by Amy Andrews
He looked intently down at their intertwined fingers, then swept his gaze up to capture hers. His thumb stroked lazily across the pulse point at her wrist. Something passed between them.
Something different.
Something familiar.
He heard her breath catch. His pulse sped up a little.
The whole tempo of the evening changed and he suddenly felt they’d moved into dangerous territory. Not that he needed the sexual variety tonight. No matter how much he thought he did or how he suddenly craved it from her. What he needed was time.
There were a lot of reasons why throwing caution to the wind would be a bad idea. But tonight, the most obvious was that he was on the rebound.
Taylor gently pulled her hand away and resumed her meal. “So, how was Fashion Week? Tell me all about it. Did the Forrester Creations collection knock them all dead?”
He watched her in silence as she busied herself with eating, then started to speak, regaling her with all the stories and gossip from the catwalk. The intense moment faded into the background.
It had been a busy week and Rick didn’t wrap up his stories until they were eating the world’s most divine tiramisu and drinking espresso.
Taylor laughed when he finally drew breath. “God, you must be exhausted,” she said. “I am,” Rick agreed. “I’m so very tired. I could sleep for a week.”
“You sound like you need more than that. You sound like you need to get away from it completely. You, my friend,” she pointed her spoon at his chest, “need a holiday.”
Rick threw back his head and laughed. “Not going to happen.”
“You should, you know. Take a vacation. You’re no good to anyone if you’re too tired to perform.”
He threw her a lopsided smile at her poor choice of words and said, “I’m not that tired.”
She smiled. “You’re incorrigible. And you’re changing the subject.”
Rick screwed up his face. “What was it again?”
Taylor folded her arms at his faux concentration. “Your vacation. I hear Europe is lovely in September.”
His eyes twinkled briefly before he sobered again. “I can’t take off. Fashion Week’s just finished. It’s going to be insane in LA. They’ll need me.”
“Okay.” Taylor shrugged. “Fine. Just don’t come sobbing to me when you’re admitted to the hospital with exhaustion.”
He grinned again. “I promise.”
Taylor downed the rest of her espresso in one swallow and motioned for the check.
“Sick of me already?”
“No. But you are getting an early night.” She stood. “Doctor’s orders.”
*
It’d cooled off when they stepped outside and Taylor shrugged into her jacket. The streets had quieted considerably but they were still buzzing with people and the traffic hummed around them.
“Man, it’s different here, isn’t it?” Rick said, breaking their companionable silence. “Do you miss LA?”
Taylor shrugged. There was so much she didn’t miss about being in LA it was hard to separate that from her feelings for the city that had been her home for so long. “I miss my family, my friends. But I absolutely love New York.”
“Remind me to ask you again when the first blizzard of the season hits.”
Taylor laughed. “Well, yes … I guess I do occasionally miss the year round sunshine.”
“And what about the smog?”
“Definitely do not miss that.”
“The proximity to Disneyland?”
She smiled and shook her head at him but he wasn’t deterred, rattling off a litany of LA’s best and worst attributes as they strolled along.
Before she knew it they were approaching her elegant turn-of-the-century apartment and their feet were slowing. Taylor dithered about whether to invite him up or not but she knew, from the look that had passed between them earlier, that it would be an unwise move. Rick was on the rebound. And she’d been burned by Forrester men on the rebound before.
She turned to face him as they pulled up just a few yards away from the covered walkway that lead into the lobby where a doorman lingered. “Thank you for tonight,” she said. “I had a really good time.”
Rick smiled down at her and her heart gave a silly lurch in her chest. “Me too.”
Taylor was contemplating her next words when she heard her name being called. “Taylor! Taylor! Doctor Hayes?”
She looked over her shoulder. Rick nudged her with his elbow.
“A fan?” he murmured quietly as a man approached. “I’d forgotten I was dining with a celebrity.”
Taylor nudged him back, feeling embarrassed by the attention. She still wasn’t used to being recognized on the streets. She’d often appeared in the tabloids back in LA due to her associations with the Forresters but she’d rarely been asked for her autograph as she was here in New York. This was a whole new level.
Rick hung back a little and Taylor appreciated the space as she walked toward the man. It was embarrassing enough being spotted like this without Rick teasing her about it afterwards.
“Hi,” she said, smiling as she drew to within an arm’s reach of the guy. He was wearing a baseball cap pulled down low over his dark hair, which threw his face into shadow. His hands were in his jacket pockets. She reached out her right hand for him to shake. “Nice to meet you. How are you?”
“Fine,” he said, his voice low and gruff, his face unsmiling. “Or I was, till my wife listened to your show and left me.” He yanked on her hand then, pulling her closer, his jaw set and vaguely familiar. “I’m going to get you for that, bitch.”
Taylor blinked at the speed of events, her brain taking a moment to catch up. She vaguely heard Rick call out “Hey!” and his footsteps coming closer as her captor tightened his grip. Pain shot through her arm and adrenalin flooded her system, accelerating her heartbeat. Panic took over.
Rick reached her, grabbing her other arm and yanking her hard to him as his fist struck the aggressor on the shoulder, rocking him backward. The man roared and, in a flash, pulled a knife from somewhere and slashed it through the air. Rick pushed her away as he raised his arm to block the knife.
