by Odette Stone
I strained to listen. I could hear taps running and then the bathroom door opened. Footsteps. Then nothing. Holding my breath, I peered around the corner. In front of his duffle bag, a massive man crouched on his haunches. He had unzipped it and was rifling through it. Was that his kill kit?
My body shook. My stomach clenched rock hard. White knuckles gripped the club over my shoulder. I needed to get one clean shot to his head. Then I could run. I crept up behind him. I saw a gun. With a mangled cry, I swung my club as hard as I could. My club connected with air.
Now I was flat on my back with my club pressed against my neck. The monster was on top of me. Pinning me to the floor. I caught a glimpse of a shocked expression and green eyes and then everything faded to black.
I was on my back. I opened my eyes and took in the high living room ceiling from the couch. Someone had pulled a couch throw over me. Images crashed through me. The intruder. A gun. Being flipped onto the floor.
With a cry, I half sat up. The intruder sat in the wingback chair across from me. He stared at me without expression. The pain that compressed my chest was so intense, so all-consuming, I had to look to see if I had a knife sticking out of my chest. No blood. No knife. Just fear that was so real I could taste it.
The man who broke into my loft looked like an intense terminator Robocop. All muscles and scariness. Would he torture me like my parents had been tortured or would he kill me quickly? I didn’t care about the money. I already decided I would give him whatever he wanted. I just didn’t want to die.
“You passed out,” his voice was deep and rough. “Drink some tea.”
My eyes flicked to a steaming mug on the coffee table. None of this was making sense.
“You made tea?”
He didn’t answer. He just sat there dwarfing my favorite chair. Black army boots. Tree trunk legs were clad in army fatigues. Herculean arms crossed over a powerful chest. A thick neck. Stubble that was almost a full beard. A strong jaw and brow. Eyes wide and green. Messy dark blond hair.
I worked to remember what my self-defense class taught me. Keep them talking. Humanize yourself. Refer to your friends and family. Talk about yourself as a person. And whatever you do, never ask them what they’re going to do to you.
“Are you going to kill me?”
A shocked expression flitted across his face. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Matt didn’t tell you.”
“What does Matt have to do with this?” My voice shook. How did he know Matt? Had Matt hired him?
“Matt invited me to stay here.”
I stared back blankly as I tried to connect the dots. He wasn’t here to kill me. He knew Matt. Matt invited him to stay with us.
“What?”
“You obviously didn’t know about this. I should go.”
He stood up. He was so big he was a man tree.
“Who are you?” Still feeling woozy, I threw the blanket off my body and struggled to a sitting position.
“My name is Jackson.” He moved with grace towards his bag.
Jackson? This was Jackson? Matt’s childhood friend? I tried to remember what Matt had told me about Jackson but the stories were few and far between.
I stood up on wobbling legs. “You were friends with Matt when you were kids, right?”
“Is that what he told you?”
I had no idea what that meant. His massive frame crouched over his duffle bag while he rearranged something. My shock was fading, and now I realized that I had just tried to kill Matt’s friend.
“Matt invited you to stay here?”
He didn’t look up at me. “Yes ma’am, sorry to have scared you.”
I shut my eyes. Matt had invited this behemoth man to come and stay with us. I had no idea why he would do that, but Matt must have his reasons.
“You can’t leave.”
He didn’t respond. He just zipped up the bag, stood up, and swung the huge bag over his shoulder.
Matt always accused me of not being kind to his friends. A couple of weeks ago, after an incredibly awkward dinner with two of his friends, Matt had read me the riot act. He told me I need to be nicer to his friends. He never acknowledged that his friends were rude assholes, but I had promised him that I would try harder. How would I tell Matt that I had chased Jackson off? It wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have with Matt.
“You can call me Emily, and this was just a big misunderstanding,” I started, desperate to figure out how to fix this. “Just because I almost killed you doesn’t mean you’re not welcome.”
“You didn’t even come close to killing me.” He glanced at the door. He wanted to leave.
“I almost smashed your skull.”
“I was aware of you the moment I came out of the washroom. I just wanted to disarm you without hurting you.”
Our eyes met. That part was true. Somehow he had managed to flip me to the floor and cushion my landing at the same time. He hadn't even winded me.
He added. “I didn’t think you’d pass out.”
Heat crept up my chest, my neck and then my entire face went red hot. I lifted my chin a fraction, unable to meet his eyes. “I was scared.”
“You acted pretty brave for being scared.”
My eyes collided with his gaze for a millisecond. I swallowed. This was a monumental cluster. How would I explain to Matt that Jackson was here but then he left? I needed him to stay.
“I’d appreciate it if you would let me make you breakfast.”
He held himself still for a long moment. “Unnecessary.”
He was so unyielding. He reminded me of a solid, powerful and unbending mountain.
Pent-up air wheezed out of my chest. I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly conscious of the fact that I was wearing only a tank top and a pair of sleeping shorts. “I don’t want to tell Matt that I scared you off.”
