Saved By A Stranger

by Andi Madden

  “This is what you call a perfect day?” Only now, did I notice that her hands were shaking, that her heart was still racing a mile a minute.

  “You all right? He asked, stepping closer. “You look pale.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, but really, she wasn’t feeling fine.

  He stepped between her legs, leaning in. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” He lifted his hand to rest it against her cheek, a sudden gentleness in his gaze. “I’m not going to hurt you or anything like that, you know that, right?”

  His touch zinged across her skin. There it was again—the same chemistry she’d felt toward him before. She stared transfixed into his eyes, fearing he would kiss her.

  “Despite appearances, I’m very glad to see you again.” He cupped her jaw, lifting her head, his breath feathering over her lips. “Really sorry about the gun. I got carried away in the moment. Anything I can do to convince you I’m harmless?”

  She placed both hands against his chest. Unbelievable. Now he was trying to make out with her? After all this?

  “No,” she said, shoving him two steps away. “Hell, no.”

  He cocked his head as if weighing his options. “Well, I guess that was a rejection on several levels.”

  She watched him walk up and down the length of the room while he was scanning every shelf and corner, as if checking for deathtraps.

  He looked even more delicious when he moved but that was hardly the point. She was the master of her body, not her raging hormones. Fucking armed strangers of questionable character wasn’t an option.

  Thoughts of Why the hell not? floated up in her mind and an embarrassed flush tingled over her face.

  “Where does the door lead to?” he asked, hand on door handle.

  “Upstairs, my place above the store—no, don’t you dare—“ Too late, he’d already opened the door and was heading upstairs.

  Of course.

  Sliding from the counter, she grabbed a chocolate cupcake from the shelf and started licking the frosting off the top.

  After that, she drained her glass of wine.

  And after a few more minutes allowing her heartbeat to calm down, she slowly walked up the stairs toward her bedroom unsure what to do with the man waiting for her there.

  Chapter Three

  He looked utterly out of place on top of her purple bedspread. She slumped down on her desk chair, keeping her gaze on his still face, his closed eyes.

  He was sleeping.

  How tired exactly could a person be to just fall asleep after what just happened?

  She could count on one hand what she knew about him. He was a journalist for the local paper, he had really bad manners, he carried a gun, he was on the run from people who made her blood freeze.

  And even sleeping he was sexy as hell.

  And, maybe, she really should call the cops.

  She jumped up and gave him a nudge against his foot with her knee. “Hey, you, wake up.”

  He didn’t do her the favor.

  His breath came steady and deep. He must have been on the run from someone? Hadn’t he slept in a while to fall into such a comatose sleep?

  She tried hard not to notice the dark chest hair curling from the top of his shirt. Such a male thing, chest hair, she thought, flicking open a button of his shirt. Then another.

  The last shirt button slid through its hole. Her hands shook when she tugged the shirt wider until he was bare-chested. Holding her breath, she placed her flat palm against his muscled flesh. His heart beat steadily, and his skin was warm to the touch.

  Tearing her gaze away from his small, erect nipples playing peekaboo in his chest hair, she went to threw open a window to allow her stuffy, too warm place to cool down.

  She traced the tip of her finger across his abs and along an uneven scar underneath his rib cage. It looked like someone had tried to cut out his liver.

  “So male,” she whispered, tracing her fingertip lightly over each rib and then his stomach.

  When he’d dumped her, leaving her sitting alone in the sports bar, she’d paid for the drinks, her cheeks hot with embarrassment, and walked home to spend a sleepless night going over each word they’d exchanged.

  When Jenna had given her a call the next day, she hadn’t felt like sharing. For a couple of days afterward she had fooled herself into thinking there had been some kind of emergency. But he never called to apologize, even though it would have been the easy to ask Jenna for her number.

  And now he was in her bed.

  Her own ragged breathing sounded odd in her ears, but she couldn’t deny it anymore—she was on an weird adrenaline high—and apparently it made her horny.

  What if he were in her shoes?

  Would he undress and touch her, if he’d found her sleeping? Wrapping her arms around her middle, she tried to suppress the violent shivers running up and down her skin. She bit her lip, thinking hard, but sexual scenes in her mind came crashing.

  Fuck.

  A snore from him had her snapping back to attention. She backed away from the bed and sat on the floor.

  “Hey, you,” she said loudly, annoyed with her own horniness and him in general. “Wake up.”

  He didn’t.

  A quick glance at her wristwatch told her she was in danger of running late for her meeting tonight.

  Pacing up and down at the foot of the bed, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and stopped dead cold. Drab pale face, dull brownish hair, nervous red spots on her cheeks.

  She kicked the bedpost, stubbing her toe.

  “What kind of gun-slinging journalist are you?” she said, kicked the bedpost again. “Who the fuck are you?”

  She paused.

  After one thorough body and pocket search—two passports, spearmint gum, something that looked as if it could be attached to the gun, cell phone, gun, money, no credit cards but a black, worn-leather notebook—she had to sit down because her knees were shaking.

  One internet query for his full name later—five hits—she skimmed over the black on white answers on the screen. Ben Chase, six-one, one hundred and eighty pounds, wanted by the DEA, person of interest…call Simon Parker…

  And even in his photo, he managed to look friendly, innocent and sexy.