Taylor stumbled, falling to the pavement and watching, frozen in shock, as everything happened in slow motion. The scuffle, Rick’s guttural cry of pain, a crimson slash on his forearm, the shocked gasps of passers-by and momentary inertia before the attacker fled and all hell broke loose.
Chapter Three
Two hours later, as Rick let the police out of her apartment, Taylor still felt sick to her stomach. The rush of adrenalin had long since dissipated, and she was left feeling shaky and strung out.
“They’ll call us if there’s any news overnight,” Rick said as he returned from the door.
Taylor looked at his bandaged arm and felt sick all over again. She pressed shaking fingers to her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “He could have—what if he’d—”
“Hey.” Rick sat beside her on the couch and pulled her into his chest. Taylor sank into his solidness gratefully. Her brain had been busily concocting worst-case scenarios, cranking her anxiety to fever pitch. “I’m fine. It didn’t happen.”
“But your arm.”
“It’s just a scratch.”
Taylor pulled away to look him in the eye. He was so calm, like he fought off knife-wielding lunatics every day. “It’s more than that,” she said gently.
He shook his head. “It’s really not. I didn’t even need any stitches.”
“It’s four inches long and bled like crazy.”
“As superficial lacerations do, according to the paramedic who bandaged it.”
“It’s going to leave a hell of a scar.”
He grinned at her. “Cool. I hear chicks dig scars.”
Taylor smiled despite the nausea still trying to get a stranglehold on her gut. But the bloodstains on his grey T-shirt were a horrifying reality check. “This isn’t funny.”
“I know.” Rick sobered and p
laced his hands on Taylor’s upper arms. His blue eyes probed hers. “But it’s over now. You’re safe, I’m relatively unscathed, and the cops will find the guy and throw him in jail.”
Taylor nodded. She knew what he was saying was true but she suddenly didn’t feel safe and it was unsettling.
“Can I get you something?” he asked.
“A bottle of scotch would go down really smooth right about now.”
He chuckled then and the sound snuggled deep into her marrow, made her feel safe. Rick hadn’t thought twice about jumping into the fray. About protecting her from a rabid stranger with intent to harm. She’d been paralyzed by shock and fear but he’d been fearless.
“How about you settle for a shower and try to get some sleep? It won’t seem so overwhelming in the morning.”
Taylor highly doubted that but she did ache from her manhandling and felt grimy from her unexpected contact with the pavement. A shower could wash all that away. Hopefully it would also wash away the hatred she’d seen in her attacker’s dark eyes. She shivered, thinking about it again.
“You’re cold,” Rick said, his hands automatically rubbing her arms. “Still in shock, I suspect. Why not have a long, hot bath? Trust me, you’ll feel better.”
Taylor nodded and stood as he helped her to her feet. But the apartment seemed large, with a lot of dark corners and she looked around, suddenly overwhelmed.
Rick’s comforting squeeze brought her back to the safety of his presence. “Hey, it’s okay. There’s no one here but you and me. The police checked the apartment thoroughly, remember? Not to mention the marked car that’s going to sit outside the building all night. You’re safe.”
Taylor nodded. She knew that. Logically she knew that, but she couldn’t shake the fright from earlier. “Could you—could you stay?” She looked into his eyes, desperately needing him to understand. “Just while I have my bath. I’m sorry … I’m a little rattled.”
Rick’s answering smile, the kind concern in his eyes, was an instant balm to her. “I’ll be right here,” he murmured.
Taylor raised her hand and stroked a finger down the side of his face as relief washed through her like a cool river, soothing the edge of her panic.
“Thank you.”
*
Rick watched Taylor’s tentative excursion away from his side and admired her a little more. She was shaken but holding it together—for now, anyway.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the water running and the bathroom door close. Rick had no doubt a long soak would go some way toward easing some of Taylor’s tension.
He ran a quick hand through hair still ruffled from the dangerous skirmish and winced as the skin pulled tight around the gash in his arm. He saw again the knife arcing through the air, and shut his eyes against the image, wishing suddenly for the crutch of a heavy glass tumbler filled with something amber. He could murder some scotch right now.
He prowled around the apartment, blind to its elegance, as he turned the events of the night over and over in his head. The possibilities, the could-have-beens, were torturous. What if that lunatic had approached her when he hadn’t been there? Would he have used that knife? Stabbed her?
Rick came to a halt in front of a bank of windows and stared out at the trees of Central Park. Security at Taylor’s apartment was as he would expect for such an upmarket establishment but was it enough with an unstable guy making threats? He opened a window and peered down at the street below. All was a little quieter now at nearly midnight, but it was gratifying to see the promised police car parked against the curb.
His cell rang, startling him in the stillness of the apartment. Clearly he was still a little jumpy from the adrenalin rush. It was his father.
“Hi,” he said.
“Rick. How are you?” Eric Forrester’s familiar voice helped calm him a little. “Just wanted to congratulate you on a fantastic week. The buzz we’re hearing is very exciting.”
