Irresistible Knight

by Tierney O'Malley

  Taylor stared at his hand, almost twice the size of her own. She debated whether to tell him her name or not. What if Jean had already issued an APB on her? But then he might not. After all, she was Jean's secret daughter only the select few knew about.

  “Not used to shaking people's hand or you don't know how.”

  Taylor scrunched up her nose. “Of course I know how.” She just didn't like shaking men's hand, especially those that frequented Jean's office, and she never failed to let them know that. Her disgust for those men always seeking company of young women showed each time she faced them. Jean might have kept her like a prisoner in her own home, but he failed to keep her from voicing her opinion. Considering they weren't in Jean's living room, she decided to keep her thoughts about men to herself. “Sorry. I'm just not used to meeting a tall man with big ... boots.” God, what a lame excuse.

  “Six-two is not freakishly tall.”

  Taylor shook his hand and gave him the name only her mother used to call her. “Teejay.” The name was real. Her mother used to call her that. Short for Taylor Jean. A nickname that went to the grave with her mother.

  “Please to meet you, Teejay. By the way, the woman you met isn't my wife. She's my sister in-law Julie.”

  “Uh-huh. And I'm supposed to believe you, why?”

  “Because I'm telling the truth. I could call her if you want.”

  “Not necessary. Well, nice meeting you, Bors. As much as I'd love to chat, I can't. Have to go. Busy.” Taylor punctuated her last word with a nod. What a lie. But she wasn't here to meet drop dead gorgeous men. She met his stare and felt the urge to smile. Why? Perhaps the same reason why the receptionist blushed to the roots of her hair. Because he was a single and sinfully sexy man?

  “That's it?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Aren't you a bit intrigued why I followed you?”

  “No. But since you asked, maybe you want to apologize for being a knuckle head?”

  Bors grinned. A devilish look came into his eyes. “That's close.”

  “Why don't you just tell me?”

  “I thought maybe you need some assistance.”

  “Ah, so you're a knight in dirty armor trying to save a damsel—”

  “Without shoes.”

  “Thus the reason why I am crossing the street.”

  “Well, you can't.”

  “Just watch me.”

  “Can't let you cross the street.”

  “Nice meeting you, Bors. I have to go.” She turned so quickly that her ankle buckled beneath her. Taylor would have landed on the ground if Bors hadn't reached for her waist to stop her fall.

  “Easy, babe.”

  “Oh, God. My foot is dead.”

  “Hang on to your case.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “If you don't want to ride in my car, I'll give you a ride.”

  “What? What?”

  “I heard you the first time.”

  Taylor's mind focused on Bors's strong hold on her waist, she missed his intention. Before she realized what was happening, the world shifted and turned. “Put me down. Are you crazy?”

  “I must be,” he mumbled, but Taylor heard him.

  Bors's arms felt strong against her back and thighs. Not knowing what to do with her other arm, she wrapped it around his neck. He smelled like garbage that sat in the can for a week. But she thought it wasn't a good time to remind him of that fact. After all, he was trying to be heroic. “Why did your sister-in-law think a woman hurt you?” Taylor pointed at the cut that must have hurt like crazy.

  “She knows I would never let any man do this to me without killing him.”

  “Do you always pretend she's your wife?”

  “Not all the time. Only if I want to keep beautiful women from fawning all over me.”

  “You could wear a wedding ring.”

  “Well, I didn't say I don't want them near me all the time.”

  “You're a profligate, you know that?”

  “Wow. Big word, baby.”

  “Debauched, promiscuous. Ring a bell?” Taylor shook her head. The only man she knew with such a big ego was Jean, but he wasn't nearly as handsome as Bors.

  “Now you're speaking English. Well, hard not to be a Don Juan.”

  She wondered how often he'd let women near him. Perhaps as often as he changed his underwear. “Do you get hurt a lot?”

  “That's what my mom told me. Especially when I was a kid.”

  “You're not a kid anymore and you still get hurt.”

  “Once in a while. Just part of my job.”

