholson. Like Saint Nicholson.

  My heart beats harder. Saint’s words echo in my ears. If I could imprint you on my brain, I would.

  I assumed he memorized the line while reading the book.

  But maybe he didn’t simply read my favorite book. Maybe he wrote it.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SAINT

  Briar’s mother is in town to visit her only daughter. If Briar is as close to her mother as she claims, I know exactly how to get her to open her heart to me.

  Cecilia Shea is an easy woman to follow. Completely oblivious to the nondescript sedan following her from Briar's house to the local grocery store.

  I pull in at the opposite end of the parking lot and wait for her to finish digging through her purse before she pushes her sunglasses up on her head and strides into the store, clutching her purse to her stomach.

  Briar is the type of woman who doesn’t give second chances. I’ve got one chance to make her fall for me. One chance to earn her trust.

  I find my future mother-in-law in the produce section examining a shriveled white onion.

  Quick. Which is the best onion?

  I grind my teeth for the thirty seconds it takes Zayden to respond.

  Depends on what you’re cooking. Yellow is the most flavorful.

  “I suggest a yellow onion. Adds more flavor.” I hold one out to Cecilia, and she blinks big doll eyes at me. The same as my muse’s, but a soft shade of brown rather than Briar’s vibrant blue. She must’ve gotten her pale irises from her father.

  Cecilia’s soft, round face breaks into a wide smile. “Oh, thank you! I’ll have to try that. I’m making dinner for my daughter tonight.”

  I mirror her smile. “I believe I actually know your daughter. Briar Shea, right?”

  Her brows rise. “That’s right. You know Briar?”

  I hold out a hand to her. “I’m Saint. I’m friends with your daughter. She told me you’d be in town, and you two just look so similar.”

  “Oh my goodness! I’m so happy to meet one of Briar’s friends. Do you have plans for tonight? I’m making pot roast!”

  “That sounds delicious, but I couldn’t impose.”

  Cecilia waves her hand dismissively. “You can’t impose if you’re invited. I’d love to get to know one of Briar’s friends. The only one she ever talks about is Mack.”

  “They’re inseparable,” I confirm. Most nights when I find myself outside Briar’s window, Mack’s car is in the driveway. Other than Mack’s blonde hair and an obvious height difference—Mack at five-foot-six and Briar at a generous five feet—they have few physical differences. The shapes of their faces and shades of their eyes such a close match, you’d almost think they were sisters.

  “How did you and Briar meet?” Cecilia leads the way to the beef.

  I take the basket from her arm and she beams at me. “We met at the Auburn Institute, actually. Technically, I’m her student.”

  “Oh really? She’s so secretive sometimes. Getting her to tell me about her life is like pulling teeth. How has that professor been behaving?” Her lips purse. “I know she was having some trouble with him at the beginning of the semester.”

  My spine stiffens at the mention of Professor Molester, but I keep a smile fixed to my face for her mother’s benefit. “His behavior toward her seems a little too . . . familiar at times. But I keep an eye out for her.”

  Briar’s mother grabs a roast and places it inside the basket before she takes my hand and pats it. “I’m so happy to hear she has such a good friend looking out for her.”

  “To be honest,” I admit as we head for the register, “I have a bit of a crush on her. Maybe you can put in a good word.”

  She laughs at my teasing tone, but she brightens. “That’s wonderful news! Briar needs a good man in her life. She’s a tough nut to crack, but once you do, you won’t find anyone with a bigger heart.”

  Her mother reminds me so much of my own. Briar is her pride and joy, the same as I was for my mother. I can tell just by her eyes how much she loves her daughter. I couldn’t ask for a better future mother-in-law.

  I could tell her what a great son-in-law I’ll be, but sometimes, actions speak louder than words. By the end of the evening, she’ll be the one saying that to me.

  Cecilia puts the items from the basket on the conveyor belt. “Oh honey, did you forget to pick up what you came for?”

  I glance around and grab a pack of mint-flavored gum. “This was all I needed.”

  “Well, if you don’t have any plans tonight, I insist you come to dinner. I know a mother isn’t supposed to intervene, but just between you and me”—Her eyes glint with mischief—“I’ll be playing matchmaker.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  BRIAR

  Saint de Haas may or may not be my favorite author, S.T. Nicholson.

  I’ve always thought the day I met S.T. Nicholson would be life-changing. But I never thought it would play out anything like this.