  A disbelieving laugh tore from her throat. Looked like Brickwall had been speaking the truth after all… Then the full implications hit her. He was a person of interest and she’d helped him…

  She should call, call the cops, call for help, and yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this would be wrong. But, it stood to reason that she should do something to protect herself.

  Chapter Four

  Ben swallowed away the dry feeling in his mouth, opened his eyes and stared at a ceiling, cracked with old paint. Blinking against soft darkness, he tried to lift his head, which weighed about a ton.

  Fog clouded his brain as he tried to reconstruct where the hell he was. And why he was lying flat on his back on a bed smelling of lilacs. When he attempted to stand, coarse rope bit into the skin of his wrists and ankles. Jesus.

  The floorboard was squeaking, the bed shook slightly, and he scrambled to get his wits together. Someone was with him in the room. Think, man, think… First the failed hit then the stroke of pure dumb luck. Fuentes’ dogs hot on his heels, and then… Liz.

  From all the places in this town, he had to pick her shop to hide. And he had been so good in staying away from her for the last weeks…

  “Fuck,” he groaned. He must have completely blacked out when he laid down on her bed. Three days and nights of no sleep could do that to a man.

  “Oh, you’re awake, that was rather quick after all.” Her voice came from the foot of the bed. “How do you feel?”

  “Like shit,” he said, and groaned as his stomach cramped—no sleep, very little food.

  Eyesight adjusted to the dim light, he lifted his head a couple of inches. There was a desk in one corner, a dresser in the other. A reading light on the desk lit up th
e room. “When I come around again, we’ll have a serious discussion about not taking advantage of me when I sleep, Liz.” He gave another tug at the ropes.

  “Ah, now you remember me, don’t you?”

  He inhaled slowly, cursing himself. “Yes, of course I remember you. But, ropes, really? I’m sorry to say my first impression of you was wrong. You aren’t exactly the shyly sweet girl I took you for.”

  “You fail to live up to my expectations too.”

  Fighting a stab of embarrassment at his past actions, he wished he could tell her the truth. “Believe me, I had good reasons for walking out on you that day. In fact, it was more to protect—”

  “I don’t need to be protected,” she interrupted him. “But I don’t mean that day,” she said, now sounding huffy. “I mean today.”

  She stood, the sudden movement catching him unaware and he tensed. She was dressed in dark jeans and a proper button-down blouse, which she started to undo from the bottom up. “I really need to get ready for my meeting.”

  She was a nuisance, but she started turning into an interesting one.

  “I think,” she said, and the blouse sailed away with a flick of her wrist to the top of the dresser. “We should get to know each other better.”

  When he first met her, he’d wanted to cuddle up with her on the couch and hear her talk, strangely drawn to her emotionally, now he wanted to push her up against a wall and fuck her senseless.

  She returned to his side, sitting next to him on the bed, and the swell of her breasts underneath the bra had him swallowing hard.

  “What?” she asked, her gaze running over his body. “Are you not up to it?”

  Oh, he was up to it all right.

  “Just kidding.”

  Of course.

  She unclasped her bra, her breasts bouncing free.

  “Liz,” he said, surprised to hear that his voice had turned hoarse, “This is not cool.”

  “I’ll take a shower,” she said, “don’t run away.”

  She laughed, breathlessly, and he watched her walk into the adjoining bathroom. She probably thought she’d made a joke by telling him not to run away.

  He took another deep breath, closing his eyes. The shower started rumbling and he pictured himself joining her under the water, soaping that lush body of hers all over, taking extra care of her breasts. Damn, he’d wanted to weigh her breasts in his hands, caress each fat nipple.

  Giving the ropes a harder tug, he stretched, feeling a great deal better. The power nap had done the trick. And those knots were a joke, would only take a few moments to undo.

  Best not to tell her.

  He would stay put until she left for whatever important meeting she had. Then he’d get his ass away from her—at least for the next couple of days—since she proved to be too much distraction. He’d go see Simon tomorrow, and once everything was in the clear, he could pay her a visit, explain and say mea culpa.

  The water stopped and he imagined how she’d towel her arms, breasts, stomach, thighs dry. The thought alone made his cock twitch.

  Light filtered from the bathroom and he glanced up when she stepped into the bedroom again. She’d wrapped herself in a white towel. He watched her as best he could from his limited viewpoint.

  “I’ll be back in an hour or so, I think,” she said, and started to get dressed.

  “I guess you want me to wait for your safe return?”

  He adjusted his posture on the bed to keep an eye on her. She dressed as efficiently as she had undressed herself. A pair of black panties hugged her bottom and a black bra held her breasts. He itched to undo the knots, to get up and throw her onto the bed just for the fun of seeing her reaction.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll tell you if you tell me why you were running? No? Thought so.”

  He leaned back deeper into the mattress, enjoying the show while it lasted. Even watching her get dressed was a turn-on. When she was done, she looked like a prim and proper bank clerk, wearing a sensible skirt and blouse combo.

  She threw stuff into a shoulder bag and then turned to face him.