Rick struggled for a moment to follow his father’s words until he realized Eric was talking about the success of Fashion Week. Couture had faded into the background a couple of hours ago. But Rick was up for a distraction, so they chatted about the highlights.
“Did you get around to calling on Taylor?”
“Actually, yes I did.” He filled his father in on the events of the night. Eric was understandably upset by the danger they’d both faced and the potential for more, seeking assurances on more than one occasion that they were okay and demanding to know what was being done.
By the time Rick extracted himself from the conversation and ended the call, he was again on edge, tasting the anger that had burned through him earlier as their attacker had gotten away. Turning over the endless what-ifs.
“Was that Eric?”
Rick turned at Taylor’s voice, prepared to soothe and comfort with reassuring words but they stuttered to a halt as he took in the sexy woman standing in front of him in a lace-edged black satin gown tied at the waist.
Wow. He’d forgotten how amazing she looked in satin and lace.
And he didn’t need to pull that tie to know she’d be wearing some equally tantalizing scrap underneath. Taylor had always appreciated the feel of expensive lingerie against her skin. And he’d always appreciated her in it.
His groin stirred at the thought and he immediately castigated himself. The last thing she needed right now was to be ogled. She didn’t need an ex-lover, she needed a friend. There was a vulnerability to her tonight, a pallor, a fragility he wasn’t used to seeing. Taylor was strong. Tough. She’d had to be, to get through her addiction and everything his mother, the Forresters and life had thrown at her over the years.
This tentative creature wasn’t the Taylor Hayes he knew.
This woman roused his protective instincts. She made him want to hunt the guy down and kill him with his bare hands. She made him want to stay and hold her until she was back to her old self again.
“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “I hope you don’t mind I told him. He rang and asked about you so—”
She waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Of course not. It’s probably going to be in every newspaper in the country tomorrow morning.”
Rick shoved his hands in his pockets. “No. The police want to keep it under wraps and they moved us up to the apartment quite quickly before any paparazzi got wind of it.”
She nodded absently and looked around the room as though she didn’t know where she was or what to do with herself.
“You should try and get some sleep,” he said. “It’s late.”
Taylor shook her head. “I don’t think I could.”
Rick strode to the coffee table where the doctor he’d organized to come and see Taylor had left her four sleeping tablets in a blister pack. He pushed one out and picked up the glass of water she’d barely touched. “Here,” he said. “This will help.”
She shook her head again. “No. I don’t want to sleep too deeply or be foggy. I need to be ready, to be alert.”
Rick frowned. She needed to be neither of those things. “You’re safe, Taylor, he can’t get you in here.”
She looked at him with her big blue eyes and the uncertainty there almost slayed him. “I know,” she said, her hands tightening the belt of her gown. “But—I just can’t forget the hate in his eyes.”
He held out his palm with the pill sitting in the middle. “Which is why this will help.”
She looked at it. “Yes. I guess it will.”
“Come on,” Rick coaxed. “You’ve been through a frightening ordeal, it’s nearly midnight and you’re exhausted.”
She raised her chin and as her eyes flashed, he caught a glimpse of the old Taylor. “And what about you? Before all this happened I remember you saying how exhausted you were. Are you going to be able to sleep after almost being stabbed?”
Rick gave her a look. It hadn’t been that bad and she knew it. Sure, things could have gone south in the worst kind of way—but they hadn’t.
“Like a baby.”
He watched as her shoulders sagged and all the puff went out of her sails. She fiddled with the tie of her gown again, her hair falling forward, concealing her face. When she raised her head to him a few moments later, she was biting her bottom lip.
“Do you think you could …” She faltered. Checked the knot on the gown again. “I really need … Not need, I mean—”
Rick blinked at the husky, hesitant words. It was obvious Taylor wasn’t used to asking for help, to being weak and needy. Perversely, that made him want to help her even more.
Taylor took a deep, steadying breath. “Could you stay? I know the police are outside and the apartment is locked up and the guy is long gone but … I’d feel safer if you stayed.”
“Of course I will,” Rick said. “I’ll stay until the detectives come back in the morning.”
*
Relief flowed through Taylor at his quick, easy acceptance. But it was short lived as thoughts of how that might look to the police in the morning besieged her.
Not that it was any of their business—and Taylor was fairly certain not a lot would shock a New York City police officer—but she liked to keep her private life private since moving to the other side of the country.
And what if Rick thought that’s what she was offering?
What if it was what she was offering?
He stood opposite her, bandaged arm outstretched, the damn pill in his palm, looking way better than any man had a right to after being attacked by some violent stranger. She couldn’t let what had happened tonight rattle her enough to do something crazy. Something she’d regret. Something she’d left firmly behind her in another life.
“I meant in the spare bedroom,” she hastily said as the silence stretched between them. “This isn’t about … I don’t want to … I mean—”
He chuckled as he curled his fingers into his palm and dropped his arm by his side. Taylor didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted that Rick found her ramblings so amusing.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’ll sleep out here. The couch looks very comfortable.”
“Oh no, but—” Taylor felt even more tied in knots now. She didn’t want to banish the man to the couch when he was doing her a favor. He was injured, for crying out loud. Because of her.
