“I didn’t climb the table.”
He froze, eyes locked on hers as his lips curved upward. “You’re right,” sarcasm dripped from this man.
“And I’m not that short.” She snapped. She hadn’t meant to sound angry, but he’d pushed her buttons.
He stayed motionless for another beat before resuming his tomato picking. “No. You’re absolutely right…you’re super tall.” He eyed her as one eyebrow lifted and a dimple pinched in on one cheek. She ignored the stupid-cute dimple and tried to stifle her own grin. Fine. He was right, she was short. She’d admit that, but dang it he could cut her some slack.
When he stopped moving, she leveled a look at him.
“I didn’t need help, thank you.”
She stood her ground even as he towered over her. His chest was closer than she’d realized. An invisible tractor beam pulled her body toward his. She swayed, grabbed on to the table holding the tomatoes, and played it off.
“Obviously.” Amusement crossed his face as he bent to pick up more.
When they’d retrieved the last of the half-squished orbs in silence and placed them back on the table, he turned to face her. His eyes, dark and intense, studied every feature of her face. Stock still, chin high, she glowered right back.
She’d be damned if she’d look away first. His expression became a puzzling mix of humor and respect. If he’d been more compassionate, she wouldn’t have reacted so snippy. Clearly he wasn’t Southern. Everybody knows a Southern man could be run over by a woman in a two-ton Dodge truck, twice, and he’d say, “No problem, honey, I know you didn’t mean to do it.”
This guy had no dirt or stains on his clothes, and he’d picked on her height. On top of it all, he hadn’t accepted her apology. His conduct was very un-Southern.
They resembled two angry alley cats. Arched backs and fur standing on end, neither willing to move first. His face held amusement, where hers held a bit of resentment. A small, crooked smile erupted on his face. It reached his eyes and softened her stance a little, but it also seemed smug, as if he knew a secret she didn’t.
“What?” she barked, her arms crossed.
“Nothing.” He crossed his too, imitating her. His full-on smirk infuriated her, and yet butterflies in her belly did backflips. She stepped back, needing space, when he continued, “You gonna pick out another tomato or stand there and gawk at me all day?”
Despite her anger, she bit her lip to stop the smile. Of all the nerve. Turning on her heel, she stomped to the other side of the table, made a big show of grabbing a huge tomato and waved it at him. She placed it in her cart, rolled her eyes and pushed her buggy toward the next aisle, away from the produce section. Shaking his head, he laughed as she walked away.
Deep breath in and shoulders back, she was proud of herself. She’d held her ground. It took two aisles to slow her breathing and erase her embarrassment. She’d focus on shopping, thank you. Twenty-four aisles and a heaping cart later, she stacked her groceries on the conveyor belt.
By the time she’d paid, she’d talked herself into, out of, and back into, attending her father’s funeral. As much as she wanted to blow it off, teenage therapy told her she needed to go for closure. That book better contain some damn answers, and not be a dumb artifact from his glory days in the military. Shoulders back, she made up her mind. She’d fly into LA the night before the funeral, spend an hour shaking hands with complete strangers and come home. Her mama would’ve wanted her to go.
Spirits lifted with at least one decision made, she glanced around. She wasn’t searching for the tomato disaster guy, but if she found him, she’d make sure he knew he was being ignored.
Groceries loaded in her cart and hot tomato guy nowhere in sight, she zipped across the parking lot, past the lights of the store and into the shadows, toward her dented SUV.
Movement caught her eye. The outline of a man. He darted between the parked cars. She stopped on a dime. Dread fell like a boulder into the pit of her stomach. She glanced around. She was all alone in the sea of cars, except for him.
Pushing her cart forward a half a foot, she darted behind a truck and crouched. Maybe he wouldn’t notice her. He moved through the vehicles like a cheetah closing in on its next victim. He lifted each car door handle.