  Her eyes had a haunted glaze he didn’t like—as if something tormented her—and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and hold her tight.

  “Liz, whatever happens, I want to see you again, wanted to see you again for the last three weeks.” He held her gaze, willing her to trust him. “But there are some things I have to deal with first and in order to protect you—”

  “I don’t need to be protected.” She shouldered her bag and the door swung shut.

  He waited another five minutes to be on the safe side then flexed his muscles and jerked on the ropes. The flimsy wooden headboard gave way as did the footboard. Wood splinters littered the bed and floor as he untied himself. His skin was chafed raw, but nothing a few days wouldn’t heal. He had at least an hour until she came back, enough time to take a quick shower.

  After he climbed out of the shower, taking a sniff at her shampoo, he dressed and made a turn around the small bedroom, opening her dresser, looking in her wardrobe.

  The printer was flashing red and he tugged at the stuck paper, heard it tear. It was an invitation addressed to her, but the name that stood out made his blood freeze.

  With two large steps, he was at his clothes, picked up his jacket.

  The notebook was gone.

  He kicked the wooden bedpost and sharp pain shot through his bare foot. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  She had taken the book and, if he wasn’t mistaken, she was returning it to its owner right this minute. He should have killed that bastard when he’d had the chance. He grabbed the gun and holstered it.

  Why she was doing this, he didn’t know, but, hell, he’d find out.

  Chapter Five

  She stepped onto the bus, clutching her bag. The bus driver gave her a toothy grin as if he knew her; he probably did. In an effort to save, she’d sold her car three months ago and regularly used public transport. The money from the sale had covered her last two months’ rent.

  After giving the bus driver the exact fare, she sank into her seat.

  She opened her bag and took out the book she’d found in Ben’s jacket. After she’d gone through his stuff, she’d packed it into her bag. She just wanted to give it another look. He would never know. She’d return it when she came back to him.

  Flipping the book open, she found again the sharp handwriting and tried to decipher the apparently Spanish words, interrupted by small but beautiful doodles of flowers. Ben had a knack at drawing, but the sketches had such a girlish slant to it that it made her uncomfortable.

  She stored the book away in her bag, mindful not to bend any pages.

  Stop after stop, she drew closer, then exited the bus.

  The five-star hotel rose in front of her like a shining beacon against the dark sky. With any luck, her homemade miniature cupcakes would soon rest beautifully wrapped on top of Egyptian cotton sheet pillows. With any luck, she’d snatch the contract to be one of the suppliers to deliver goods to Mr. Fuentes’ hotels all over the world.

  If not, well, she’d rather not think about it.

  Perfumed air enveloped her as she walked into the huge lobby, her heels sinking deeply into an oriental carpet. Before she could ask for directions, she spotted the event signage.

  The entrepreneur meeting was set to start at seven sharp inside conference rooms next to the hotel bar, where she, as the invitation had spelled out, could enjoy a complimentary glass of champagne.

  More than half an hour late, she quickly followed the signage leading away from the main entrance, heels now efficiently clicking over hardwood floors.

  According to the schedule, she’d missed the introduction. But the important part was her eight o’clock appointment.

  The membership for Entrepreneur Today was hefty, but tonight would make it all worth it. She’d spent three weeks preparing her business model.

  When she’d been sel
ected as one of the few to speak with Mr. Fuentes, after paying a fortune for the opportunity, she spent an entire week basking in hope and plans.

  If only she could snatch the contract, if only… Her bank would extend her credit and she could stay and invest more in her endeavor to slowly take over the world with her cupcakes.

  “Liz Walker,” she said, stopping in front of the reception, crossing her fingers no one would ask her for the actual printed-out invitation.

  “Glad you could make it, Ms. Walker,” replied the woman behind the desk, wearing oversized earrings that seemed out of place next to her sensible pantsuit, and handed her a nametag. “You’re next on my list for the chat with Mr. Fuentes.”

  She sauntered through the room, ignoring the steaming food at the buffet, and kept her gaze locked on the meeting room. Inside, a small-shouldered man dressed in an immaculate pinstriped suit held court, and even though he wasn’t a large man, his narrow face and his gray eyes behind rimmed glasses showed sharp intelligence and a certain strength.

  He was shaking the hand of another entrepreneur who had his hopes in his hands, and then, finally, it was her time.

  When she walked into the room, he rose to shake her hand.

  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Ms. Walker,” he said by way of greeting.

  “Liz, please,” she replied, shaking his hand.

  “Angelo,” he said, and she took a seat in front of his desk and produced her wrapped samples. “I’m aware you’ve read my business plan, but I thought you might want to taste what I am all about.”

  Carefully, she placed the handmade box filled with small cupcakes on his desk.

  “Thank you,” he said, his gaze on the samples and, strangely, an expression of disgust rippled over his face, his lips pursed. “I do not have a sweet tooth, but, luckily for you, my guests have.”

  She nodded, straightened her slumped shoulders and tried not to feel hurt by his offhand manner.

  “I understand,” he said, “that your business is in dire straits?”

  She’d been careful to make her business sound frugal and successful, with no word had she mentioned her current financial situation. “How—”