  Maybe he’s not. Maybe it’s purely coincidental that their names are similar. In fact, it’s actually a huge fucking leap. I’m finding clues where there are none. Saint de Haas and S.T. Nicholson are two completely separate people. S.T. Nicholson is a sophisticated, talented bestselling author who writes books that speak to my soul, and Saint de Haas is an MFA student with a tragic past, a chip on his shoulder, and a stalking kink.

  He was wearing a mask the first time he watched me through my window, and S.T. Nicholson wears a mask to hide his identity, but plenty of people wear masks and S.T. Nicholson has distinct markings on his that signify his hidden identity to his audience. Saint was probably wearing some five-dollar ski mask he got from the dollar store.

  No. They’re definitely not the same person.

  “Briar!” my mother calls.

  I rush to the door and swing it open. “Sorry! I didn’t hear you pull up.” Too distracted by thoughts of my stalker student who may or may not be an anonymous bestselling author.

  Mom hurries past me with the plastic bags in her hands and drops them on the kitchen counter. My kitchen is about a tenth of the size of hers, but she hardly seems to notice as she moves around to cook the roast. At least she got a decent alimony payment from my father in the divorce. That’s the least the bastard could do.

  “Guess who I saw at the grocery store?” Mom asks, beaming.

  “Mack?” I guess, the only mutual acquaintance she could be that happy to see.

  “Your friend, Saint.” She gives me a sly smile and my heart drops.

  “Did you say Saint?”

  She’s totally oblivious to the way my face falls, bustling to season the roast in the pot. “Why didn’t you tell me about him? He’s very handsome, Briar. And very charming.” Delight sparks in her eyes. “He carried my basket for me the entire time I was in the grocery store! He’s such a gentleman.”

  My hands ball into fists. I am going to kill him. It’s one thing to come after me, but it’s another to go after my mother. She’s off-limits.

  “I think you should give him a chance, honey.”

  “A chance?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing right now. If she had any idea who he actually is, she’d be telling me to run for the hills.

  “Why not?” Mom shrugs, pouring in the bone broth. “He’s sweet, he’s funny, he’s attractive. I worry about you out here all alone, hours away from me. And I know you’re only shutting him out to protect your heart.”

  More like to protect my life. “Um, Mom, you don’t understand the circumstances.” I can’t tell her Saint has been stalking me—she’ll freak out. She may die of a panic attack right here. Besides, there’s nothing she can do that I can’t. I can handle him myself. “He’s my student. It would be completely inappropriate.”

  Mom waves this off. “So you’re his professor. Big deal. You’re both consenting adults. In fact, I think he’s older than you.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s not the point. If the administration found out, I could get fired. I’m not risking my job.”

  Mom presses a hand to her chest. “Forbidden love is so romantic.”

  It takes everything in me not to sigh as I pour Cookie’s food for her. Mom has no idea exactly how forbidden Saint de Haas is.

  “Anyway,” Mom places the lid on the pot. “I invited him for dinner.”

  I whirl on her. “You did what?”

  Mom’s turn to roll her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Briar. You two are friends. Friends are allowed to spend time together. And soon enough, he won’t be your student anymore, and you won’t have to worry about dating him in secret.”

  “I’m not dating him in secret or in public!”

  Mom shrugs. “You’re an adult. You make your own decisions, but Saint seems like a genuinely kind, sweet man who cares a lot about you. He’s certainly nothing like your father. I think he would be a good man to have in your life, that’s all I’m saying. I just want my daughter to be happy.”

  “I am happy, Mom.” Although as soon as the words leave my mouth, I’m not sure they’re true.

  I’m hopeful about my job, but I’m not happy. Instead, I’m stressed going into work knowing that Dr. Barrett’s eyes or hands will linger on me for too long. I’m happy when I spend Friday nights with Mack, and Cookie and Ginger curl up on our laps, but I can’t deny that something feels missing from my life. A missing piece to complete the puzzle. Certainly when my vibrator dies, I miss having a man around.

  But no matter how well Saint de Haas charmed my mother, he is the last man I should open myself up to.

  Cookie sneaks out from the living room, eyeing my mother warily but willing to risk being seen by a stranger for her food. As soon as Mom sees her, she coos and ducks down to her. “Cookie!”

  “Mom, no⁠—”

  Cookie takes off, and Mom plants her hands on her hips and pouts. “I don’t know why she hates me. Animals adore me.”