Lungs seized, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She raised on tiptoes to determine how close he was and caught sight of him. His face was dirty, his body too thin and his movements twitchy and fast. He crept in and out of the shadows. If he kept moving in his current sweeping pattern, he’d be on top of her in thirty seconds. As he got closer, she caught a better look at his face. Eyes with huge pupils that darted from car to car. He had to be high.
Move. She had to move. He skulked closer. Now, a few vehicles away. He’d glance her way any second.
She took a breath and with one hand on her buggy, she used her other to tighten the strap on her cross-body purse. She angled her body to turn the cart around and run, at the exact second, he whirled around and stopped.
His sinister eyes drifted from her face to her purse.
No. Hell no. She had no money except a few dollars for gas and an envelope of cash from Will’s candle sales to benefit his elementary school. This was not happening. The world stood motionless. No wind, no noise.
It was as if he could taste her fear. She squared her shoulders, trying to appear brave. Her mind reeled. Run back to the store or try to make a run for her car? Or yell and try to scare him off. What if her voice didn’t work?
He sauntered toward her. A smile spread across his meth-scabbed face, that revealed dark holes where teeth should’ve been. “What’s wrong, honey? You look scared.”
Hair prickled on the back of her neck. She stood taller, trying for badass, but she wasn’t fooling anybody. He towered over the cars, making him at least six inches taller than her. Her legs were paralyzed, like logs sealed in concrete.
If she could run, she might make it back to the store. She could yell “No!” as she’d learned in a self-defense class. Could she make her voice sound menacing? Closing the gap between them, he stared from her face to her purse.
Damn, why didn’t she run when she first spotted him? She’d not go down in a parking lot. She had her boys to consider. Feeling like a helpless victim infuriated and empowered her.
Kirin sucked in a deep breath, stood as tall as her five-foot-two frame would go, and changed her stance to a fighting position. She tried to yell, but her voice squawked out some sad, inaudible chirp that sounded like a cat howl. Yup. No scream in there.
She’d plant her feet and wait. When he stood within a foot of her, she’d take a swing, then follow it with a swift kick to the groin. Maybe it’d stun him or at least knock him back. Either way, it’d give her time to run with her cart toward the store. She might go down, but by God, she’d go down fighting.
She cleared her throat, “You’d better go the hell on!” Her voice sounded deep even to her own ears as she pointed at the man.
He let out “tsk” noise of disbelief. Three feet away, he bent to her level. He looked like a big cat tracking a tiny mouse. She stepped back, putting some space between her and her cart. Come closer, scumbag. Fists balled tight. Aim for his head and not his arms.
Quick shallow breaths rattled in and out of her chest as she focused all her energy on one thing: survival. Her arm cocked back, ready. Adrenaline pumped through both arms as she squeezed her fists. Hold on. Closer.
Like a jackrabbit on speed, he lunged. Quick, dirty nails scraped her shirt grasping the strap of her purse, while his other hand reached over and shoved the back of her head down to pull the strap over.
It knocked her off balance, but she swung. Her purse strap slid from her neck toward the crown of her head. His body angled to the side and back in such a way, the kick to his breadbasket wouldn’t connect. Desperate, she shoved both hands into his bony chest with all she had. He stumbled back but didn’t let go of his tight grip. Furious now, he growled and yanked the
purse downward, causing her legs to buckle. Both knees slammed to the pavement.
Eyes open wide, she dug her fingers into his hand pulling the strap. As if she wasn’t inside her body, she heard herself chant, “No. No. No.” Her knees dug into the pavement. She leaned backward with all she had. Gravel bits under her kneecaps tore and ripped her pants. He lifted his heavy work boot and cocked it back, poised to pummel her in the face.
She squeezed her eyes shut and braced for impact.
“Freeze!”
All motion stopped. When she opened them, a man stood over the top of her, stance wide with a gun pointed at the robber. Her attacker’s fingers released the strap, and his arms shot upward. When he let go, the tension pulling her forward ceased, causing her rear end to flop back onto the pavement.