  “What do you do? Not a boxer, I hope. You're too pretty to be one, you know.”

  “I'm not a boxer. And what the hell do you mean I'm pretty?”

  “Forget I said it. You know, when someone gives you a compliment, you're supposed to say thank you and not scowl.”

  “Baby, you just insulted me by saying I'm pretty.”

  “I guess trolls are not pretty.”

  Bors replied with a snort. Taylor decided to keep quiet and watched where they were going instead. His stride didn't break until they were inside Tweed's Pharmacy in the middle of the shoes isle.

  “Here we go. I'll get someone to help you.” He put her down. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Here.” With a slight nod, he motioned her to the stool, probably for patrons to sit on when trying on a shoe. When she didn't move quickly enough, he put a slight pressure on her shoulders. “Just sit here and I'll call someone.”

  “Wait! I can manage. You don't need—” Taylor found herself talking to Bors's back. He left the aisle in a hurry without looking back. “To bother.”

  She sighed. What was up with this man? Did she really look like a hapless woman to him or were the words helpless invalid tattooed on her forehead and she didn't know? When she picked Orcas to hide from Jean, she hoped to remain in the shadows. How was she going to accomplish that if a fierce looking warrior was following her?

  Taylor put her violin case down beside her and scanned the rows of mostly white shoes. The kind nurses would wear in a clinic or hospitals. She spotted a Dr. Scholls walking shoes for women on sale for thirty-nine ninety-five. Sheez, she might as well get three pairs. Yup, she'd get that pair. In all her life, she never owned a pair of shoes that cost lower than fifty bucks.

  “Miss?”

  Taylor snapped to attention. Heart in her throat, she looked at the man in a white scrub. He was smiling at her. God, she thought it was Jean's man calling her. Jean's henchmen called her Miss Taylor, but most times just simply miss.

  “Sorry I scared you.”

  “Oh, no. Not at all.” Taylor smiled back at the man with brilliant black button eyes, graying hair, and a round middle his smock couldn't conceal. Right away, Taylor liked him. His nametag told her his name was Dan, the head pharmacist.

  “Bors told me to come and see you.”

  “He did? I told him not to. I am fine really. No need to fuss over me.”

  “He told me you'll refuse my services. The name is Dan, by the way. I'm the head pharmacist here.”

  “Hi, Dan.” She didn't want to return the pleasantries, but then it wasn't in her nature to be rude. “I'm Teejay.”

  Dan smiled, shaking his head. “Nice name.” “So how did this happen?”

  I'm in a hurry to get in the taxi. Ran on cobbled street and broke my heel, then twisted my ankle. No wonder the Romans wore leather sandals and not heeled shoes. “I broke the heel of my shoe.”

  “Will you let me take a look?” Dan placed a small plastic storage container he carried on the floor. “You can scream anytime.”

  “I don't have to wait until I feel the pain?”

  Dan laughed, then sat on his haunches. Handling her foot in a gingerly way, he began examining it. Though Dan's hands were gentle and warm against her skin, he didn't evoke the same reaction as when Bors had touched her. Her heart didn't flutter wildly in her chest. The tingling from some
where deep in her stomach that traveled along her spine giving her goosefleshes was missing. With Dan's touch, there wasn't electricity present at all.

  Lord, I must be going nuts thinking about electricity and tingles right now.

  Yeah, she should focus. There were important things she must take care of right now. Nodding to herself, she paid attention to what Dan was doing. Two seconds later, her mind went back to the Bors. Was he gone? He just handed her to Dan and then took off without saying goodbye? Why, drat him. He should have at least told her if he weren't coming back. She must say thank you to him. It was only right. Now she owed him a thank you.

  “Where is Bors?”

  “He went back to the clinic.” Dan didn't look up when he replied.

  So that was it then, she thought. He was gone. Good. No, great. She wanted him gone. Yup, she couldn't care less if she wouldn't see him again. Taylor sighed, hearing the falseness in her own thoughts.

  “Well, good news. You suffered a minor sprain, which means you stretched your ligament just a bit. Not bad. That's why you can still put pressure on it and walk without crutches. No jogging or jumping for now though.”

