Ardent Strangers

by Samantha Kately

  Ardent strangers

  ~

  An Ardent Strangers novel

  Book one

  ~

  Samantha Kately

  Ardent Strangers. Copyright © 2018 by Samantha Kately. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Ardent Strangers series. Book One.

  eBook ISBN: —

  Paperback ISBN: 9781980770176

  Imprint: Independently published.

  Genres: Contemporary Romance/Women’s fiction/Romantic Suspense. 18+

  Cover designed by Lindsay Tiry - LT Arts

  Visit Samantha Kately at: samanthakately.com

  CONTENTS

  Angel in the headlights

  Legalities

  Original Star

  Chalk and Cheese

  The Demo

  The hotline that ruined my life

  Verdict

  Time Capsule

  Channel 3

  Past, present, future

  An invitation

  Haven

  Performance one

  Fan mail

  Performance two

  A new amendment

  Reprogramming

  The wish

  Welcome to the family

  Performance three

  Fallen Angel

  An unexpected visitor

  Thank you:

  About the Author:

  An important note:

  For my special ones…

  xo

  Angel in the headlights

  2:29 am. That’s the exact moment when my life changes forever, when my little hatchback drives up the empty bridge and streetlamps cast light upon one of the worst sights I’ve ever seen. I blink and blink again, but there it is—a figure rocking precariously on the edge of the bridge, the Melbourne city skyline behind it. Driving closer, I discover the figure is a man in a suit. He is lean and blond, and he is clutching a bottle as he stares down into the river below.

  “Please don’t jump,” I whisper to him. The phone shakes in my hand, and I’m lucky to hit the three zeroes that connect me through to emergency. I’m on autopilot as I describe the scenario to the operator, but when I hang up the only thing I remember saying is, “Hurry. Please hurry!”

  The lady’s instructions were to keep him talking, keep him there until help arrives, but as I slow the car part of me wants to keep on driving and let the authorities deal with it all. It’s been a hellish day and night of performing bridesmaid’s duties, stuck in a forest ceremony with vampiric leeches that left half the bridal party screaming. By day’s end, I stood in the Ladies bathroom, comforting a bride who cried at the disaster that was her wedding day. It’s probably why I’d drunk one too many drinks at the reception and had to endure the hour wait before I could get behind the wheel. Now this!

  Yep. I’m going to drive past him. I press my foot to the accelerator and surge forward, but something tugs in my heart—the loss I felt seven years ago.

  I couldn’t save them.

  I shake my head, but my mind dredges up images of two cars crumpled into each other, a block from my parents’ house. It was a cloudless day, and autumn leaves crackled beneath my feet as I rounded the corner and saw the aftermath of the accident. Neighbors stood on the sidewalk, some pulling a body from the wreckage. Blood drained from my face when I saw Mum being laid upon the grass, her body limp, blood streaking her skin and blotting her clothes. My father had been entangled in the metal. I never saw him. By the time the emergency officers had arrived I had been escorted away by neighbors. Now, whenever there’s an accident, I can’t look or slow as so many cars do. I keep on driving.

  I bang the steering wheel. I don’t want to look, or slow, or stop. I can’t. I just can’t.

  I refocus on the man up ahead, not that I’d ever really left him. It seems I care about him already, and although he doesn’t know I exist, in my mind it’s as if he’s purposely waiting for me, holding on that extra second.

  What if I say the wrong thing?

  What if he jumps?

  He might be dangerous.

  But I won’t be alone for long.

  I brake harder than I intend to. My car jams to a halt, letting out a screech. My cheeks heat, stupidly embarrassed by my driving, or perhaps it’s the full weight of what’s to come. Whichever it is, my abrupt arrival has made him turn. He looks straight into the headlights, his hand with the bottle shielding his eyes. I dim the lights, and as he looks to the windscreen in a stunned and drunken indifference it is I who am shocked.

  When I’d noticed him from afar, the suit had conjured images of some washed up corporate man at the end of his career, but not this, not someone a few years older than me. And the way he looks… If I described him to the girls at work, with his hair escaping from his barely-there ponytail and several days growth on his jaw, the description would paint him as feral, but damn if he isn’t the most heart-stopping man I’ve ever seen. It’s a ludicrous thought to be admiring him so, considering this has to be the most personal and desperate moment of his life. For the first time, I feel like an intruder. But he is staring at me, and now that I’ve made my presence known I’m compelled to leave the car.

  As my army boots hit the tar my door squeaks, amplifying the fact that the bridge is empty and I’m here, that it’s just him and me. I round the car and surround myself in the headlights—though, I have a feeling the headlights are almost swallowing me whole. Worse, I can’t think of a single thing to say.

  “Who sent you?” he shouts, his accent a blend of British and American. I flinch, but his voice continues like an interrogative whip, “Barnes? Randall? Hunt?”

