by JD Nixon
I laughed. “That’s not saying much!”
“With those big angelic eyes and that sweet face, I think you look very virginal. Especially in that outfit.” I was wearing a white skirt-suit and pale pink shirt buttoned chastely to the neck.
I laughed again. “You’re very flirty today, Heller. That’s not like you.”
He raised his eyebrows in astonishment. “No one’s ever accused me of being flirty before.”
“Probably because you’ve never had a female staff member before.”
“True. Not sure if my men would be very keen on flirty.”
“Probably not,” I smiled. “But I don’t mind it, now and then.”
He smiled back as he pulled into the carpark of our next appointment location. I was about to alight from the vehicle when he stopped me, pinning me with his intense eyes. He suddenly leaned across the vehicle towards me and slowly unbuttoned the top two fastenings of my shirt. The touch of his fingers on my skin made my pulse race. He hesitated on the third button, but pulled his hand away instead.
“It’s a male client,” he explained softly, holding my gaze. “I don’t want you looking too virginal.”
And of course he was right. It’s amazing what a flash of cleavage can do to a man because we won that job without even trying. On the way back to the vehicle, Heller slid his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. I grinned up at him happily, glad that he was pleased with me for once.
Sunday rolled around quickly and Rumbles dropped me at my parents’ house for lunch, screeching off hastily almost before I’d even shut the door. He must have heard of my mother’s reputation.
Mum and Dad have lived in the same modest but comfortable one-story brick house for the past forty years, since they were newlyweds. It was located in a solidly middle-class suburb and they’d brought up their three children there. I was the youngest at twenty-five; my brother Brian, the oldest, was thirty-eight; and my other brother, Sean, was thirty-six. I had been an unexpected surprise, a later-age baby, much loved but a bit of an inconvenience to everyone. Because of the gap between my brothers and me, I wasn’t particularly close to either of them. However, my parents were ten times as protective of me as they had been of my brothers, and I had grown up sheltered and cosseted, and probably a little spoilt.
My arrival was loudly announced by my mother’s little silky terrier, Puddles, who yipped with overexcited enthusiasm before I’d even reached the screen door. I had to rub and pet and fondle him for a good few minutes before I was allowed to progress any further.
Both my brothers were already at the house with their wives – Sean and his lovely wife, Elise, and Brian and his wife, Gayle, and their two daughters, aged six and four. I hugged and air-kissed the adults and tickled the rugrats. My mother fussed around me as if I’d been away for three years instead of the actual couple of months.
“You’ve changed so much,” she exclaimed in surprise. “Your hair’s so glossy. Look at your clothes! And you’ve lost so much weight!”
“Not that much,” I protested immediately.
Sean, a tall, good-looking personal trainer, squeezed my bicep. “The girl’s got some muscles now.”
“You better believe it, buddy.” I fisted my hands and got in a few hard jabs at his own well-muscled arms.
“And loads more attitude too, by the sound of it,” Gayle drawled unpleasantly. She was my least favourite family member, and in my mind compared unfavourably with the good-natured and soft-hearted Elise.
“I think you look absolutely radiant,” said Elise, smiling fondly. “Working at that place really agrees with you, Tilly. Tell us everything that you’ve been doing since you started. Security and surveillance sounds so exciting!”
I gave them a brief edited version and caught up on everyone else’s news. Then I helped Mum serve the lunch. It was the traditional roast lamb with full trimmings and a baked pudding with custard for dessert. It had been a while since I had eaten such food and I enjoyed every bite. And yes, I probably did have one or two glasses of wine too many. Some things never change.
Afterwards, I helped Dad with the washing up and we chatted about inconsequential things. He was retired now and his conversation was completely centred on golf, his garden, his club and the house. When that was done and dinner had settled a little, I played for a while with my nieces, giving them wild piggyback rides up and down the hallway, Puddles yipping excitedly at my heels the whole time. They were squealing with delight and Puddles was making a row when I heard the doorbell ring. I jogged over to the door and flung it open, a small child firmly attached to my back, her little arms virtually strangling me, Puddles trying to climb up my jeans for a cuddle. It was Heller. I’d forgotten he’d promised to pick me up. Puddles took one look at him and ran off to cower near Mum’s feet.