  “What's the bad news?”

  “You will need to wear this wrap. It will provide ankle support.”

  “Well that's not bad.”

  “And I suggest you wear these flip-flops. Not fancy, but they sure looked comfortable. No shoes for a while. At least until your ankle is not tender anymore.”

  “Couldn't I wear shoes with the wrap on?”

  “You could, but removing and putting your shoes on is such a hassle and could be painful. I'll say that maybe tomorrow the soreness would be less. Okay, let me wrap this around your ankle and you are good to go.”

  “Well, the pain is kind of less now than earlier.”

  “Some people can't tolerate pain. Others, like the athletes, a broken nose and fingers doesn't bother them. They could go on playing until they really hurt themselves so badly they couldn't play anymore.”

  “So, you're saying I'm a baby.”

  Dan laughed. “No. Sensitive. Did you play sports in high school or T-Ball when you were a kid?”

  “No.” How could I? I'm never allowed to go anywhere.

  “No sports at all?”

  “Nope.”

  “Can you catch a ball?”

  “Maybe if I use a net as big as the moon.”

  Dan smiled and shook his head. “I bet you're good at something. Like playing an instrument?” He glanced at her violin case.

  “I play the violin.”

  “There you go. Me, I'm good at wrapping bandages.” He began wrapping the brace around her ankle. He overlapped the elastic wrap by one-half of the width of the wrap. The wrap felt snug and kind of warm. It covered her toes all the way up to the top calf muscle. Taylor watched the whole process. If ever she sprained another ankle, at least she would know what to do.

  “That should do it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dan helped her put the black t-strapped rubber-soled sandals on. It felt comfortable and fit her perfectly. “Wow. You got me the right size.”

  “Bors picked these.”

  Taylor was about to ask how Bors knew her size when she remembered the high heels she left on the clinic's driveway. She looked down at her slippers. Bors picked them. Wow. Aside from her mother, no one ever picked something for her. Not even Jean. Instead of going to the mall, he would always ask her what she wanted for her birthday, Christmas, or Valentine's day. Whatever answer she gave him, he would pass it along to his secretary.

  But Bors ... nice. The price tag showed the flip-flops were on sale. Three dollars and ninety-nine cents. Okay, cheap sandals, but it was the thought that counted. The Dani Jeweled T-Strap sandals she ordered through Zappos dot com had cost her a hundred and five dollars and it, too, was on sale. Expensive, yes. However, it didn't give her this, this ... thrilled feeling when she bought it, unlike these sandals. Oh, well, maybe I'm making something out of nothing here. She wasn't used to receiving kindness from other people so she must be overacting.

  She wiggled her toes, feeling the soft rubber sandals and thought about the life of luxury she left behind. No more living the cushioned life that Jean had provided her. And she wouldn't dare go back even if she lived in a shoe.

  But for her mother's life, she wouldn't taste luxury. It all started the day after she witnessed her mother tumble off the balcony and land ten floors below to break every bone in her body. Jean began showering her with gift offerings every teenager could ask for. Except for one thing—freedom.

  She knew why Jean treated her like a princess. It was a bribe—for her silence and cooperation to stay in the shadows. To keep the world from finding out that Congressman Jean had an illegitimate daughter whose mother jumped off the balcony to end her misery.

  In all honesty, she enjoyed the extravagant living, although she only had Maud, her nanny to share the joy of it. Once she told Maud that she shouldn't find happiness from the wealth that surrounded her. Maud scoffed and told her to enjoy her life while she could. In fact, Maud said that she should milk Jean and take the money for herself. It was a way to make him pay for what he'd done to her mother—driving her to booze, drugs, insanity, and eventually death. She jumped at the idea and whenever she got the chance, started using the debit and credit cards Jean gave her. She became a top donor for Seattle Symphony, PAWS, Seattle Children's Hospital, and schools. Anonymously, of course, but it was her way of sending the money back to the taxpayers. Money was no problem to Jean and to her as well. But despite her easy access to Jean's money, she never put money under her name. Every penny Jean saved in the bank was dirty and she couldn't stomach associating her name with it. If her mother was alive though, she bet she wouldn't hesitate to use Jean's money. Not to enjoy spending it without care, but to irritate Jean. A flash of sadness stabbed at her heart at the memory of her mother.

