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

As the cab drops me off at the house, and I tip the guy extra for braving the icy roads, I see Mr. Haven in the front of his house, a bag of salt in his gloved hands as he sprinkles it over the slick walkway. He looks up at the sound of the cab door slamming and gives me a wave.

“Evening, Chloe,” he calls out, his breath visible in the frigid air. “Looks like we may get snowed in tonight. The forecast is calling for a couple of inches at least.”

I notice that my walkway is shoveled, and I chastise him. “Mr. Haven, you shouldn’t have done my walkway. What if you slipped again?”

“Oh it wasn’t me. I’m just out adding to the salt that was already laid. Your man, Jack, must have done this for us again.”

A warmth spreads through my chest, despite the biting cold. Jack’s thoughtfulness never fails to surprise me. He must have done this after he got off shift. I make a mental note to thank him later.

“That was kind of him,” I say to Mr. Haven, trying to keep the smile from my voice. I don’t want to make it too obvious how smitten I am over this man. It’s still early and I don’t want to go into this too fast and furious, although my heart already has her racing shoes on.

“Mr. Haven smiles. “He’s a great guy. It was also kind how he fixed your fire alarms.”NôvelD(ram)a.ôrg owns this content.

I start to nod, then freeze. “What?”

Mr. Haven’s eyes widen, and he shifts from one boot to the other. Is he realizing he’s said something he shouldn’t have? He fumbles with the salt bag, spilling some on his boots. “Your fire alarms. They were beeping and . . . I just assumed you wanted them fixed so I gave him a key and—”

I force a laugh, trying to keep my voice steady. “Right, of course. I’d just beaten them into silence with a broom. But Jack is . . . Jack.”

Mr. Haven nods, clearly relieved I’m not upset. “Exactly. He’s a good one to keep around. Well, you’d better get inside before this storm really hits. Good night, Chloe.”

I hurry inside, my mind racing. As I close the door behind me, I lean against it, trying to calm my nerves. Jack’s attentiveness had always seemed sweet, but now a seed of doubt has been planted. He was inside without me knowing . . . I shake my head, trying to dismiss the warning bells going off in my head.

Is it a coincidence that he happened to be dog sitting in my neighborhood? Coincidence that he happens to frequent my favorite coffee shop? Coincidence that he happened to be on Dark Secrets and discovered my secret account? Coincidence right? Coincidence . . .

I hang up my coat and make my way to the kitchen, desperate for a hot cup of tea to warm me up. As I fill the kettle, I notice a note on the counter. Jack’s handwriting.

I didn’t leave the house unlocked? Did I? But clearly Jack has a way of getting inside.

I open the refrigerator, and sure enough, it’s filled with groceries I didn’t buy. My hands shake as I close the refrigerator door. The thoughtful gesture that would have warmed my heart just hours ago now fills me with a sense of dread. I lean against the counter, trying to steady my breathing.

I’m just spooked by the news Sloane gave me. This doesn’t have anything to do with Jack. Nothing to do with Jack, I mentally chant to myself again. I’m just on edge about Tyler.

The kettle whistles, making me jump. I quickly shut it off, suddenly aware of every sound in the house. The wind howls outside, rattling the windows. Is it the storm, or do I hear footsteps on the porch?

Maybe it’s Tyler. Maybe it’s Jack.

Maybe I’m losing my damn mind.

A text notification pops up on my screen. It’s from Jack. Hope you’re staying warm. I’m worried about you in this storm. Mind if I stop by to check on you?

The thought of spending the evening with Jack, having sex as the snow falls, sounds amazing. Or it would have if I wasn’t such a hot mess of emotions right now. I blame Sloane and her news.

Trying to shake off my nerves, I text, I’m home safe, having tea. Thank you for the food and the shoveling. But don’t risk driving over here. I’d hate if something were to happen to you.

I don’t mind, he texts.

I set my phone down, my hands tensing. I try to focus on making my tea, but my mind keeps racing. The silence of the house feels oppressive now, broken only by the bellowing wind outside.

Suddenly, I hear a faint scratching sound coming from the front door. My heart leaps into my throat. I freeze, straining to listen. There it is again—a soft scraping, like someone trying to pick a lock.

Panic floods through me. Is it Tyler? Jack? Or am I imagining things?

I grab my phone, ready to call 911, when I hear a familiar meow. Relief washes over me as I realize it’s just my neighbor’s cat, Miss Patches, probably seeking shelter from the storm. I laugh shakily at my own paranoia.

As I open the door to let the cat in, a gust of icy wind hits me. Snow swirls into the kitchen, and I shiver, quickly ushering the cat inside and shutting the door.