  I shake my head and step back into the false security of the headlights. His eyes lock on mine, and I haven’t a hope of turning away. I’m trying very hard to find fault with him—physical faults anyway, because somewhere behind those accusing eyes are reasons as to why this man is depressed. Not that I will ever know those reasons. We’re strangers. And I can’t imagine why after this moment—if he chooses to live—that he’d ever want to see me again, if not to forget this entire experience.

  He examines me more closely, his gaze travelling over my face and the black hair blowing around my waist. Laughing loudly, he wobbles and snatches the rail. “No way. They actually sent an angel this time! Your aura is beautiful.”

  Angel? He must be utterly wasted if he believes my headlights are my aura. The good news is at least part of him wants to live—he did grab the rail. That’s the part I need to talk to.

  I step closer, just a sneaky step that he might not notice. I’m close enough that if I had to grab the back of his shirt I could lunge forward.

  His gaze narrows. “So, you’re here of your own volition?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re positive no one sent you?” he says.

  “No one sent me. I was driving, and I… I just saw you here. If you want the truth, I wanted to keep on driving, but I know me. I would kick myself every day for the rest of my life if I heard on the news that a man had jumped off this bridge and I did nothing to help him—help you.”

  His gaze narrows further. “Interesting.”

  “Why is that interesting?”

  “Many reasons.” He takes a swig of his bottl
e. “One: you stopped. That in itself says a lot about who you are. Two: there are quite a few people in this world interested in my whereabouts at all times, and not all of them with as positive motives as yours. And three: my keepers seem to be off their game tonight.” He smiles emptily. “I’ve finally outsmarted them. It just had to be on a day when I couldn’t care less.”

  My heart plummets, but I ignore his admission and lead with something easier. “Keepers? You sound like a pet. Wait. You’re not under house arrest or something?”

  “There are times when it feels like it. Ironically, I require their services and sign their cheques, but there are times when I can’t breathe.”

  “That’s why you’re here?”

  He gives me a wry smile, as if only his problems were that simple. “Yes, the air is particularly fresh up here. Another perk of sitting atop a rail, at great peril, no less.”

  “That’s not funny, considering…” I point to the rail and him, intimating what I’m unable to say.

  “Levity is better. Unless you’d prefer I cry in front of you?”

  “I wouldn’t mind.” If he did cry, maybe he’d trust me enough to get down from that rail.

  His eyes run over me, assessing whether I’m worth his time. I stand tall, doing my best not to shy away. But what’s truly weird is that I am dying for him to speak, to pass his assessment, whatever it might be.

  “Well, I would,” he says at last. “Given that you are the only good distraction here, I think it’s better if I don’t.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes.” He squints past the glare of the headlights, eyeing the slit of my camouflage printed gown and up to the line across my cleavage, then to my shoulder-strap where a big brown satin and tulle rose bulges like a tumor. Humiliating. I pat the commando rose, hoping to hide it from view.

  “What are you wearing?” his voice full of disbelief or fascination.

  “It happens to be a bridesmaid’s dress.” I grimace. “Commando theme.”

  He gives a loud laugh, but the sadness never leaves his eyes. He bends in my direction. “I imagine that you regret stopping for me now that I’ve put you on my pedestal. Don’t fret. I don’t expect you to help me.”

  “You should expect more then.”

  “I don’t need to be talked down. But I’m guessing you’re about to try, anyway.”

  “Yes.”

  “And how do you propose you’ll do that?”

  “I…” My mind spins a plan. I can see it all, the way I’ll grab him by the sleeve and drag him to my car. I’ll remove the keys from the ignition and tie him to the steering wheel so that he has no choice to wait until help arrives. I almost smile until I realize that I haven’t a thing to tie him up with. I look him over, at the rather athletic six-foot package. In truth, I’d have no chance in moving him at all. “Um…”

  He raises a brow. “Well?”

  “I…”

  “You don’t have a plan, do you, angel?”

  “I might. It’s just not perfect yet.”

  “Not to worry, neither am I. You can go now.” He turns back to the view of the bay and lifts the bottle to his lips. The clear liquor goes down fast. He wobbles and drops the bottle between his legs, watching it fall to the river below. I’m ready to have a heart attack as he teeters on the edge. He goes ridged, then peeks over his shoulder as if I’ve baffled him somehow. But as he turns back to the ship lights in the distance I’m almost certain there are tears in his eyes.

  Hell. I’m losing him. Or maybe I’ve already lost him. Maybe he’ll never turn around again. I want to scream at him to save himself, but I’m afraid I’ll lose him that way, too. The ambulance or the cops have to be arriving at any moment—and I need them. I’m no psychologist and this man clearly needs help, someone qualified to talk him down. Me? I have enough attitude to tell someone to back-off if a customer steps out of line at the café, but that’s as far as my bravado goes.

