by Nicole Snow
Two choices: I can either kick, bite, and scratch with everything I've got, or I can scream bloody murder and hope one of the fellow sardines packed into this metal box will actually help me.
“What'sa matter, baby? You a fighter? My boys like that,” he rumbles, studying my eyes, drunker than I thought. “Don't fret. Don't move. Just listen. Stick with me just a little while longer, girlie, and I'll help you find your way to the perfect –“
“Love! I've been looking all over for you,” another male voice interrupts.
An arm crashes into the bastard whispering weird threats in my ear a second later, knocking him through the crowd. Several people curse and grumble. My perv is gone, replaced by the handsomest six and a half feet of masculinity I've ever seen packed into a suit, a tie, and a long dark jacket.
Eyes as bright and blue as oceans engulf me, set in a determined face with a jaw that looks like it could break fists. Mr. Strange and Sexy replaces the creeper's hand on my wrist with his own, and leads me through the crowd, leaning into my ear with his lips.
“Play along. I caught him eyeing you the second you stepped on,” he whispers. “Follow me. We've got to put some space between us and that man.”
Tingles rush up my back. There's certainty in his voice, like he knows a lot more than I do, and none of it's good. He lays his free hand gently on my back, and doesn't take it off until he has me settled in the only free seat in this car. He stands next to me, hanging onto the pole. He's smiling down at me with his strong jaw and brash blue eyes, utterly unaffected by the restless crowd around us as the train jerks away from its latest stop and resumes its journey.
I don't know whether to breathe, or start sweating all over again. There's no time to decide. I'm paralyzed an instant later, when I hear the familiar slurred voice ring out behind my hero.
“What's your problem, buddy? Butting in like you've got some business with her? Don't think you got any goddamn clue who you're dealing with, and you don't wanna find out.” His voice drops another octave with every sentence, evil and furious.
Oh, no. I grip the stranger's hand tighter, begging with my eyes. Please. Don't let go.
I'll handle this. That's what his eyes say to mine, before he turns to face the perv, speaks a few words, and pats a spot on his hip barely covered by the end of his jacket.
My heart won't stop pounding. I'm afraid because the creeper keeps coming, growling words in the stranger's face, so persistent on a train this crowded.
Who are we dealing with? I don't want to find out. I just want him gone.
An announcement comes through the speaker and a couple next to us squeeze by, laughing loudly. I can't hear a thing between the two men. My savior says something, and it must be big, because the older man's eyes go wide. Creeper does a quick turn, barreling through several people toward the door, who give him dirty looks the whole way.
We don't say anything until the train slows at its next stop. His suit feels so soft beneath my fingertips. The sheer quality hits me through my frightened haze.
I have about sixty seconds to wonder what a man like him is doing here, when he looks like he could easily have his own driver.
His suit has more stitches than the ones the partners at the firm wear, and they're millionaires. The man underneath is even better. He's seductively tall, built, and refined. Strength and sophistication brought together in one Adonis. My eyes go to his like magnets when he looks at me again, and he gives me a reassuring nod.
“He's gone.”
I look down, heat flushing my cheeks, ashamed of the sudden attraction I'm fighting. I should just be glad for his kindness, and get ready to go. “Good thing you were here. I didn't like the way he moved on me. Did you really tell him you had a...”
I stop myself, look around, and whisper the last word low underneath my breath. “A gun?”
The stranger smiles. He reaches into his pocket, plucks out a fancy new phone in a leather case that looks like it's lined with honest-to-God platinum trim. Smiling, he holds it up, and taps the screen.
“Worse. I've got a reputation. The man was probably mafia, just so you know. It's satisfying when they run like the bitches they are.”
“Mafia?!” I say it too loudly, and I feel several eyes on me. I'm covering my mouth as more red shame brushes my cheeks.