Her attacker froze, then stutter-stepped backward. The gun-toting man stepped around her and crept toward him, listening to his excuses. “I, I wasn’t doin’ nothing, just talking, that’s all. Maybe she had a dollar she could spare.” A shuffling sound of the thug’s feet scooting backward accompanied his excuses.
“I said freeze.”
The man complied.
“On the ground, face down, now.”
Her rescuer’s voice held enough anger and power she had to stop herself from laying down too. Once her attacker was face down with his hands behind his head, one of Morrissey’s young security officers ran up.
“Sam, what the —? Hey! You got him!”
In a flash, the guard knelt in the middle of the attacker’s back. The robber groaned as the guard grabbed one arm then the next and put his hands in a zip tie. His speed reminded her of a rodeo cowboy roping a calf.
The rescuer, “Sam” as he’d been called, holstered his gun then grabbed the thug’s elbow and drug him to his feet. Within seconds, a crowd had gathered. Two of Corryton’s finest in plain clothes snatched the thief and ushered him inside the store to wait for an on-duty officer. Since the drama was over, the crowd dispersed as fast as they’d gathered.
“Nice job!” The young security officer said, slapping Sam on the back and shaking his hand. His head snapped down toward Kirin. He sprinted around Sam and crouched in front of her. “Ma’am, you okay?”
Before she could answer, Sam turned to face her. Double hell. Tomato disaster guy. Of all the people in the world, it had to be him. His face was serious and solemn. His eyes registered recognition and something else. Something protective. His expression softened some as he reached around the guard and without a word offered his hand to help her up.
Swearing under her breath, she took his hand. She’d have noticed the electrical currents racing around her insides if she hadn’t been so preoccupied with stupid things like not falling and breathing. Plus, she couldn’t seem to pry her other hand away from the death grip she had on her purse strap.
“You alright, trouble?” His eyes lit with humor as he held on to her hand too long. The guard’s gaze darted from him to her. Apparently okay with letting Sam take care of her, he excused himself to run back inside where the other drama unfolded.
Kirin swallowed. “Yeah. Perfect.” Her knees shook. Every muscle in her body wanted to squat back down, right there on the pavement and sit, but her pride wouldn’t let her. She stepped backward and stumbled. He held out a protective hand.
“You need to sit.”
“I’m fine.” She broke free from his grasp.
“Are you that stubborn?” He crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side.
“No, I don’t want to inconvenience you. You were pretty pissed about the tomatoes and now—” Even as she said it, her body swayed like a sapling in a tornado.
Cutting her off, he shook his head and without warning, wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her toward the tailgate of a red truck, a few steps away, and lowered it. He nodded toward the tailgate. She stared at it as if it was ten feet tall. Even on her best day, she’d have to hoist herself up. Sam’s eyebrows raised as if asking permission to help. She nodded. He lifted her and set her on the tailgate. As the truck and Earth swayed, she scooted her rear back.
“Trouble seems to find you, doesn’t it?” There was light in his voice, but seriousness in his eyes.
Kirin shot him a long look as she wrapped her fingers around the edge of the tailgate, locking her arms to hold herself in place.
Sam strode to the front of the truck and back. When he returned he held a bottle of water and a small first aid kit. He handed her the water and pointed the box toward her knees.
She followed his line of sight.
Great. She was a hot mess. Her pants were ripped exposing gravel and blood-stained knees.
He shook the first aid kit as if to ask permission to treat.
She nodded. As he bandaged her knees, she opened the water, took a drink, and tried not to stare.
And failed.
Maybe she stared because someone was taking care of her, which hadn’t happened in so long she couldn’t remember the last time. But also because she was mesmerized by his hands. Strong, rough, hands calloused by work that gently cleaned and bandaged her wound. It stirred a longing inside. She had to stop the urge to touch his hair.
He glanced from her knees into her eyes, staring a beat or two too long. She grinned thankfully at him, and he returned it. As he gathered the paper from the bandages, she attempted to form a question in her fuzzy brain.
“Where did you come from?” Her voice trembled, whether from the proximity of this man or from her experience with the robber, she wasn’t sure.
