On Saturdays, twice a month, I still went to self-defense classes. My instructors had taken to pairing me with large men lately, but he was so very large and his presence, for lack of a better word, was just so there.
How did he know I liked mango ice cream?
How did he know I liked ice cream, period?
Was he watching me?
Was I paranoid?
Fear slammed away inside me and I fought the urge to run, the urge to scream.
Finally, I laid down the pencil I’d been using and instead of staring at the ice cream, I lifted my face to his and asked bluntly, “What is that?”
“It’s ice cream,” he said, and in the back of his eyes, I thought I saw a smile, but it was there and gone again, gone so fast I almost missed it.
“Why?”
“It’s ice cream because they made it that way,” he said, his voice reasonable.
“Are you often this obtuse with women?”
“Are you often this difficult when somebody buys you ice cream?”
I pushed the bowl away. “Why did you buy me ice cream?”
“Because I thought you might like it.” Then he glanced down at the sketchbook and added, “And because I want to see more of what you’re working on…and maybe get your name.”
“I told you my name.”
I eyed the ice cream, acutely aware of the hunger gnawing at my belly. I hadn’t eaten since dinner yesterday and I’d only picked at it then. Until now, I hadn’t wanted anything, but I wanted that ice cream.
“You did?”
I shot him a look. “It was on the picture I gave you.”
He pushed the ice cream toward me. “It’s yours,” he said, his voice level, neutral. “If you want it, eat it. Otherwise it’s going to melt.”
I took it.
After I’d eaten three bites, he said, “Shadow. That was written in the corner. That’s really your name?”
Slowly, I nodded. “That’s what my birth certificate says.”
The ice cream was so good—sweet and rich. I’d just have a few bites.
Five minutes later, the bowl was empty. Blinking in surprise, I put the spoon inside it and set it down.
“You look like you need more.”
“No.” I squirmed on the seat and bent back over the sketchbook. “Thank you. That was nice of you.” Please go away now.
“You going to let me see any more of your work?”
“This isn’t work.” I gripped the pencil.
“Then what is it?”
Escape.
I heard paper crumpling.
Something unfolded and then he pushed it into my line of site. It was…well, art. Sorta. Erotic art. Like nothing I’d ever seen.
If the nudes I did made me squirm even as I drew, then this made me clench my thighs together and my breathing came faster just starting at it.
And the face…
It was CGI-rendered, I could tell that much despite the wrinkles and creases in the paper. And despite the wrinkles and creases in the paper, one thing that was very clear, the face looked a lot like mine.
Jerking my head up, I stared at him. “What the hell is that?” I demanded, my voice stark.
“Well, it looks a lot like you,” he mused, propping his elbows on the table. He reached out a hand and dragged the image closer, tracing one finger down the mermaid’s tail before going back up the other side and outlining her breast.
And my nipples tightened in response, as though he’d been toying with mine, not touching a stupid piece of paper.
Swallowing, I found that I couldn’t look away this time when he shifted his attention up and stared at me.
“I showed you mine.” Dark brown eyes bored into mine. “You going to show me yours?”
“You did this?” I couldn’t decide if I was horrified or amazed. The whimsical, sexy little mermaid, one hand lifted to toy with her own nipple, her face tipped to catch the sun, and the expression of longing—that was something I’d never been. She wore what she felt on her face, and I locked everything inside. She had her free hand outstretched as though she wasn’t too afraid to reach for it.
And here I was with a man I did want, right there. All he wanted to do was talk to me and I was terrified, nausea churning and twisting in my belly.
“Nah. I don’t have that kind of talent. But I excel at noticing things. And I couldn’t help but notice that she looks like you.” He reached over and touched the edge of her tail. Part of me almost thought I could feel the ghostly echo of his hand on my thigh. “So…you going to let me see anything else?”
I was tempted.
But trust didn’t come so easily.
Slowly, I shook my head. “Not today. Maybe next week.”
His lids drooped low. “How about a deal…what about Friday night? I could pick you up for dinner, you could bring the sketches then.”
“No.” It barely came out as a whisper. A date…he’d just asked me out on a date. Even as some part of me was almost excited at the idea of it, the rest of me shut down. I couldn’t date.
Not him.
Not anybody.
Not ever.
Jenks didn’t give up.
Three weeks after the first time he’d asked me out, I arrived at the beach to find a red cloth spread across my table. There was a picnic basket. Two plates. Something twisted in my gut—disappointment, I knew that feeling well. Even as I went to turn away and find a different table, he came walking up and he wasn’t wearing what he always wore. His standard clothing consisted of two options: board shorts with a tank top or board shorts without a tank top.
So I almost didn’t recognize him when I saw him wearing a pair of dark khaki trousers, rolled up over his ankles to stay out of the sand and a white polo shirt.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, then lowered my hand as he came to a stop in front of me. “You ready to eat lunch?”
“I…ah…” I looked at him, then back at the table.
“We’re having a picnic,” he told me.
