Present Danger

by Susan Andersen

  She left Lola’s apartment a short time later and returned to her own. It wasn’t until she entered the bedroom and flipped the switch on the bedside lamp that she recalled her original reason for going downstairs. Damn. If she wanted the thing fixed anytime soon, she was going to have to ask James Ryder to help her.

  She’d really rather not.

  On the other hand, she’d also rather not wait for the four days or a week or whatever it was that comprised one of Otis’s rotations at the fire station. That was a long time to be without her lamp, and she had not yet reached the point where she could once again sleep in the dark. She sometimes wondered if the night would ever come when she would be able to.

  Feeling like an idiot for the way her heart was beginning to pound over what was basically a minor request, she walked down the hall and tapped lightly on James’s door. Relieved when there was no answer, she tapped once again just so she could tell herself she wasn’t really a craven coward. Then she turned away.

  “What’d y’do, call me from a phone booth on Broadway?” Aunie jumped to hear his voice through the closed door and reluctantly turned back. “I told you to come in a half hour!” The door was yanked opened. “Oh. Sorry,” James said, startled. “I thought you were my brother.”

  She didn’t reply; she couldn’t. She was too busy staring at the sight that greeted her.

  Her eyes were at chest level when the door opened and they widened with surprise, then refused to move any higher. He must have hastily donned his clothes when she knocked on the door. He was wearing a shirt and a worn pair of jeans, but neither garment was fastened. The shirt hung open, framing a broad, lightly furred chest and hard stomach The zipper of his jeans was unzipped and once Aunie’s eyes had bemusedly tracked the sparse stripe of blond hair down his muscular abdomen to the loose, open waistband that rode low on his hipbones, she couldn’t seem to drag them away. She could practically feel the strain she was imposing on her eyeballs trying to get a peek into the shadows beyond that gaping fly.

  As in the black-and-white photographs on her bedroom walls, the sensuality was more in what was hidden than in what was revealed. Only this was no photograph. This was three-dimensional, warm, alive, and smelling of damp, healthy male.

  It was more exciting altogether.

  She licked her lips. God. She’d never seen anything quite so sexy in her entire life as this tantalizing, close-up glimpse of James Ryder’s half-clad body.

  Which just went to show how barren her own sex life was, she supposed. Gawd, girl, get a grip, she admonished herself and slowly dragged her eyes upwards. “Uh, I’ve got a lamp that quit work …” Her voice trailed away and she felt her jaw literally sag when her eyes finally reached his face. There was a bloody hatchet sticking out of his forehead.

  It wasn’t real, of course. It took her a moment, however, to remember that today was Halloween and to realize that the hatchet was obviously a prop. But a clever prop … Lordy, it was clever. Her lips were just curling up in appreciation, when he wagged one eyebrow at her, making the hatchet shift.

  “Don’t s’pose you’ve got any aspirin on ya?” he asked in a hopeful voice. “I’ve got a killer of a headache.”

  Startled laughter exploded out of her. Then she laughed again, harder, and it was all downhill from there, for once started she couldn’t seem to stop. Finally, tears running down her cheeks, she slid loosely down the hallway wall and flopped over on her side, still gasping with laughter as she clutched her stomach. Every time she thought she was finally getting a handle on what was turning into a nearly hysterical case of the giggles, she’d catch his eye and he’d raise an eyebrow at her and it would set her off once again. Finally, deeming it necessary to do something other than just lie there curled up on the floor making a fool of herself, she began to crawl away. Out of sight, out of mind … or so she sincerely hoped.

  James grinned as he watched her drag herself down the hallway on her hands and knees, still laughing that wholehearted, surprisingly deep laugh. Talk about a great reaction … who would have thought to get that kind of response out of the prim little Confederate belle? Without removing his watchful gaze, he tucked his shirttails into his pants and zipped up.

  Aunie’s mirth mercifully began to subside halfway down the hall and she started to push herself to her feet. Unfortunately, she glanced back over her shoulder and caught James grinning at her and the whole ridiculous business started all over again. She collapsed back onto all fours.

