He shrugged.
She fished out her phone and flipped it open; then she did take a step back, until she was just out of Iskander’s reach. She didn’t recognize the number on the screen. That wasn’t unusual since she got referral calls for catering or special-order cakes and pastries all the time. The unknown number didn’t mean much. Rasmus was in the habit of calling from different numbers. “Paisley Nichols.”
She knew it was Rasmus before he spoke. “I’m sorry I had to destroy your apartment.”
Whether it was her expression or the tension that shot through her, something must have telegraphed her reaction, because Iskander jumped to his feet. She took a deep breath, trying to control the familiar anger, frustration, and guilt for not figuring out how to make the man understand she wasn’t interested. “Leave me alone. Can’t you just please leave me alone?”
“I cannot do that,” Rasmus said over the phone. The hollowness in her stomach grew big enough to swallow her up. She recognized the manic undertone in his voice from all the other times she’d heard him when he was frustrated. He wasn’t irrational yet, but he would be soon. “You must understand I’m serious. When we work through whatever prevents you from seeing that we belong together, when I’ve made you understand, you’ll know I am right. My future depends upon you, Paisley. You must help me. We belong together.”
She pulled the phone away from her ear to disconnect the call, but Iskander held out his hand. With a shrug, she dropped the phone onto his palm. At this point, she didn’t care who dealt with Rasmus. Let the whole city of San Francisco try.
“Rasmus Kessler?” His eyes were practically glowing. She’d never met anyone whose eyes could look like that. Goodness, his expression was dead serious. He looked as angry as she felt, and that was strangely comforting. “She’s in Nikodemus’s territory.”
He spoke matter-of-factly, as if he expected Rasmus to know what that meant. She sure didn’t. Who was Nikodemus? What was his territory? And why would Rasmus care when he didn’t seem to care about anything else that ought to matter?
She tried to recall her earlier sense of Iskander as a stranger, but this time it failed. He was just her landlord. The guy who cashed her rent checks and fixed her leaky sink. Maybe he was, in his own way, as deluded as Rasmus, because he was acting like he was some kind of übercop. Whether he was someone who lived off rental income or who had sold a software company for millions before he was twenty-five, he wasn’t equipped to deal with Rasmus and his craziness.
Iskander caught her eye and rolled his as if he’d been reading her mind. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. With the index finger of his free hand, he traced some kind of mark on her forehead. He ended with a tap that felt hot when his finger landed.
She reeled back, off balance and dizzy from the contact.
“Paisley Nichols is under my protection now,” he said into the phone. A smile spread across his face, like he was enjoying whatever Rasmus was saying. “You send anyone to my place again, and he won’t come back, either.” He waited a bit and said, “Mess with her, Kessler, and when I find you, which I will, I will rip out your heart.” He disconnected and looked up with a grin.
Paisley took back her phone. Her forehead burned where his finger had tapped her. She’d heard about pressure points that, when triggered, could make a person collapse. Was that what he’d just done? She swallowed against a swell of nausea. “Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment,” she managed to say, “but isn’t it more effective if you make a threat you can actually carry out?”
Iskander laughed, and Paisley figured it was because he agreed with her. Then she saw his face and realized that wasn’t it. He believed what he’d said. Her stomach rolled over again, and Iskander’s face blurred. The stripes down his face seemed to be glowing. They weren’t. They couldn’t be. She blinked and rubbed her forehead. Nothing came into focus. No matter how hard she focused, she saw two Iskanders, both of them with glowing blue eyes.
“You okay, Paisley?”
The ocean roared in her ears. “I’m fine.”
Only she wasn’t. The room spun, and her forehead burned something fierce. Lord, she was going to heave.
Iskander said, “That should not have happened.” He caught her before she hit the floor. The next thing she knew, she was sitting on the floor with her brain floating around in circles inside her head. Iskander crouched at her side, his phone to his ear. She was dizzy. Really dizzy, and her head hurt.
“Harsh? Situation here.” He had a mostly whispered conversation that at times sounded like gibberish to her. Then he pushed on her shoulder. “Harsh says for you to lie down.”
She lay back. Iskander grabbed her legs and put her feet on the seat of a chair. The spinning sensation slowed.
“She’s a resistant,” Iskander said into the phone. “I know.” He took her wrist in one hand. His eyes, still an unreal blue, lost focus while he counted. “Fifty-three. Well, that’s how many I counted.” He looked at her. “Hypowhatsis. What the hell does that mean? Oh. Harsh says you probably have low blood pressure. It can make you faint if you don’t sit down quickly enough.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Any better?”
“I think so.” His fingers were warm around her wrist. Her head stopped spinning.
Iskander let go of her wrist and listened to Harsh. “I can’t ask her that. No.”
“What?”
He actually blushed. “He says I have to ask you this.”
“Go on.”
He closed his eyes like he was hurting somewhere, then opened them and said, “Are you pregnant?”
She laughed out loud. Her thoughts were more coherent now. But not quite enough, considering the next words out of her mouth. “You have to have sex in order to get pregnant, and for that you need a social life, which I don’t have. So, please, tell Dr. Marit that I am not pregnant. Bless his heart.”