Strange and Sexy looks up, freezing my eyes in his stark blue stare. “You were about ten seconds from having a syringe stabbed in your thigh so you could be dragged off to the highest bidder. I told him he'd back the hell off my wife, or he'd be seeing the sheriff with a few broken bones. Didn't have to say much to make him believe me. He took off as soon as I said my name.”
Mafia? Sheriff? His name?
Who the hell am I dealing with? I'm reeling so hard, I can't force the question out.
It's just as well. He's looking at his phone, firing off a text message to someone, which dings a second later.
“Is that your wife?” I ask. “The real one, I mean?”
He smirks, looking up over his phone. “I'm blissfully unmarried. Not looking to settle down anytime soon, as a matter of fact. I'm a very busy man.”
Yes, of course he is. His jackass streak is starting to show through his five thousand dollar suit. I don't know whether to be relieved or irked he hasn't suggested I owe him yet for helping me out with some lewd remark.
Then again, if he's really as rich and powerful as he looks, he probably has his pick of high class women lined up each and every night. I hate that I'm wearing my cheapest work dress, grey and black, boring as the office itself. Plus the stupid bandage from my blood test at the clinic is still stuck to my arm.
“What do you do?” I ask, wondering if I'll regret making this small talk.
“Real estate. I'm on my way to a board meeting in the 'burbs right now. Can't beat the train for cutting through rush hour.” He ignores me again, tapping away at his phone.
I have to clear my throat before he looks up again, bathing me in those bright blue eyes. “Funny, you look like you're a few years older than me, but it seems like you can't put that thing down. What's so important? Hot Tinder match?”
I've pegged him in his late twenties, at least. His eyes meet mine, more amused than before, and his kissable lips turn up at my challenge. “Business, love. I'm not done until around midnight most days, but this makes it easier. Thank God for technology, right? There's plenty of time over my late night snack to talk to the next girl I'm going to bang.”
Eye roll time. I remember he's saved my life, though, and hold my sarcasm in check.
“It must get exhausting,” I say, letting my eyes sweep down his massive chest.
Sweet Jesus, that body. It looks like he could hold up his Tinder dates along with half the world on his washboard frame, without breaking a sweat.
My mind goes places it shouldn't. Places off limits. I'm forced to imagine planting my hands on his tree trunk chest, underneath his princely exterior, and riding the patronizing smirk off his lips with everything my hips are worth.
“You get used to it,” he says, narrowing his eyes. He holds out his phone. “Here, I'll let you hold this. Now, tell me all about what was on your mind when you almost wound up a missing person.”
The fun is over. Today's rotten news comes bounding back. I'm biting my tongue, hating he noticed how distracted I was.
Hating it even more that I have to think about the most tragic day of my life. Somehow, a future without kids and a broken heel doesn't seem half bad when I think about the terrible things that could've happened if the perv had done what Strange and Sexy warned me about.
“You know, it looks like you're a fan of keeping your business to yourself. I think I'll do the same.” It comes out more harsh than it should.
“Wow. I didn't mean to pry into your business if it's going to upset you,” he says, holding his hands up. “All right. Quick, let's play twenty questions on safe mode before our stops. Mine's coming up in about five minutes. Let's keep the foc
us on me.”
I don't want to ask him anything. I want to be done, but his firm, mysterious smile has a strange way of disarming me. Sighing, I fidget with his phone in my hands, my finger tracing its cool metal edge.
Holy shit, I think it really might be platinum. I look up, gazing into his eyes, wondering if I'm dealing with the President's nephew, or something.
“You said that man was mafia. How can you possibly know?”
“Told you I'm in real estate, city and 'burbs. Cockroaches are everywhere. Tough negotiators. Boys who hide their dirty money in legit businesses. It'd freak you out to know how far old money, blood, and crime gets you in my industry.” The look on his face says he's completely serious. “Don't worry. I'm not a criminal myself. These hands are squeaky clean.”