“We are?” Deep inside, I felt the first rumblings of irritation. I didn’t want to be told what or how I’d spend my time. Not anymore. Even something as innocuous as a picnic. Even if it was a sunny day and I hadn’t eaten. I’d been controlled before by a man who told me when I’d eat and what I’d eat and how I’d eat. I’d never go back there again.
A look that might have been caution flickered in his eyes and I looked over at him. “Ah…well, maybe I should I rephrase that.” He ran his tongue across his lips as he rocked back on his heels, head cocked as he studied me. “I am having a picnic. I planned on eating here since I already put my blanket down. You can join me if you want to. But I’m going to.”
Some of the frustration I felt started to ease as he settled down at the table. For a moment, I watched him, watched the shirt stretch across his biceps as he dug into the picnic hamper and pulled out potato salad, sliced deli meat, avocado.
I shot a look up on the beach, saw some of Dillian’s friends. A few women had glanced toward us as they moved by. He could have talked to any of them. He wanted to be here with me. Maybe he was just hung up on looking at the sketches, although he hadn’t asked about them for the past week or so.
My feet felt heavy as I moved to join him.
A bit of a smile curved his lips as I settled down across from him. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“I don’t like being told what I’m going to do.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said softly. He put everything between us and dug out serving spoons and a knife for the condiments. “How much of it has to do with your ex?”
I froze and shot him a look.
“You’ve already told me you know what it’s like to be bruised.” Then he nodded at my hand. “You can still see where you wore the wedding ring.”
Slowly, I looked down, barely able to make out the faint white strip on my left ring finger. I’d taken the ring off months ago. But there were days when I’d compu
lsively put it back on, days when it seemed as though my ex was closer than normal, breathing down my neck, and just waiting to make an appearance.
It’s a terrible thing to live with that kind of fear, even when you can feel yourself trying to move away from it. Maybe then it’s even worse—you can almost taste the freedom, but the fear holds you hostage.
Curling my hand into a fist, I stared at the slightly paler strip of flesh on my hand where the ring had been, then I looked up and met his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Then don’t.” A humorless smile curved his lips, but it did nothing to lighten his features. If anything, it gave him a slightly devilish look. “I figure you answered the question just fine. I just hope the bastard is off rotting in a ditch somewhere.”
I thought of my ex, sitting in his posh gallery, smoking one of his thin cigars as he dictated to one of the secretaries he’d liked to fuck while he’d been married to me. One of them had become his mistress. Then he’d discarded her, moved on to another one. It had been his cycle and I had no doubt he’d continued it. He’d moved on to a bigger gallery and even expanded, opening one in Chicago, then in Seattle.
His life was going so very well.
And mine was still in shambles.
“No,” I said, reaching for the bottle of water he’d put out before I’d even arrived. “He’s not.”
“Do you want him to be?”
To my surprise, it startled a laugh out of me.
The rest of the picnic passed in an almost comfortable silence and when I was ready to go, I did something that surprised me. Even though I’d been carrying it around for just that purpose, I hadn’t known if I’d be able to do it.
But I did it.
I’d brought one of my older sketchbooks with me—had been carrying it for a week now, although I’d lacked the courage to show him. Now, holding my breath, I pulled it out of my bag and left it sitting on the table.
Chapter Four
It was a date that really wasn’t.
That was what I told myself. After all, we ran into each other on the street.
A couple times a month, Marla, Seth and I had pizza night.
They’d started it not long after Marla realized I really didn’t do anything. She’d wanted to change that. At first, she’d tried inviting me out to go shopping or hit a bar with her and Seth, but I wasn’t up for either of those. At least not at the time.
So we’d started doing a movie night, then pizza night.
It had taken her a month to talk me into it the first time, but movie night, then pizza night slowly became a regular thing.
Tonight should have been pizza night.
But this was their anniversary. They’d been together for two years, living together for one year and although Marla didn’t know it, Seth was going to propose. He loved her, he’d told me, for real loved her and he wanted to marry her.
And they were off to Savannah for a long weekend. They’d come back with her starry-eyed, him grinning like a fool. Maybe I could help with the wedding. That might be fun.
But it meant when Sunday rolled around, it was pizza night and I couldn’t stay stuck in the house.
I had to stick to my schedule.
It didn’t matter that they weren’t here.
I knew it was pizza night so I had to go get pizza.
I hated that eight o’clock came and went and I was nervous and shaking, all because I couldn’t think beyond the fact that it was past eight and I was still in the house.
It took forty minutes because I had to check and recheck the locks, the windows, the doors, the locks and then the doors one last time. It’s harder when you’re nervous, because when you’re nervous, you mess up the routine, but I had to check. Finally, at almost ten ’til nine, I escaped the house. The balmy air of a Carolina evening wrapped around me but I was too frazzled, too frustrated and too upset to notice. One foot after the other, I walked to our pizza place. I’d have to eat alone. I hated eating alone.
People stared.
They watched you.
What if somebody recognized me—
A hand touched my arm.