  He swooped down on her and hooked one brawny arm around her waist, scooping her off the floor. She laughed harder and went totally limp. Letting her dangle like a broken doll from his forearm and hip, he packed her to her front door. “Where’s your key?”

  “It’s o … o … it’s ooo …”

  “Open,” he supplied helpfully. “Gotcha.” He opened the door, maneuvered her carefully through the doorway, and then packed her into the living room, where he dropped her in a giggling heap on her couch. She immediately rolled off. “Ooh, Gawd, I’m gonna wet my pants.” Emitting silly snuffling noises, a result of trying to swallow her laughter, she trotted with knock-kneed awkwardness into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

  Grinning and shaking his head, he stared at the closed door for a moment and then turned away. He looked around her living room with curious eyes, finding it warm and friendly and surprisingly informal. Somewhere, he’d formed the impression she’d decorate with thousand-dollar vases and furniture designed more for style than function. But although the teal linen couch with its touches of rose appeared obviously costly, it also looked invitingly comfortable. And her accessories, to his further surprise, were more along the line of street-fair-craftsmen funky than designer original. Hell, there was even a mug of his design holding some pencils and pens next to her stack of books on the dining room table. Tilting his head to read the spines, he raised his eyebrows over the titles of some of her texts. He wouldn’t have figured her for a heavy math load, either. She struck him as more of the liberal-arts type. He shrugged, thinking that sometimes it just didn’t pay to jump to conclusions.

  There were three lamps in the living room and dining area, and he checked each one, finding them in perfect working order. Until she emerged from the bathroom there wasn’t much more that he could do, so he dropped down on the couch to wait, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

  He glanced at the door again. He hadn’t expected to like her, and he still wasn’t sure that he did. But you had to appreciate someone who laughed like that.

  In the bathroom, Aunie lectured herself sternly about the perils of hysteria as she used the facilities, but it was difficult to give it the serious attention it deserved when she was still snickering. She splashed frigid water over her face until she got herself under control, then raised her dripping face to stare at her reflection in the mirror. She supposed she should be embarrassed about acting like such an idiot in front of him, of all people, but the truth was it had felt good. She hadn’t laughed like that in … she couldn’t remember how long. It had been years, though. She ran a brush through her hair, slapped on a dash of lip gloss, and left the bathroom to rejoin James in the living room.

  When he tilted his head against the back of the couch to look up at her, she had to bite her lip to keep from sniggering; but the worst of her uncontrollable laughter seemed to have passed, thank God.

  “So, tell me,” he said coolly, recalling that it was best to keep this woman at arm’s length. “Can I assume by your reaction that y’ think my Halloween effort is moderately amusing?”

  “It’s never smart to assume anything,” she replied crisply, stung at his sudden change of attitude. Now she felt foolish and she experienced a flash of resentment that he’d apparently gone out of his way to dampen the first good laugh she’d had in much, much too long. “I was merely being polite.”

  He laughed incredulously. “Polite? Honey, this is polite.” He demonstrated a sickly simper. “Crawling down the hallway laughi
n’ your head off is amused.”

  “Have it your way, James. I’ll concede I was a little bit amused.” Why was he being so nasty? She had actually felt comfortable with him for about five minutes there.

  “Well, well, well. You finally said my name.”

  “Ah beg your pardon?”

  “You said James. You’ve never called me anything but Mistah Rydah before now. … We must be makin’ strides. Why, before you know it, we’ll probably be all the way up to casual acquaintances.”

  She gave him a slow once-over. “Well, I don’t know. I do have my standards, you know.” She didn’t mean it to come out quite as snooty-sounding as it did, but she excused herself with the knowledge that she was merely responding to his inexplicable attitude. “Would you mind getting your feet off my coffee table?”

  He dropped his feet to the floor and stood up. Jesus, but she could make him feel like a clod. “Show me the lamp that needs fixing.”

  “It’s in the bedroom.” He followed her down the hall but stopped dead just inside the doorway.