  “She just hasn’t been socialized enough. She doesn’t come out of hiding for anyone but me and Mack.”

  When someone knocks at the door, I grind my teeth. The bastard actually had the audacity to show up at my house after he just roped my mother into this sick game of his.

  Mom gasps and claps, rushing out of the room to the front door. “Saint! I’m so glad you could make it. Please come in.”

  Sure, Mom, invite an unwanted guest into my home.

  “I hope you don’t mind.” Saint’s low vibrato. “After you invited me to dinner, I snuck back into the grocery store for a few goodies. I couldn’t come empty-handed.”

  Saint strides into the kitchen like he belongs here. I clench my teeth so hard, I worry my jaw will snap.

  He brightens when he spots me. “Great to see you, Briar.”

  “It is my house,” I grumble.

  He sets down the brown paper bag on the counter and pulls out a tall bottle of Merlot and a container of chocolate pie.

  My favorites. Of course.

  “Merlot?” Saint asks, already digging in my cupboard for the wine glasses. Of course he knows exactly where they are. He’s probably memorized the layout of my entire house. How many times has he been in here?

  “I’ll take a glass. Wasn’t that so sweet of Saint to bring wine and dessert?” Mom prompts.

  I cannot believe he’s roped me into this. “Yes,” I grind out. “So sweet.”

  “Let’s go drink our wine at the table while the food cooks,” Mom suggests.

  Saint winks at me before following my mom out of the room. I bite back a groan. This is going to be an evening from hell.

  “So Saint,” Mom says. “You said you’re Briar’s student. What do you like to write?”

  Yes, Saint. What do you like to write outside of the dull literary prompts delivered by Dr. Barrett? Would they perhaps be erotic Gothic horror novels written under the pen name S.T. Nicholson?

  He smiles easily, taking the middle seat so I’m forced to sit beside him. My teeth will be ground to dust soon enough. “Love stories.”

  Mom coos and I barely suppress an eye-roll. Love. His twisted brand of love involves monitoring and stalking a woman. Repeatedly crossing her boundaries, breaking into her house, and killing any man whose eyes linger too long.

  Cookie’s little paws scuttle across the floor, heading for her bowl in the kitchen now that we’ve vacated the room. But to my surprise, she stops at Saint’s chair and peers up at him.

  My mouth falls open when he pats his lap, and she jumps up, circling until she finds a comfortable spot and settles down.

  “What a little bitch,” Mom gasps.

  That pulls a laugh from me and Saint. I’m still in shock. “She doesn’t like anybody,” I admit.

  He tilts his head back, grinning at me. “I’m not anybody.”

  God, I hate him so much. I’ll have to scold Cookie later for betraying me like this.

  “I’ll be right back,” Mom promises. “I’m going to check on dinner.”

  As soon as she’s out of sight, I wrench Saint’s arm and hiss, “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

  His warm smile doesn’t falter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says smoothly, scratching Cookie’s favorite spot behind her ears while she purrs in treachery. “But I do like your hands on me.”

  I drop his arm. “You sicken me. Don’t mess with my mom. If you hurt her, I swear⁠—”

  Saint swings his knees toward me, dark features serious now and voice low. “I would never hurt your mother, Briar. I would never harm a hair on her head. Or yours. I’m not this monster you’ve created me to be in your mind. You may think what I do is purely for selfish reasons, but everything I do is for you. Everything I do is to make your life better, to make you happy. I assure you, someday you’ll see that. You’ll see that I live for you, because I am nothing without you.”

  His words stun me, rendering me speechless.

  “No one is leaving this house hungry,” Mom calls, returning from the kitchen.

  I jump up from the table and away from Saint, busying myself with grabbing broccoli from the freezer.

  Mom flashes us a knowing grin and I want to scream that it’s not what it looks like. That the last person she should want her daughter to fall in love with is the man who’s stalking her.

  I knock on the door to Dr. Barrett’s office, already cringing. Sharing a classroom with him is one thing, when he knows a student or another faculty member could walk in at any moment. It’s another entirely to be alone with him in his office with the door closed.

  “Come in!” he calls.

  It’s fine. I’ll drop off the graded story prompts and head right back out the door.

  “Ah, Briar.” Dr. Barrett attempts to keep his face neutral when he ushers me in. I try to leave the door open, but it swings shut behind me.

  “I have those graded assignments for you,” I say in a rush, setting them down on his desk.

  “Great.” He gestures to the chair in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

 

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