I reacted out of instinct, driving a stiffened hand into a vulnerable neck, bringing up my knee to strike the groin. My hand connected. My knee bounced off a rock-hard thigh and then I was caught, pinned up against the nearest window while I panicked and bucked and twisted to get away.
“Shadow…calm down. Shadow!”
Another hand caught my wrists. Dazed, I found myself staring into Jenks’ eyes.
His hand cupped my face and he peered down at me.
He held my hands in one fist, not tightly, just enough to keep me from pulling away.
“You with me?”
I sucked in a desperate breath.
“That’s it. Take another one,” he murmured. “I think I’ll do the same.”
He grimaced and I saw that his face was a strange shade of red.
He blew out his breath and then slowly uncurled his hand from my wrists. “You’ve got some moves,” he murmured. “I scared you. I’m sorry.”
The only thing I wanted to do was curl in on myself and just die.
As though he sensed my intentions, he kept his body between me and the escape route back to my house. His other hand stayed on my shoulder while he talked. “I saw you walking,” he said, forcing a smile. I could see the strain around the edges and part of me was glad he felt as weird about this as I did. “I wanted to say hi.”
He paused, grimaced. “Hi.”
The absurdity of it almost made me laugh. Instead I just stared at him for a minute and then murmured, “Hi.”
“What are you doing on this fine night? Other than beating up guys who mistakenly touch you?”
Blood rushed to my cheeks and I tried to pull back. The glass behind me prevented that.
Jenks swore. “Son of a bitch… I didn’t mean it like that, baby. I just…hell. I should have known better. I was an idiot. I’m sorry, okay?”
His eyes stayed on my face. How did I answer that? I didn’t know.
He eased back. “Look, I just… Don’t take off, okay? I never see you away from the beach and as soon as twelve thirty rolls around, you take off. I just wanted to see if we could get something to eat. That maybe-next-week date you keep teasing me about.”
No hovered on the tip of my tongue.
I don’t know what possessed me to say yes.
Whatever it was, that yes landed me at the pizza place with Dillian Jenkins.
And three hours passed before I knew it.
Standing outside of the pizza place, I twisted the short strap of my clutch around my fingers and looked up at Jenks, tried to figure out the right way to say goodbye before he could offer to walk me home.
I didn’t want him doing that. I didn’t want him watching me as I searched the porch and the yard, searched for some sign that my sanctuary had been invaded. I didn’t want him to realize that the man in the corner was watching us and that he’d follow us home.
His hand brushed my cheek and I looked up at him, my heart leaping up to hammer in my throat.
Soft, dark eyes watched me and he lowered his head. I froze, too terrified to bolt as I should, my knees locked, my belly twisting in mad circles.
He didn’t kiss me, though.
Instead, he pressed his mouth to my ear and spoke.
The words didn’t make sense at first.
Then, as they started to connect, a bizarre sense of helplessness, frustration and denial spun inside me, an emotional hurricane that bounced around, seeking a weak spot to break free and wreak havoc.
“There’s a guy who’s been watching you since you came in here.”
As he straightened back up, he canted his chin off to the side.
I didn’t have to look for him.
I knew he was there.
He made no attempt to hide himself, leaning against the bar, digging through a bowl of nuts and crunching on them.
&n
bsp; Curling my hands into fists, I turned away and headed for the door.
As I did, two men started to shadow me.
One was the man hired by my ex.
The other was Jenks.
As I shoved through the doors, desperate for air, Jenks had his hand at my back and once I broke free of the crush of people, I was pathetically grateful for that supporting touch. “You look like you want to puke,” he said shifting his hand from my back to my arm and attempting to guide me over to the wall.
My stalker had headed down the walk, loitering in the area as if he was looking for a place to smoke. He didn’t leave. He just chose a different piece of the pavement to pollute.
I resisted Jenks’ attempts to get me out of the middle of the sidewalk. I didn’t know what to do, though. To get to my house, I had to go the other direction, pass the bastard who had been watching me. Who was still watching. I couldn’t stay out here all night.
Without understanding what drove me, I pushed away from him and moved to the crosswalk. The ebb and flow of people around me usually drove me crazy, but just then, it felt…comforting. I didn’t feel as exposed as I usually did and I knew that the man watching me couldn’t see me as clearly. He was on his feet now and trying to weave through the people. Jenks didn’t have that problem. He was so big, he just plowed right through them. Either they yielded or he just pushed them aside.
“You don’t look surprised that you’ve got a guy following you.” He had his hands in his pockets as we moved onto the sidewalk a minute later and separated from the crowd.
The light had changed halfway through and the punk was still trying to catch up. I put some speed on, the little purse I held swinging from my hand, my breath coming in faster, choppier gasps as we rounded the corner onto the street that would lead to the beach.
“Here.”
Jenks caught my elbow and tugged me into an alcove.
The little coffee shop that served coffee everything—coffee ice cream, coffee candy, and just plain coffee. It was closed now and I turned to look at him, but he had his hand on my shoulder and was looking out into the street. The second I moved to brush past him, I saw the man again.
Pieces of Me Page 4