His eyes narrowed. “You aren’t scaring me off.”
“Could have fooled me.”
I never talked like this. I was quiet and unassuming. Why I had chosen the most intimidating man to exert my cheekiness with was beyond me.
His eyes flickered over me. And then in an answer, he dropped the duffle bag on the floor with a heavy thud.
“Just let me get dressed.”
Back in my room, I caught sight of my reflection. My long copper red hair stuck up in every direction. I had a big pillow crease on the side of my face. My tank top was so thin the material was practically see through.
I tried to remember what Matt had told me about Jackson. Something about a tree fort and another story about a schoolyard fight? Matt said that they’d grown apart because they were so different.
That was an understatement.
Matt was a young liberal, urban lawyer. He dressed his lanky frame in expensive suits, he could talk about wine for hours, and he had a constant, impatient vibe to him. The fierce man downstairs, with a body like a solid fortress, didn’t even seem human. His intensity made him unapproachable. He intimidated me. I could not imagine him and Matt having anything in common.
It baffled me that Matt had invited him to stay with us. For how long? Was Jackson just passing through town?
I squared my shoulders. If Matt wanted his friend to stay with us, I would make him feel as welcome as possible.
Chapter 3
From my vantage point on the stairs, I could see Jackson sitting at the island. His glance up at me was brief, but I immediately felt self-conscious. To compensate, I bustled into the kitchen, and asked in a bright voice, “What would you like for breakfast?”
“You don’t have to bother.”
“It’s no bother,” I pulled a pan out of the oven drawer. “Omelet?”
“Anything is fine.”
I felt unnerved by his presence. My kitchen was huge, but when he watched me, there wasn’t room to breathe. I did my best to ignore him and started to cook. I wracked my brain to think of something to say, but I came up blank. So I just concentrated on what I was
doing.
“Do you want some coffee?”
Did my voice sound breathless? I took a few calming breaths.
“Sure.”
I looked over my shoulder. “I can do a cappuccino, or a latte and Matt has some coffee syrups.”
He didn’t answer me, so I walked over to the espresso machine and started reading off the labels. “He has Bourbon Caramel, Brown Sugar Cinnamon, Mojito Mint, and Sweet Heat.”
A long pause hung between us, and finally, he asked, “What’s Sweet Heat?”
“I’m not sure,” I picked up the bottle and read out loud, “fiery heat of ghost peppers with the sweetness of pure cane sugar.”
More silence. I glanced over my shoulder. He had no expression. “Just a coffee.”
“So an Americano?”
He gave a short nod.
I made him a coffee which he took black. Of course, he did. Then I slid fruit and an omelet in front of him.
“Where’s your plate?”
I set a bowl of fruit down. “I’m not much of a breakfast eater.”
He waited for me to sit, before he picked up his fork.
We ate in silence. I studied him through my eyelashes. “So where are you visiting from?”
“Virginia.”
I wasn’t used to a man giving me so little to work with during a conversation. “Are you just up for a visit?”
“I’m doing a three-month outpatient program at the hospital.”
I eyed him. There didn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him.
“I hope everything is okay.”
He didn’t respond.
“That means you’ll be here for our wedding.”
Green eyes flickered over my face and then dropped to the ring on my left hand. “Matt didn’t tell me he was engaged.”
I could not reconcile Matt with this man. Matt’s friends were smooth and eloquent. They liked to talk about fine wines and the Met. Jackson’s silence made him unique.
He stood up and picked up his plate.
“I’ll do those,” I protested.
He ignored me. I watched in bemusement as he ran the water and then found the soap from beneath the sink. He washed the pan and the three other items in the sink, before picking up a dishtowel and drying them off. He even wiped the length of my countertops. I had never seen Matt willingly volunteer to help with dishes. This guy, who looked like he could kill with his bare hands, quietly tidied up.
“Thank you.”
He nodded and looked towards the door. I knew he wanted to leave. I stood up. “Why don’t I show you your room?”
He turned his attention back to me. Again, I couldn’t read the expression on his face.
“I mean it. I’m not letting you leave here.”
“I don’t want to put you out.”
I stood up next to his giant frame. “If you leave, Matt is going to ask me why. And I don’t want to have that conversation.”
The best I got from him was a nod.
He grabbed his duffle bag and then I led him up the steps. I was nervous, and when I get nervous, I babble.
“This is Matt’s room. This is my room. Both our rooms have bathrooms. This is the laundry room. Please help yourself. I’m sorry, but your room doesn’t have a bathroom attached. There’s one in the hall here. And this’ll be your room.”
I pushed open the door and shut my eyes in shame. There was a partially deflated air mattress lying on the floor, an old dresser and a vacuum cleaner in the middle of the room. His eyes looked around the room. “This is fine.”
“Ha,” I said, my face red. “Obviously, I'll get a bed in here.”
“I don’t need a bed. I can sleep anywhere.”
“Well, you can’t sleep on the hardwood.”
“This is fine.”
My eyebrows went up. “I’ll get you a bed.”