“No,” he said into the phone. He listened some more. He ran a hand through his hair and avoided looking at her. His cheeks flushed red again. “No fucking way, Harsh. I am not asking her that. You ask her.” He pressed the phone to her ear. “Harsh has a question for you.”
She took the phone. What was worse than asking a woman you barely knew if she was pregnant? “Dr. Marit?”
“When was your last period?” Harsh asked.
Oh. She glanced at Iskander and found him staring at the side of the room. Great. Now her periods were going to be his business.
Over the phone, Harsh said, “It’s a routine question for women of childbearing years. I’d like to be sure there’s not an easy explanation for your fainting.”
She turned her head and lowered her voice. “Maybe two weeks ago?”
“Are you on any medications?”
“No, sir.”
He certainly sounded doctorlike now. “Ever fainted before?”
“Never.”
Iskander was still holding her hand, she realized, even though they weren’t looking at each other. And she was all right with that. His embarrassment was kind of sweet.
“How are you feeling now?” Harsh asked.
“Better.”
“Think you can sit up? Let me know how it goes if you can.”
“Yes, sir. I think I can.” She swung her legs off the chair, and Iskander’s hand tightened around hers. He helped her sit. Her head wasn’t spinning anymore. “Sitting up now. I think I’m okay.”
“Give the phone back to Iskander,” Harsh said. She handed over the phone, and after he talked to Harsh some more, Iskander had her open and close her eyes while he stared into them. His eyes were the most amazing blue.
“Yeah, they’re doing that.” To her, he said, “How’s your head feel?”
She touched her forehead. The spot where Iskander had touched her was sensitive, but at least she didn’t feel like her brains where moving around in there. “Better, I think.”
He relayed the answer and after some more listening, disconnected the call. “He says he
thinks it was probably the stress of your totally shitty day and for us to call him if it happens again or you get worse.”
She stood with another helping hand from Iskander. “I feel fine now.” She touched her forehead. An echo of the burning sensation that had started everything remained in her head.
Iskander stooped for her phone. “You need to turn this off.”
It rang while he was holding it. He checked the number, and an odd little smile curved his mouth. “Rasmus,” he said to the phone without answering it. “Will you never learn?” He turned off the phone, then snapped open the back cover and removed the battery before she could stop him.
“Why’d you do that?” She grabbed for her phone, but he held it out of her reach. “Give that back! I own a business, Iskander. I need that phone. Maybe you can afford to sit around all day, but I can’t.”
“Relax, cupcake. I’m not going to cut you off.”
“Then give me back my phone.”
“You have this thing with you, he can use it to track you.” Iskander took out her SIM card and tossed all the parts onto the table. “I’ll get you a new phone, new number from Google Voice. Keep paying the bill on the old one, though. From now on, give people your Google voice number, not your new cell number. We’ll work out what numbers forward where.”
Paisley stayed where she was. There was something unsettling about his lack of hesitation about what to do. Like he’d done this sort of thing before. “Thank you. I suppose.”
“No problem.” Iskander gave her a to-die-for smile. “You’ve had a hell of a day. I’ll show you your room, and you can get some sleep.”
She didn’t sleep well. The upstairs bedroom Iskander put her in got more light than she was used to without the extra-heavy curtains she’d bought for her apartment, and that made it hard to stay asleep. Her headache got worse, too, and the healing blister on her wrist ached enough to wake her up several times. Whenever that happened, she’d realize she’d been dreaming about Iskander. Disturbing dreams where he ripped Rasmus Kessler’s heart out of his chest and then made passionate love to her.
The alarm on her cheap digital watch went off at one-thirty. In the morning. She was already wide awake, though. Definitely not the best morning she’d ever had. Her head pounded something fierce, and her wrist ached.
She rolled out of bed and got ready to go to work. Obscenely early hours were the norm for a bakery like hers. The morning bake took several hours to prep and start. Various doughs had to be taken out of the fridge and allowed to rise, batters needed to be mixed, inventories done. The ovens needed time to heat up. She was glad she’d given herself extra time to get ready, because nothing in the house was familiar to her. Not the bedroom, not the few clothes she had—nothing.
In the downstairs bathroom, she found Iskander had cleaned up and put out fresh towels for her. The new toiletries Iskander’s friend Gray had bought for her were lined up on the counter. She showered and got dressed in her one and only change of clothes.
Iskander was watching television when she wandered into the living room on her way to the kitchen for toast and coffee—if there was any. But note to self, Iskander was a night owl. That meant she was going to have to be quiet on the days she did the late shift and was home in the morning. “Breakfast?” she said on her way. It seemed impolite not to at least ask him.
He hesitated, but only, she thought, because her question was unexpected. “Sure.”
There was a high-end espresso machine in the kitchen. She found coffee beans among the supplies Iskander’s friend Gray had brought over, and while she got the coffee going, she started making French toast. There wasn’t time to let the bread thoroughly soak in the egg mixture, but, hey, good enough for going on two in the morning. She threw in a dash of vanilla, cream, and some cinnamon.
