The Watcher Read Online Free PDF Page B

When I looked back at the bushes, the darkness was gone.
    I stared at him, amazed, wondering if he’d seen it too. He had been in the woods that morning when I was chased. Maybe he’d seen that dog after all.
    He cocked an eyebrow at me. “What?”
    “Nothing,” I said, chickening out.
    Slouching, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “This isn’t working.”
    “What isn’t?”
    He tilted his chin to look up at me through his long, dark lashes and there was something so intense, so intimate, about his gaze that my breath froze in my chest. “If you keep walking on that foot, you’ll hurt it more.”
    “She’s not walking. She’s hobbling,” said Heather, drawing her arm across her brow. Helping me was making her sweat. “We’re taking it nice and slow.”
    Fiona stepped in a little closer. “I can take a shift,” she said.
    “It would be better if I carried you,” Michael interjected.
    Fiona’s jaw dropped, unable to contain her surprise. Was he serious? He seemed genuine enough—sincere, like he was living some code of chivalry, the kind you read about in medieval history. I remembered the feel of his hand on my back, his arm under my legs, and my heart sped up. When he first carried me, it was so intimate, so peaceful, it awakened a craving in me that I didn’t even know I had. I would have given anything to feel that way again, and that’s what made it seem wrong somehow, illicit even.
    Heather grinned at me, as though she could sense what I was feeling.
    “Thanks, but I think I can handle it,” I said.
    Fiona wore a stunned expression. Obviously she would have accepted his offer.
    Michael rolled another rock beneath his foot. “No need to be stubborn. You’ll only make it harder on yourself.”
    I raised my chin defiantly. “Stubborn? I’m not—”
    “Yeah, okay.” He laughed under his breath.
    So maybe I was a bit stubborn, but what was so wrong with that?
    There was a noise in the forest behind us. We both looked. Then he turned back to me. “Why don’t I piggy-back you?” he said. The smile he gave me could have melted gold.
    If it were anyone else, I might have said piggy-back rides were for kids, but really it was a good suggestion. It wasn’t nearly as intimate, and it gave me the option to hold on, some semblance of control, instead of the helplessness of being carried. But when he crouched down so I could get on his back, the heat and closeness of his body permeated the dampness of my clothes. I stopped.
    “Everything okay?” he asked.
    “Uh-huh.” Biting my lip, I eased onto his back. His hands held my bare legs like they would sear me. The sides of his waist were warm and solid against my thighs, and that illicit feeling came back. Trying to focus, I clung to him with my remaining strength.
    He shifted, readjusting his grip. “Relax. I got you.”
    “I am relaxed,” I squeaked.
    “Then why are your knuckles turning white?”
    I could hear the smile in his voice. Could he tell how I felt?
    “Oh, sorry!” I willed the fists clutching his black T-shirt to loosen until I felt the tautness of his muscles under my fingers and the steady beat of his heart. Which was better, I guess, but also worse.
    Being the one with the cargo—meaning me—on his back, Michael set a quick pace that Heather and Fiona could barely match. Fiona talked about an upcoming horror movie she was excited about. Heather was against it. I could hear the exertion in their voices as they climbed up and down hills. In contrast, Michael was silent and his breathing even, as though carrying me was hardly any difficulty at all.
    Soon we were back at Fiona’s old Honda Civic, parked in the shade of a huge maple, and Michael lowered me onto the car’s hood. The cold metal pulled the skin on my legs into goose bumps, and I was suddenly aware of how warm I’d been pressed against him. Then, holding my hips, he gently guided me down to my feet. Our eyes locked–there was such light in his –and the air