Even if it meant I had to drag my own bed into this room.
“You two have separate rooms.”
My face burst into heat. The first comment he volunteered in over an hour was about my sex life?
I lifted my chin a notch. “I’m saving myself for marriage.”
“People still do that?”
I forced myself to meet his gaze. There was an expression of faint curiosity on his face. So Mr. Stone Face had some emotion within him. “You seem surprised.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you saving yourself?”
My mouth dropped open. No one was this blunt. Especially about something so delicate. I could offer him a pat answer, but I decided to be honest.
“It wasn’t a conscious choice but it just happened.”
My face felt hot.
“Are you religious?”
“Not particularly.”
“How long have you and Matt been together?”
“About a year.”
He stood and stared at me.
“Okay,” I said. My voice firm. “I’ll let you unpack.”
I pushed the vacuum cleaner towards the door.
“I don’t think something like that just happens.”
I went completely still. “Excuse me?”
“It’s definitely a choice.”
My face was on fire. I glanced back at him. A slow smile crossed his face. Good grief. That smile changed his whole face. He was stunning looking. Magnificent. Something dark fluttered in my belly. In my throat, my breath hitched. I worked to yank my gaze away from his.
Out of breath, I beelined it to my bedroom. He gives me one smile and my entire body tingles?
From my bedroom, I called Matt. No answer.
I texted him.
Me: Your friend Jackson arrived. Did you invite him to stay here?
No response. Well that was just perfect. Typical of Matt to drop a bomb and pull a disappearing act. I put my hands on my warm face. My overreaction to Jackson was probably just a fall out response to the stress of this morning. I had an inordinate fear of home invasions. This morning had triggered a lot of repressed fear.
I sucked in a big breath and worked to remember what my therapist told me.
I needed to focus on the now.
Now, I need to find a bed for the guest room. I walked downstairs with my iPad. My mysterious guest was not in sight.
After a series of phone calls, I realized that beds are not bought and delivered on the same day. In fact, beds take a couple of weeks to be ordered and delivered. Finally, I found one factory warehouse store that did have new mattresses and frames ready to go, but I’d need to pick up the bed myself. Renting a truck would not be an issue, but I didn’t know how to drive a truck in the city. Anything bigger than my mini put me at risk of side-swiping other cars. Not to mention I had no idea how I’d unload a bed and drag it upstairs. Maybe if I could unload it off the truck in the garage downstairs, Matt and Jackson could bring it up tonight.
I sensed Jackson coming down the stairs behind me.
I twisted in my seat to look at him. “Do you know how to drive a truck?”
“I have a truck. What do you need?”
“I need to pick up your bed.”
“From where?”
“The store.”
A beat passed. “I don’t have to stay here. Emily.”
My stupid heart fluttered at the sound of him saying my name. He was right. He didn’t have to stay here. In fact, it didn’t make any sense that this stranger would become an extended guest. But for reasons I could not explain, I wanted to make him stay.
Perhaps it was the sense that he was hell-bent on leaving. I got the distinct impression he despised imposing. Especially on strangers. The man seemed resolute on being self-contained. He was not some freeloader who walked into a place and made himself at home. He didn’t want to be here. Which made me want to welcome him and make him feel at home.
“Why don’t you want to stay here?”
Green eyes squinted at me. He spread his big hands out wide to stretch and then relaxed
them. “Let’s go.”
I grabbed my bag and then headed downstairs. His truck was big and black and looked exactly like the kind of vehicle this man would drive. I didn’t want to drive with him because we might have to talk.
In a cowardly act, with my head bent over my phone, I gave him the address. He didn’t seem bothered by the fact that I wanted to take my own car.
“See you there!”
He responded with another intense look and then he was gone.
Chapter 4
The bed store had a showroom full of beds. Jackson prowled around while I listened to a salesperson talk about foam density and interconnected coils. I sat down on a few mattresses but I had no idea what Jackson’s preference was when it came to mattresses.
“Jackson.”
He walked towards us. His movement added to his tough demeanor. I tried to pinpoint why he seemed so dangerous, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“What kind of bed do you like?”
His inscrutable expression took in the sales guy, me and the bed.
I tried again. “Do you like soft beds? Hard beds? A mattress with lots of spring?”
My face burst into heat. Something about a springy bed sounded provocative to my ears. He contemplated my red face.
Finally, he answered. “It doesn’t matter.”
The salesperson interjected, “The best way to figure out what you like is to test drive the beds.”
An insane vision of Jackson and I rolling around on the bed came to mind. Another wave of heat washed over me. I refrained from fanning my face.
Jackson looked towards the door. He may want to bolt, but there was no way I was choosing his bed. The least he could do was tell me what he liked.
“Well, better get testing then,” I said, waving my hand towards the bed. I sat down on the bed and then lay back. “This one seems a bit too hard for my taste, but you tell me.”
His face was almost a scowl, but he moved to the other side of the bed. The mattress depressed beside me. I turned my head. He was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. This was the last place he wanted to be.