Iskander came in just as the first of the espresso was gurgling into the cups. Even with her usual morning grumpiness, she couldn’t help but admire him. Gorgeous man. The worst part was, he knew. “Coffee?” she asked. “Or is it too late for you?”
He leaned over with his forearms on the counter. “Never too late for caffeine.”
The smell of good coffee improved her mood considerably. Her lips twitched into an almost-smile. “Latté or capp?”
“Neither. Give it to me dark as sin and strong enough to straighten my hair.”
Mornings were just not her thing. At all. “Your hair is straight.”
He waited a beat. “Not that hair.”
She turned away because she didn’t want him to see her smile. “Good grief.”
“Whatcha making?”
“French toast.” She found demitasse cups and poured espresso into one. She slid a full cup to him, started another serving, then got the toast onto the griddle. Before long, the aroma of cinnamon and vanilla filled the air.
“That’s good coffee, ma’am,” he said.
“Besides good beans, the secret is in making sure the water isn’t too hot. Otherwise it tastes burned.” She patted the machine. “This is a good one.”
While she waited for the toast to cook, she made herself a foamy cappuccino. “Oh, God,” she said when she had her first sip of her cappuccino. “Heaven.” She closed her eyes and savored the taste and smell. “Almost enough to make me human at this hour.”
“Me too,” Iskander said. He drank more of his coffee.
When the toast was done, she served them both. The coffee, the butter, the sifter, and the powdered sugar stayed on the counter between them. She watched Iskander take his first bite, nervous the way she always was when someone tasted her food for the first time. While he chewed, he put down his fork and closed his eyes.
“This,” he said when he finished his first bite, “is the best French toast I’ve ever had.” He picked up his fork and knife. “Don’t even talk to me until I’m done.”
She snorted, and they ate French toast and drank their coffee in comfortable silence. God love a man who could be quiet at this hour. “All right,” she said, taking her empty plate to the sink. “I have to head out pretty soon.”
Iskander pointed at her with his fork. “Don’t touch the dishes. I’ll clean up.”
“Thanks.” Paisley scooped up her purse and the keys to her scooter. She couldn’t afford a car, but her scooter was a cheap way to get around when public transportation wouldn’t do. “How do I get back into the house?”
He threw a set of keys at her. “The one with the red rubber doohickey on it is for the top lock.”
She remembered him talking about his professional security. “Alarm codes?”
He gave her a blank look. “For what?”
“Your security system.”
“Oh, that.” He waved her off. “It’s automatic. Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay.” She headed for the back door since it was closer to the garage, where she kept her scooter. “See you later.”
He frowned. “Cupcake. Where do you think you’re going?”
“To work?”
“From now on, I’m driving you. And picking you up.”
“Oh.” He was serious, and that made her feel… odd. And better. “You know if Rasmus sees you with me, he’s going to start harassing you, too.”
Iskander smiled like he had the winning lottery ticket. “I think I can deal with that.”
“He’ll tell you lies about me.”
“I know that.”
“Thank you.” The words sounded completely inadequate. She walked back to him and touched his arm. “Really,” she said. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
He drove her downtown in a battered Chevy pickup with no radio and wire looped around the right side-view mirror to keep it attached. He parked so the truck blocked the alley near the back entrance of the bakery and left the motor running. Before she got out, he handed her a throwaway phone. “This is temporary until your new phone comes. I put my number in there for you. Give me a call when you’re ready to leave. I can be here in ten
minutes.”
She slid the phone into her coat pocket. “Thanks. Again.” Hand on the door handle, she said, “I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”
“Have a good day.” He glanced out the window. “Night. Whatever. Bring home something good to eat.”
For half a second, she thought he was going to lean over and kiss her, and that set off a whole flock of butterflies in her stomach. He didn’t, though.
“I promise,” she said.
He waited while she walked to the back door. She didn’t hear his truck leave until several minutes after she was safely inside. Thank goodness he wasn’t looking for a serious relationship. If he was, she’d fall for him pretty hard.
CHAPTER 10
Ten hours later, alley behind Paisley Bakery and Café
Paisley closed the back door of the bakery and rubbed the nape of her neck. Her shoulders were knotted up tight and her legs were stiff, but today, the tension was just from working at the job. Rasmus hadn’t shown up at the bakery, and since he didn’t have the number of the phone Iskander had given her, she hadn’t had to deal with any calls from him. The staff knew to hang up on him if he called the bakery, and they’d all learned the hard way to throw away anything he sent through the mail.
A day without Rasmus was… pure bliss. She arched her back to work out some of the kinks of standing for nearly ten hours and looked up at the sliver of blue sky that showed between the buildings. The wind, though, was blowing, and she was glad of the peacoat Gray had bought for her.
She walked to the mouth of the alley to wait for Iskander. The alley, just wide enough for a car, served several other businesses that fronted Kearney and exited to Clay Street, the nearest cross street to her right. She was looking in that direction since Iskander would have to come down Clay and either park there or drive down the alley.
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