He holds them up again so I can see. They're refined, but thick and strong, just like the rest of him. Heat flares between my legs when I think about what they'd feel like all over me. After everything that's happened today, it's wrong on so many levels I can't even count them.
“And where do those hands go when they're not stuck to your phone?” I ask, digging my teeth gently into my lower lip, hoping he won't see.
Fine. If I'm going to lose my head to this silly crush, I might as well go all the way.
He doesn't answer right away. His smile grows wider, and he leans down, reaching above my ear. He pushes a loose lock of hair away so there's nothing blocking his whisper. “These hands are explorers, love. They've been places. Everywhere that makes desperate, redheaded angels like yourself scream.”
Holy hell.
“Desperate?” I'm taken aback, breathlessly forcing it out, failing miserably to hide my reaction. “What gives you that idea?”
He isn't wrong, but I can't fathom why. No man can read my mind. Or did I also put on a sticker that reads 'VIRGIN' in screaming neon caps sometime today? Like, sometime in between colliding with this sexy freak, and finding out any sex I have is probably going to be emotionally and biologically empty, despite waiting my whole life for the right package?
“You want me, love. You want it bad when you've just pulled yourself out of some seriously fucked up shit. If I wasn't on my way to a board meeting, for real, I'd get us a ride at the next stop, bring you back to my penthouse, and eat your pussy until that other heel you're wearing snaps like a twig.”
Oh.
Fuck.
I don't realize my eyes are closed until his hand slowly winds down my neck. When they're open, I'm looking into raw temptation. A man with a face and body offering to take away all my heinous problems for one night.
A man who won't disappoint. I know in every word, every glance, and every breath he delivers.
My fingers tighten on the strange phone still in my hands. “Should we swap numbers?”
“It's only proper when I've saved my damsel in distress, obviously.”
His arrogance doesn't put me off frantically digging through my purse, searching for mine. I don't trust that he isn't instantly going to delete anything I put into my phone the instant he's off this train.
I don't know this man. He could be toying with me. I've heard the way the partners talk about women when they think their doors are closed. The rich, boisterous, bragging talk involving their latest conquests – especially the poor, clueless girls half their ages, totally in the dark about getting fucked behind their wives' backs.
I realize I'm not thinking right now. I'm going to follow through on trading digits, but I need to mull this over. I'm looking for a happy distraction from my problems – not another big fat mistake. Not even a big, dark, and muscular one.
“You mentioned your name...” I say, ripping open my purse and pushing my phone into his hands with the contacts screen open.
“It's Hayden.” He types quickly, staring at the screen.
My lips purse. It's a fitting name, powerful and seductive. I'm amazed there's no lock screen on his phone, allowing me to go straight for the contacts.
“Oh, shit,” he mouths, handing my phone back to me. We share a look, and realize a second later the train is stopped. People bolt down the aisle, brushing past us.
“You've got my number. Sorry, love, I really have to run.” Before I can stop him, he reaches for the little black object laying on top of everything else in my purse.
As luck would have it, the one that isn't his phone.
Nope. He's got my personal diary.
“Hey!” I stand up, wobbling on my busted heel, panic crashing over me before I rush after.
There are too many people talking for him to hear me. He's already stuffed my little black notebook into his pocket, thinking it's his phone. And I'm left holding the speedy bastard's unit in what feels like a ten thousand dollar case.
He's gone.
I've just bought myself another problem. I'm gritting my teeth as I stumble around the seat, struggling to pick everything up I can reach, making sure I don't lose his phone.
I want to kick myself for jumping at the only good thing that's happened to me today, and causing more grief.
But kicking or jumping anything is out of the question. Not until I get myself another pair of shoes.
2
Ninety-Nine Problems (Hayden)
I'm halfway through my speech with the board before I realize my phone is gone.
Magically replaced with this little black book in my pocket, flush with a girl's curly purple script when I flip through it.