  “Great bed,” he remarked, and this time his tone wasn’t sarcastic. The bed was large and covered by a beautiful burgundy satin-and-ecru lace coverlet, but the head- and footboards were its crowning glory. The headboard was tall, made of solid rattan, and the footboard was only slightly shorter. Both curved gently and had rounded edges of intricate weave and subtle shadings.

  “Isn’t it gorgeous?” Aunie ran an affectionate hand over the headboard. “It was my divorce present to myself. This is the problem lamp,” she said, indicating the small Tiffany creation on her nightstand. “It worked fine last night, but this morning it was dead.”

  He sat on the side of the bed, picked up the delicately crafted lamp, and inspected it. “Hit the overhead, will you? I can’t see.” She did as he requested. “Problem continued when you changed the bulb, I take it?”

  “What?”

  He raised his head and stared at her. “Aunie, you did change the light bulb, didn’t you?”

  If the floor could have opened at that moment and swallowed her up, she would have welcomed it. Tears of mortification filled her eyes. Would she never have the brains to do the most basic tasks?

  James’s knowing grin disappeared at the sight of the tears swimming in her lower lids, making her brown eyes—large before—appear enormous. Christ, she didn’t know the simplest things, but still … “Don’t cry!” he commanded roughly. “Everyone fu … er, messes up occasionally. We all make mistakes; you’re old enough to know that.” He hotly resented the strange rush of protectiveness he experienced.

  “Not brainless ones like this,” she retorted unhappily. “Anybody with the least bit of intelligence would have thought to check the bulb first. But not me, boy; it never even occurred to me. I’m totally useless.”

  “Bull. You sand a mean wall, and nobody who can hum while she’s sanding plaster is totally useless.”

  Aunie brightened. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You bet.”

  She smiled at him. “I take back every rotten thing I ever thought about you, James Ryder. You’re a nice man.”

  “Yeah, I’m a prince. I’m only amazed you could’ve thought anything rotten about me in the first place.” All right, Ryder, his mind whispered, you’ve done your good deed for the day. Time to get the hell out of here. He looked away and for the first time since entering the room, noticed the photographs on the walls. His jaw dropped. “Holy shit.”

  There were eight of them, framed black-and-white photographs of men in various stages of undress. Men with dark hair and men with light hair, two black men and an Oriental, each showcasing a different portion of their anatomy: chests, stomachs, backs, buns, shoulders or legs. James inspected them, then turned to Aunie, raising an eyebrow. “Beefcake?” Somehow, he wouldn’t have pegged her as the type to have all that male pulchritude gracing her bedroom walls.

  “My fantasy boys.” She laughed at the expression on his face. “Okay, I admit it: I’m going through a delayed adolescence. Mama raised me to be a perfect little lady, and posters of movie or rock stars on my bedroom walls were not quite the thing. I went from high school to a year of finishing school to marriage to an older man to divorce. Now I’m catchin’ up on all the stuff I never got to do as a teenager. I’m wearin’ jeans instead of designer dresses, runnin’ shoes instead of heels, going to college instead of A-list functions, and collecting pictures of pretty, almost-naked men. When I work up the nerve, I’m even gonna have a red-hot affair … providin’ I can find someone promisin’ to have it with.” She bit her lip in sudden self-consciousness, hardly believing she was telling him this stuff. This was the man who didn’t even want her living here.

  Mentally, she shrugged. Well, if he didn’t like what he was hearing he knew where the door was. She had made a vow to herself that she would never again arrange her life to suit someone else’s idea of propriety. She glanced at him speculatively from beneath her lashes and decided that with his street-wise looks and given those eyes of his and the way he’d opened the door to her only half-dressed, he probably wasn’t the type to be shocked by anything she had to say anyway. “I bet you’ve had some red-hot affairs, huh?”

