He Sees You When You’re Sleeping: A Dark and Steamy Holiday Romance of Obsession and Secrets – Where Desire Meets Danger in the Heart of NYC

“I can’t believe he actually resigned,” Sloane says from across her desk.

“He didn’t have much of a choice,” I say. “He was a fucking creep.”

Sloane leans back in her chair, a wry smile playing on her lips.

“What? Why are you smiling like that?”

She shrugs. “Nothing.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Sloane, what?”

“I know you’re pissed at Jack, but—”

“We aren’t discussing Jack,” I interrupt.

Sloane raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t we, though? I mean, he saved the day. He saved you.”

My jaw clenches. “He didn’t save me. I didn’t need saving.”

Sloane sighs, her smile fading. “Come on, Chloe. From what you just told me, you know that’s not true. If Jack hadn’t arrived when he did—”

“I had it under control,” I snap, more harshly than I intended. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden surge of anger. “Look, I appreciate what Jack did, okay? But that doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t erase all the other crap he’s pulled. You don’t find it sick as hell that the man has stalked me for years?”

“I think it’s kind of romantic. Sexy even,” she admits. “Sorry, but I don’t think I’d be throwing away the man because he’s obsessed with you.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable. Since when are you Team Stalker?”

“I haven’t met the man, but he sounds like a catch.”

“A catch! He’s been standing outside my window without my knowledge. How in the hell is that considered a catch?”

Sloane holds up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it. You’re not ready to see it from another perspective yet.”

I glare at her, my frustration building. “There is no other perspective. It’s creepy, end of story.”

She leans forward, her expression turning serious. “Look, Chloe, I’m not trying to invalidate your feelings. I know you’ve been through a lot. But maybe . . . maybe there’s more to Jack than you’re willing to see right now.”

“Oh, please,” I scoff. “Like what?”

“Like the fact that this man has only had your best interest in the forefront of his mind.”

“He let us meet, connect, and made me believe it was all . . . He’s been lying this entire time.”

“People do crazy things when they’re in love, Chloe.”

A flush creeps up my neck. “He’s not in love with me. He’s obsessed. There’s a difference.”

“I want the insane asylum kind of love.”

I stare at Sloane incredulously. “The insane asylum kind of love? Are you serious right now?”

She shrugs, a mischievous curve to her smile. “What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart.”

“You’re certifiable is what you are,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Look, can we drop this? I don’t want to talk about Jack anymore.”

Sloane holds my gaze for a moment, then nods. “All right, consider it dropped. For now.” She shuffles some rings on her desk, clearly changing the subject. “So since you insisted on working on our day off today instead of going out for pancakes and mimosas like I suggested—”

“I need the distraction.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles. “Then let’s talk about these new ring designs . . .”

I try to focus on work, but my mind keeps drifting back to Jack. Despite my anger, I can’t shake the memory of his face when he stepped in to save me. The fierce determination in his eyes, the way he put himself between me and danger without hesitation.

No, I tell myself firmly. Don’t go down that road. He’s a stalker, plain and simple.

But as I leave Moth to the Flame to return home, I find myself wondering: What if Sloane is right? What if there is more to Jack than I’m willing to see?

What is he doing right now?

Is he working?

Is he having coffee at our favorite spot?

Is he—

Stop! Stop obsessing over the man. I’m no better than he is.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts as I walk down the bustling city street. The morning air is cool against my skin, a welcome relief from the stuffy office. I pull my jacket tighter around me, more for comfort than warmth.

I turn the corner and see his fire station. Could I have avoided it? Yes. The truth of the matter is I didn’t need to come near it and yet, here I am. I pause for a moment, my feet rooted to the spot. The red brick building looms before me, its large bay doors closed. A faint light glows from one of the upper windows, and I wonder if Jack is up there, perhaps filling out paperwork or chatting with his fellow firefighters.

Before I can stop myself, I’m walking toward the station. My heart races as I approach, half hoping and half dreading that I might catch a glimpse of him. I tell myself I’m just curious, that I’m just double-checking that he isn’t outside my window again, but at work, a safe distance from me.

As I near the station, I hear the sound of laughter drifting from an open door. My steps falter, and I find myself ducking into the shadows of a nearby alley. What am I doing here? This is ridiculous. I’m acting like . . . like Jack.

I’m about to turn and leave when I hear a familiar voice. Jack’s voice. My breath catches in my throat as I peer around the corner.

He’s standing outside the station, chatting with a couple of his coworkers. The sight of him sends a jolt through my system—a mixture of anger, fear, and something else I don’t want to name.

“You heading out, Jack?” one of the other firefighters asks.

Jack nods, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’ve got some stuff to take care of.”

My heart rate picks up. Is he going to my house? The thought both thrills and terrifies me.

“All right, man. Take care,” his coworker says, clapping him on the shoulder.

As Jack turns to leave, his eyes sweep across the street. For a heart-stopping moment, I think he’s seen me. But his gaze passes over my hiding spot without pausing.

I watch as he walks away, his broad shoulders beckoning me like a god damn beacon. Without thinking, I step out of the alley and begin to follow him.

What am I doing? This is insane. I’m stalking my stalker.