Two damned good reasons to freak. Number one, I've got nothing to do while the chair, Mr. Gavins, prattles on about the zoning restrictions I'm going to overturn as soon as I write him his next campaign check. Two, it's going to be complicated getting in touch with that hot, needy redhead I saved from an underground auction block.
My mind should be a hundred other places. But it's her I keep going back to while the men and women twice my age flap their gums, spewing self-importance.
I don't make a habit of picking up girls on trains. For her, I've made an exception.
Mysterious, Red, and Rocking causes my dick to swell in my trousers. A smile pulls at my lips when I think about how I've probably got her secrets tucked in my pocket, pressed against my thigh. Those pages certainly don't look like lists or recipes.
I never even learned her name.
Do I really need to? I told her mine, and that's enough. Gave her all she needs to scream when I drive in deep while she's bent over, my fist tangled in her hair, fucking one more orgasm into her that causes those mile long legs to shake something beautiful.
Call me a pig, a bastard, a player, I don't care. As long as you add pragmatic. Because that's exactly what I'm doing here – picturing myself having the hottest casual romp in a good, long while so it takes my mind off the shit storm brewing on the horizon.
“Mr. Shaw? Is there anything you'd like to add?” Gavins prods me from the head of the table, clearing his throat in a not-so-subtle move for praise and money.
I stand up tall, stretching my suit a little tighter. Right now, I don't give a damn if it hides the hard-on still raging in my pants. It'll be good for these money grubbing pricks to see it. Whatever it takes to remind them that if they think they can fuck me over while I seem vulnerable, I'll fuck back a hundred times harder.
“Nothing the board hasn't already considered.” I smile. “Let's be frank, we're both in this project because we want to make the newly renovated line leading into Chicago work like it should. The people deserve good transportation. That's what they elected you to do, and you've brought me in to make it happen.”
“They also elected us to be accountable with their hard earned money,” Gavins says, frowning because I haven't outright offered him a bribe yet. Greedy, impatient SOB. “I'm sure you mean to offer your usual support, along with your promises, but I trust I speak for the entire board when I say we're wondering if you can actually follow through this time. We're deeply concerned with your family situation, Mr. Shaw.”
Shit. There it is. R
ight between the eyes.
He just had to mention the one thing that would kill my wood, didn't he?
“There's nothing to worry about. It's my father's trust, Mr. Chairman, and my money. I still have the same resources I had yesterday. There's plenty to go around.”
The room goes quiet. Lucy, a forty-something senior member with a spray on tan trying to make her look like she's still in her twenties clears her throat. “We're not sure about that, Mr. Shaw. Are we dealing with you, Hayden, or is it Kayla, too? Whoever controls the funds is who's really signing off on the commitments you make.”
My hands turn into fists at the very mention of her name. I give them my fakest smile, straighten my tie, and sink back calmly into my seat. Ice runs through my veins. Good timing for a cool down. I'll tear the whole room apart if I let my fire take over.
“Nonsense.” Folding my hands, I look everybody on the county board straight in the eye, one at a time. “Your relationship with my father goes back decades, God rest his soul. Our families worked miracles together. We built whole towns from here to downtown. I get it, you're not sure what's going to happen with the legal wrangling coming up on my end. Maybe some of you think I'm too young, too inexperienced, too legally impotent to stop myself from getting robbed out of every penny my old man earned.”
As soon as my language turns coarser, they're not enjoying their little roast anymore. They can't even look at me as I reach into my pocket, pull out my check book, and start writing them the latest manifestation of the almighty dollar they worship.
Nobody looks up until I tear the first three checks off, and slide them down the table. “There's one coming for each and every one of you. Triple what my company sent you before as a show of good faith. Stick it in your campaign coffers, and let's talk business.”
Lucy and Gavins share a quiet look across the table. So do several others.
They're not fools. They know there's a good chance I'm calling their bluff. A few extra thousand to save their skins from the voters doesn't ensure I've got access to the millions it'll take to complete my projects down here.