“My truck.” He pointed to her water.
Too rattled to be stubborn, she took a sip. “You always carry a gun to the grocery store?”
“Drink more.” He cocked his head to the side and grinned, big. He raised his shirt to reveal a defined set of abs cradling a pistol inside a holster hooked on the belt of his jeans. When he caught her staring, he shoved his shirt back down.
“You never know when you’re gonna need to defend yourself against a woman and her tomatoes,” he said and concentrated on squishing the bandage papers in a tight ball. One eyebrow hitched with humor.
“Funny.” The parking lot spun like a tilt-o-whirl at the fair, and she swayed again but took another drink.
After a beat, he closed the first aid kit. His expression turned serious. “I’m curious … Why didn’t you give him your purse?” His tone sounded clipped and tight.
She lowered the water bottle. Defensive, she answered, “Survival, I guess.”
He stepped in, standing between her legs. Bending over, he surveyed her as if she was a puzzle and lowered his voice, “So, the contents of your purse are more important than your life?”
Kirin set her water on the tailgate, then crossed her arms. She didn’t owe him an explanation, but she didn’t want him thinking she’d fought the thug to protect a designer wallet or something frivolous. Then again, why did it matter what this man thought?
“No. But when you have a small amount of cash for gas and groceries for the week and its threatened, instinct kicks in.” He stood tall and studied her again. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
With her arms crossed and no longer locked against the tailgate, she tilted backward. She would’ve been fine if she hadn’t been so dang dizzy. Uncrossing them, she grabbed for the tailgate to steady herself, but overcorrected. Her body pitched forward like a great oak in the forest falling in slow motion. Toppling face first out of the truck was not how she wanted this man to remember her.
He must’ve seen her wobble. He sat and wrapped an arm around her shoulder quick to keep her upright. She closed her eyes.
Spicy aftershave and pine trees floated across her nose. She breathed it in. Sitting next to him, her heart flapped faster than a hummingbird’s wing. She’d forgotten how it felt, sitting close to a man. Obviously, it’d been too long. A zing of warm currents ran down her body. The heat of his arm seeping through the back of her shirt caused reactions that should not b
e happening in public. She almost groaned until she sensed him staring. His body stilled and the flutter of his breath tickled her eyelashes. Her eyes flew open. Looking anywhere but at him, she chewed the inside of her cheek and fanned her face.
Her body picked that exact second to shake uncontrollably. The more she tightened her muscles to stop the tremors, the harder they shook. It rattled her teeth.
“You need to go get checked out before you go into shock.” His voice had an edge to it. Sudden and angry.
“No. No, I’m fine,” she lied. Truth be told, she didn’t want to move away from him. Which was crazy. But his scent alone awoke places in her that were in perpetual hibernation. Her cheeks flamed. She wasn’t even sure of this guy’s name. His back straightened. Maybe the zing got to him too? He must’ve read her mind. He turned and stuck out his hand. “I’m Sam.”
“Kirin.” She shook his hand while attempting to stifle the tremors. Her hand fit inside his perfectly. The second they touched, she’d swear the parking lot lights got brighter. Splotchy hot spots spread on her neck. When he cleared his throat, she withdrew her hand. She’d held on too long.
“Nice to meet you, Kirin.” His voice rumbled low and smooth. A heart-stopping smile unfolded across his face. He pronounced her name slow as if he’d been practicing it for years. She liked the way it rolled off his tongue.
Sam sat stone still. Guarded, but friendly. He was careful not to get too close or touch her too much. Clearly, he was hesitant about being next to her. No ring on his hand, but she’d bet her last dollar he had a girlfriend. When she glanced down at his left hand, he followed her gaze. A brief smile crossed his lips, then he looked away.
Damn. She couldn’t be more transparent if she tried.
Note to self: try to remember how to flirt. And concentrate on sipping the water, not taking in the hot man. Her embarrassing shake slowed. But the real test would be standing without falling over.
Entangling: Book One of the Kirin Lane Series Page 2