But I can’t seem to stop myself. I keep a safe distance, ducking behind cars and into doorways whenever he looks back.

I follow Jack for several blocks, my feet feeling as if they are trudging through thick mud. He seems oblivious to my presence, walking with purpose toward an unknown destination. Part of me hopes he’s heading to his own apartment, while another part dreads the possibility that he might be going to my place. Or do I? My traitorous heart quickens at the thought of him watching me, his obsession, his need to be outside my window all those nights. I should be sickened by the idea, and yet I’m not. I’m actually . . . excited.

I try to push the feeling away but it strangles me like a vine, wrapping around my chest and squeezing tighter with each breath.

What’s wrong with me? He’s a stalker, a predator. I should be calling the police, not fantasizing about him in my bedroom.

But I can’t help imagining his eyes on me as I undress, his ragged breathing fogging up the glass. Would he press his palm against the window, aching to touch me? Or would he remain perfectly still, drinking in every detail?

I shake my head, trying to clear these twisted thoughts. This isn’t me. I’m not the type of person who gets turned on by danger. Am I?

Fuck me . . . maybe I am.

As we turn onto a quieter street, I nearly lose sight of him. I quicken my pace, rounding the corner in time to see him enter a small coffee shop. Relief washes over me, followed quickly by a pang of disappointment. I’m not sure what I expected, but this feels oddly anticlimactic.

And this coffee shop isn’t our coffee shop. It’s in imposter coffee shop.

I hesitate outside the shop, peering through the window. Jack is at the counter, ordering something. Before I can talk myself out of it, I push open the door and step inside.

The bell above the door chimes, and Jack turns. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. His expression shifts from surprise to confusion to something I can’t quite read.

“Chloe?” he says, his voice a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

I open my mouth, but no words come out. What am I doing here? What could I possibly say?

“I . . . I was just . . .” I stammer, feeling my face grow hot.

Jack takes a step toward me, his brow furrowed with concern. “Are you okay?”

The genuine worry in his voice catches me off guard.

“I’m fine,” I manage to say. “I was just . . . passing by.”

It’s a weak excuse, and we both know it. Jack’s lips quirk into a small, sad smile.

“Passing by, huh?” he says softly.

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication. I should be angry, should turn and walk out right now. But something keeps me rooted to the spot.

“Jack, I . . .” I start, then trail off, unsure of what I want to say.

“I’m trying a new place,” he says, looking around the imposter coffee. “I gave you custody of Pete’s.” He smirks, and I appreciate he’s trying to cut the tension between us.

I feel a mix of emotions at his words—gratitude for his consideration, frustration at his charm, and a strange sense of loss at the idea of him no longer frequenting our usual spot.

“Well, since you are here . . . can I buy you a coffee? No strings attached, I promise. Just two people who used to know each other, having a drink.”

I hesitate, every instinct telling me to run. But something keeps me rooted to the spot. Maybe it’s curiosity, maybe it’s the sincerity in his eyes, or maybe it’s something else entirely.

“Okay,” I hear myself say. “One coffee. But this doesn’t change anything.”

He turns to the barista and orders me a latte, then gestures to a small table in the corner. I follow him, my heart beating so aggressively, I’m sure he can hear it or even see it expanding and contracting against my flesh.

We sit across from each other, an awkward silence settling between us. I fidget with my napkin, avoiding his gaze.

“So,” Jack says finally, “in the neighborhood?”

I let out a nervous laugh, my eyes darting to meet his before quickly looking away. “Something like that,” I mutter, knowing how ridiculous I sound.

Jack leans back in his chair, studying me with those intense eyes of his. “Chloe,” he says softly, “what’s really going on?”

I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. How can I explain something I don’t even understand myself?

“I don’t know,” I admit finally. “I saw you at the station and I just . . . I followed you. I don’t know why.”

Jack’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You followed me?”

“I know, I know,” I say quickly, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “It’s crazy and hypocritical and—”

“And a little bit flattering,” Jack interrupts, a small smile playing on his lips.

I glare at him. “This isn’t funny, Jack.”

Jack reaches across the table, his hand stopping short of mine. “I’m going to do something I’ve never been good at,” he says. “I’m handing over control to you. You call the shots on this.”

I stare at his hand, so close to mine. It would be so easy to reach out, to bridge that gap. But I can’t. Not yet.

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of his words hanging between us. I take a sip of my latte, buying myself time to think.

“So what now?” I ask finally.

“That’s up to you. I meant what I said about giving you space. If you want me to walk away right now and never contact you again, I will.”

I feel a pang in my chest at the thought. As angry as I am, the idea of never seeing Jack again hurts more than I want to admit.

“And if I don’t want that?” I ask, surprising myself with the words. “If I don’t want you to give up control.” I swallow hard, even more surprised I’m about to reveal this. “What if I want you to take control?”This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org: ©.

Jack’s eyes widen, a mix of shock and something darker casting across his face. He leans forward, his voice low and intense. “I need you to be certain. If we do this, there’s no turning back. No more running away, no more hiding in the shadows watching from afar. It’s all or nothing, Chloe.”

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to quiet the storm of thoughts in my head. When I open them again, I meet Jack’s gaze with newfound resolve.

“I’m certain,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want you on the outside looking in. I want you to come inside.”