  Christ. He looked at her standing there looking too fragile to handle a really hot kiss, let alone a session of down and dirty rough sex. She was the type you’d have to be real slow and careful with … the type he had always assiduously avoided. “No,” James said shortly. “No affairs. I’m not big on commitment.” He stressed that, just in case she had any thoughts of practicing on him. To his irritation, he could feel himself growing half hard at the thought. Knee-jerk reaction, he decided and said bluntly, “I’ve had some great sex in the one-night-stand department, though.” There. That oughta turn her off.

  She merely raised one dark eyebrow and gave him half a smile. “Lucky you,” she said with total sincerity. “I haven’t had great sex, period. I’ve never advanced beyond mediocre.” Her eyes closed and she smiled dreamily. “I want passion.” Her eyes shot open and met his as her face suffused with a sudden influx of blood. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

  “That makes two of us,” James muttered.

  “It’s just that … well, you look like you’d know about these sorta things.”

  “Listen, don’t go getting any…” James hesitated, not quite sure how to put this without sounding overbearingly conceited. Then he plunged ahead. Better to sound vain than have a future misunderstanding. The fact was they did have to live in the same building and the less friction between them the better. “Don’t go getting any ideas about including me in your plans, okay? You’re not my type, and I don’t mess with novices.”

  “Who asked you to?” Aunie asked with an affronted dignity that made James feel about two feet tall. So what if she’d thought for maybe three seconds that he’d make a splendid teacher? She knew he was out of her league.

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said what I said,” she told him in a stiff little voice, “but I wasn’t fishing for an offer to be sexually coached, so you can relax. Nor am I harboring any secret designs on your body, and believe me, I’m not looking to trap any man. In fact, the only thing you and I most likely have in common, Mister Ryder, is a deep-seated desire to avoid commitment.”

  Something in her expression made James remember the vicious abuse that had been done to her face, and for the first time, he really wondered about it. What kind of a man could apply his fists to that face? But then she gave him a polite, social smile and he let it slip away, sure he didn’t want to know anyway.

  “Forget what I said about wanting an affair, okay?” she requested in a cool little voice. “It was a stupid thing to blurt out to a man I barely know.” She laughed suddenly, a deep, rich sound. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to have a serious conversation with a person who has an ax sticking out of his head?”

  He grinned at her cockily and tipped an eyebrow again, making the hatchet move.

&nbs
p; Someone pounded on the door and Aunie jumped. “You expecting someone?” James asked.

  “No.” Her eyes were huge as she returned his look. “Except for Otis and Lola, I don’t really know anyone in this town; I haven’t lived here long enough to meet very many people.”

  James noted her sudden tension. He also noticed when she casually palmed a small, sharp pair of scissors off the nightstand and slipped them into her back pocket. Frowning, he stuck close to her as he followed her out into the living room.

  She opened her front door cautiously. There was a large man standing on her threshold, scratching his head as he looked down at her. He looked vaguely menacing, with his unkempt hair in need of a cut, his huge barrel chest and stomach. He was wearing a pair of threadbare jeans that sagged in the seat, an old, stretched-out, no-color T-shirt with a faded Harley Davidson logo on the chest, and a ratty denim vest. There was a tattoo of a rose-entwined dagger on his forearm. He looked vaguely familiar, but she was certain they’d never met. Perhaps it was only that he reminded her of pictures she had seen of members of the Hell’s Angels motorcycle gang. She looked up at him uncertainly. “May I help you?”

  “Jimmy here?” He had a surprisingly melodious voice. “Otis’s old lady said he might be.”

  “My brother,” James informed her without enthusiasm when she glanced at him over her shoulder.

  Of course, that was where she’d seen the man before—going into James’s apartment. She opened the door fully, smiling up at him. “Come in.”

  “Thanks.” He lumbered through the doorway. “I’m Bob. Hey, Jimmy.” He stared at the hatchet in his brother’s forehead. “Gawd Almighty, boy, ain’t you ever gonna grow up?”

  “No,” James replied shortly. Hell of a question, he thought sourly, from a guy who—unless he missed his guess—was here either to borrow money or have his younger brother help untangle him from the latest mess he’d gotten himself into. “Aunie, this is my brother Bob. Bobby, Aunie Franklin.”