  “If you don't like the color or style, you could look at the other ones. Bors thought you'd like black.”

  Taylor smiled at Dan. “I like these.”

  “Good. So do you still want to look for running shoes?”

  “No.” She'd have no use for them now. “Thank you, Dan. I'll go and pay for the wrap and these.” She looked down at her feet, then wiggled her toes. “You're right. They're comfy.”

  “Okay. If you need anything, I'll be at the pharmacy. Go to aisle three and you'll see it at the end. You'll manage from here?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” With her violin case in hand and her purse slung over her shoulder, she hobbled toward the direction Dan pointed. I lingered here long enough.

  Taylor didn't have to wait in line. The cashier, who smiled brightly at her, rang the items. Taylor handed her the debit Master Card. God, what would she do without her plastic? One look at it, anyone could tell it had been swiped many times. It was a wonder the scanner could still read the bar code considering how often she used the thing. But she shouldn't depend on Jean's funds. Once she found her footing, she'd find a way to make a living. Start teaching music, or work as a music teacher or something. Anything. It was time she earned her own money. Besides, as soon as she and Jean reached an agreement, she bet he'd cut her loose and that would mean breaking away from her plastic.

  “It didn't work.” The petite cashier said. “Sorry.”

  I spoke too soon. “Could you swipe it again?”

  “Sure. I could enter the card number manually, too. Let's see here. By the way, I like your tan. What kind of tan lotion do you use?”

  Taylor should feel insulted, but she didn't. The cashier had no way of knowing that her vanity only goes as far as whitening her teeth and keeping her waistline smaller. Her skin that held a summer glow, however, was a gift that she inherited from her mother's genes. She smiled at the cashier before taking in her sugar white skin, debating whether to tell the truth and embarrass her for making a wrong assumption, or pretend that she really used a tan lotion and send her running to
the store. What a dilemma. Perhaps she could evade the question and give her ideas instead. She'd read about Designer Skin products. Expensive and available only online.

  “Have you heard of a Designer Skin body wash? You can get it online.”

  “Is it expensive?”

  “Fifty and over, I think. You have to sign up and create an account to see the prices.”

  “Must be really pricey if you can't see the prices. Oh,” the cashier's face fell as she looked at the register's screen.

  “What's wrong?”

  “Inactivated.”

  “Inactive what?”

  “Your card. It's red flagged, which means the card maybe stolen or you're out of money. It says, call the bank if you have questions. Do you have another one?”

  How could it be? Last time she checked, there had to be about seventy-five thousand in that account. Taylor swallowed. Good God. Could Jean have anything to do with this? Did he call the bank? If yes, what lies did he say to them. No, no, no. This can't be happening. It's too soon. I still need my plastic.

  “I'm sure it was just a glitch. Washington Mutual is now Chase. I bet the change has to do with that.”

  “Oh, yeah. I heard people complain about that. So no other cards? Do you have another one? Credit card?”

  “Yes.” She opened her wallet, pulled out her Visa debit card, then handed it to the cashier. “I think this one will work. It's also a debit card.”

  “Okay. Banks and credit card companies are really slick now. They could trace every single transaction in and outside the country. I tell you, as soon as I swipe this card, they'll know—”

  Taylor snatched the card back. “Never mind then. I think I have cash.” I am one stupid person. Why didn't she think about this before running away? Man had already landed on the moon. Computers were invented. Of course, Jean could trace her and learn her every freaking, single move.

  She dug in her purse for cash. Oh my God, oh my God! Pennies and Tic-tac? She checked the pockets where she stuffed her receipts. No luck. She remembered giving all of her cash to the cab driver. Blood began to pound in her ears.

  I'm screwed.

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