  This man, he’s in another category altogether, and exactly the type I try to avoid. He has that corporate confidence which is all alpha male. Admittedly, the bronze suit that looks as if it’s straight out of a Charles Dickens novel throws me a little, as does the pocket watch he pulls from his vest. He flips open the cover and checks the dial set against brass cogs. He snaps it shut with a flourish and tucks it back into his vest. It’s an unusual quirk, one that has me believing that real gentlemen could exist. Not that his demeanor has been particularly polite so far.

  “Will you at least tell me your name?” he asks, peering back at me.

  Do I want him to know my name? Then he could call me, find me. Men finding me is not always a good thing.

  Jeremy. I shudder. Just thinking of my ex-boyfriend’s name makes my skin crawl, but the man himself… So much worse.

  With a shrug, he turns from me and peers down. He feels more unpredictable than ever. As I inch closer to him, his voice is too quiet, “What do you think it would be like to fall?”

  “What?”

  “A peaceful contentment knowing the end is nigh, or a startling fear that it’s all over, that there’s no turning back?”

  “I…” I can’t answer. It’s too horrible to imagine.

  His hands shake and he slips forward a fraction; all of his concentration locked on the river below.

  “Stop!” I run and grab the back of his jacket. “Stop!”

  He grips the rail hard. “Why?”

  “Why?!” I shout, tears streaming everywhere. “Because I only just met you. Because I want the chance to know you, to know your story, not hear about your life at your funeral or read the few sentences about how you were loved and cherished. No. I want you to tell me. No one else. You!”

  “That’s not why I’m…” Shaking his head, he steadies himself back on the rail. “You can’t possibly care that much. We’ve known each other all of ten minutes.”

  “It might as well be a lifetime, because for some reason completely unknown to me, I do care. A lot.”

  He sighs. “You are making it very difficult for me not to like you.”

  “Yeah, right. But not enough to get down.”

  “If you knew why I was up here, why…” Eyes troubled, he turns back to the night. “I don’t even know your name.”

  I’m close to answering, but the wind is whistling quietly and my thoughts are turning at high speed. Earlier, this man was capable of smiles and witticisms. I thought he was beginning to trust me. He was about to tell me something important.

  I’m failing.

  But if I hadn’t stopped for him, in an alternate reality, this man might have already jumped over the edge.

  Dead.

  My gasp rings though the air as I picture him lying at the bottom of the drop, lying face down in the water, his hair floating like a halo around his head. When the neighbors had laid my mother on the sidewalk after the accident her black bob had spread over the ground like that. I’d crumpled down beside her and ran my fingers through her hair, trying to soothe her, even though deep down I knew there was no one left to soothe—except me. And I was inconsolable. That’s when they had ushered me away.

  “Hey,” his voice comes to me. “You’ve turned white.”

  I snap my eyes up to his, realizing they’d become unfocused. The wind is blowing his hair in new directions. I feel as pale as his hair. I think I’m going to faint. He is closer somehow, though I’ve not moved. Wait. For the first time, he is almost facing me completely.

  He clasps my elbow. “Are you alright?”

  I’m not fine, not one bit. But I nod anyway, remembering who really needs the help.

  “If telling me your name causes that reaction then I’m afraid to ask,” he says.

  “I’ll tell you, but only when you plant your feet on this side of the rail.”

  He looks down at the metal rail and the barrier attached below. His knuckles are white and bloodless from clutching it so long. “Nice try. But right now, it’s going to take a lot more than a name to get my f
eet back on the ground.”

  “Such as?”

  “Don’t look at me for suggestions. I have nothing.”

  “That’s depressing.”

  “My point exactly.” He nods, but I sense his walls coming back up.

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Yes. Call it a confession. And refreshingly, you have no idea who I am.”

  “In other words, I should know something…” I look him over, trying to recall him from a billboard or a magazine. Nothing clicks. “So, who you are?”

  “No. I like it this way…for the time being.”

  “That sounds like you’re willing to get down from that rail.”

  He eyes me carefully, as if I’ve got him cornered. “I’ve got no real reason, do I?”

  “I don’t believe you. There’s always hope.”

  He shakes his head. “Unless you know otherwise?”

  I cannot screw this up.

  He shifts unsteadily on the rail and I step closer, extending my arm within grabbing distance. He doesn’t seem to notice a thing as he re-establishes a new position on the rail, as if this has become the norm.

  “I could listen,” I say. “That’s what strangers are good for. Then you walk away a little less burdened, knowing that your secrets are safe because we’ll never see each other again.”

  His fingers drum the rail. “What if I want to see you again?”

  “Um…” He has to be playing me.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” he says, holding my stare. “Have dinner with me.”

  “You want to take me to dinner?”

  “Yes. Unless you’re already seeing somebody?”

  I shake my head. I just pray he asks nothing about my past. No way can I tell him that I’ve been single for seven months, that I’ve been scared to be with a man since.

  “Is that a yes to dinner?”

  I don’t know if I can do dinner. Not with him, not with anyone. But he is unpredictable enough to jump if I say no. “Well, we can’t go anywhere, not until you’re standing safely on the path beside me.” I point to a nice strip of concrete.