I’m about to turn back to my tea when something catches my eye. There, in the fresh snow on the porch, are footprints. Large, masculine footprints, leading to the side of the house. Leading to the Christmas light-covered hedge that conceals my bedroom window.

My heart races as I stare at the footprints, my mind reeling. I slam the door shut and lock it, my hands shaking so badly I can barely manage the deadbolt. The cat meows plaintively, sensing my distress, but I barely notice as I stumble back into the kitchen.

I grab my phone, ready to call the police, but hesitate. What if I’m overreacting? What if it’s Mr. Haven checking on his salt job, or some other innocent explanation? I don’t want to look foolish.

But those footprints . . . they looked fresh. And they led directly to my bedroom window.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Maybe I should call Jack after all. He’d come over in a heartbeat, I know he would. But the seed of doubt planted earlier grows, spreading tendrils of suspicion through my mind. What if . . . ?

No. I shake my head, angry at myself for even considering it. Jack has been nothing but kind and supportive. He doesn’t deserve my suspicion just because of a few coincidences and some badly chosen words from others.

Still, I can’t bring myself to call him. Instead, I grab a kitchen knife and make my way through the house, checking every lock, every window. The wind howls outside, tree branches scraping against the siding like skeletal fingers. Every sound makes me jump, my nerves frayed to the breaking point.

As I approach my bedroom, knife clutched tightly in my sweaty hand, I hear a soft thud from outside. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. Slowly, I edge toward the window, my heart thrashing so hard it hurts.

I peer through the frosted glass, squinting against the snow swirling in the multi-colored glow of the holiday lights. At first, I see nothing but the hedge, its branches laden with snow. Then, a shadow moves. A dark figure straightens up from behind the bushes, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of a familiar profile.

My blood runs cold as recognition dawns. It can’t be. It just can’t be.

But as the figure turns, I know without a doubt who it is. The knife clatters to the floor as my world tilts on its axis.

“Jack,” I choke out.

As if hearing my voice, he looks directly at my window. Our eyes meet through the glass, and I gasp and stumble backward. Jack’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow with determination. He takes a step toward the window, his hand reaching out as if to open it.

My mind races, trying to make sense of what I’ve just seen. Jack, outside my window in the middle of a snowstorm. Jack, who I thought was safely at home. Jack, who now seems like a stranger.

I fumble for my phone, my fingers shaking so badly I can barely unlock it. Who do I call? The police? But what would I say? My boyfriend—or whatever he is— is standing outside my window? It sounds ridiculous, even to my own ears.

A soft tapping on the glass makes me jump. “Chloe?” Jack’s muffled voice comes through the window. “Chloe, I can explain. Please, let me in.”

His tone is gentle, pleading, so like the Jack I thought I knew. For a moment, I’m tempted to open the window, to let him explain. But the warning bells banging in my head are deafening.

“Go away, Jack,” I call out, hating how my voice quavers. “Go home!”

There’s a pause, then a heavy sigh. “Chloe, please. I wanted to make sure you were safe in the storm. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I back away from the window, my mind whirling. How long has this been going on? How many times has he been out there, watching me without my knowledge?

Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my hand, making me yelp. It’s a text from Jack. I’m sorry. I’ll go. But please, can we talk first? There’s so much I need to tell you.

I stare at the message, torn between fear and a desperate desire to understand. Part of me wants to believe there’s a reasonable explanation for all of this. But another part, a part that’s growing stronger by the minute, knows that something is very, very wrong.

I hear the crunch of snow as Jack moves away from the window. Relief floods through me, quickly followed by a wave of exhaustion. I sink onto the edge of my bed, my legs suddenly too weak to support me.

There’s a knock on the door. “Chloe. Please. Open up. Just for five minutes and then I’ll go.”

The rational part of my brain screams at me not to open it, but a small voice inside whispers that maybe, just maybe, there’s an explanation for all of this.

“Jack,” I call out, my voice trembling, “I need you to leave. Now. Or I’m calling the police.”

There’s a pause, then a soft thud against the door. Is he leaning his forehead against it? I can almost picture his pained expression.

“Chloe, please,” his voice is low, desperate sounding. “I know how this looks. But it’s not what you think. There’s so much you don’t know, so much I need to tell you.”

I stand there, frozen, torn between curiosity and fear. The silence stretches, broken only by the whistling wind outside.

“Five minutes,” I finally say, hating myself for giving in. “You have five minutes to explain, and then you leave. I mean it, Jack.”

I approach the door cautiously, my hand hovering over the lock. Taking a deep breath, I turn it and open the door just a crack, keeping the chain on.

Jack stands there, snow dusting his dark hair and shoulders. His face is a mix of relief and anxiety. “Thank you,” he breathes.

“Start talking,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

He runs a hand through his hair, dislodging snowflakes. “God, where do I even begin?”