He stepped inside warily, taking in my flushed face, bare feet and wild hair. My little niece was screaming in my ear with joy, in that excruciating high-pitched squeal possessed only by little children that instantly ruptures all eardrums in a fifty-metre radius. He grimaced in pain while I was positive my hearing would never recover.
“More Aunty Tilly, more!” she insisted, kicking my sides brutally with her feet.
“Cara, you’re strangling me! Not so strong, sweetie!” I choked out as she tightened her grip around my neck. Heller gently plucked her off my back and placed her on the ground. She immediately ran off to her mother, poking her head out at him from behind Gayle’s knees, eyes huge.
He turned to me with a mocking half-smile. He looked immensely lickable today in a tight black, short-sleeved button-up shirt that accentuated his muscular arms and chest, his customary black jeans but with casual black sneakers.
“Hello, Aunty Tilly,” he said.
I scrunched my nose at him and led him into the living area. The effect he had on the room was electric. Everyone stopped what they were doing instantly and turned to stare at him. Either he didn’t notice, probably used to it after a lifetime of being gawked at, or he did notice but didn’t care, because he didn’t react at all with any discomfort at being the centre of attention.
I made the introductions casually. “Everyone, this is my boss, Heller. Heller, this is Mum, Dad, my brother Brian, his wife Gayle, my brother Sean and his wife Elise. You just met my niece Cara, and that little cutie over there is Libby. They both belong to Brian and Gayle.” I noticed the other family member. “And that is Puddles, Mum’s eternal puppy. And I’m sure you can imagine how he came by his name.”
Heller nodded briefly at everyone as I introduced them, even deigning to stoop for a moment to scratch Puddles on the head, the poor animal trembling at his touch before fleeing to parts unknown. I’d forgotten for a moment that he already knew everything about my family, remembering the very comprehensive dossier he’d compiled about me.
Mum jumped up from the lounge and rushed forward. “Welcome, Mr Heller. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Oh my!” she exclaimed, eyes drinking him in. “You’re so tall! And my goodness, look at those muscles! You must work out a lot, Mr Heller.”
I had a terrible feeling she was about to reach up and stroke his arm, captivated by his well-built body.
“Mum!” I reproved hastily. “Why don’t we make some coffee for us all? I’m sure Heller would love some coffee.” He gave me a look that I didn’t care to interpret, but I did not want to witness my mother hitting on my boss, especially in front of her family. It would be severely traumatising for all of us. I rushed Mum into the kitchen. “I’ll help you get everything ready.” And I abandoned Heller to the rest of my family like the coward I am, figuring he was big enough to look after himself.
In the kitchen, clattering cups, saucers, coffee pot, spoons, sugar, milk and biscuits together at warp speed as if she didn’t want to miss a second of Heller’s company, Mum commented repeatedly on how tall he was, how handsome he was, didn’t he have the bluest eyes and had I noticed his muscles? We carried everything into the living room and
set it up.
Heller was on the lounge, wedged between Dad, who was regaling him with an exceptionally tedious story about having security screens fitted to the windows, and Gayle, who was sitting closer than was normally considered polite between complete strangers, staring at him reverently. Elise was more circumspect, sitting on a nearby armchair, but I noticed that she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him either, her face flushed with excitement. Sean gave him polite, respectful attention, while Brian stared at Heller, sizing him up with an unfriendly look on his face, his arms crossed aggressively as he leaned against a wall.
Mum shooed Dad off the lounge and took his spot, pouring Heller coffee, disappointed that he took it black and unsugared, so she couldn’t serve him further. She tried to press a biscuit on him. He refused. She tried again. He refused again. She asked him if he was sure. He replied that he was.
And then she fired off a volley of questions at him, barely giving him a chance to sip his coffee. How long had he lived in the city, in the country, on the planet? What did his parents do, where did they live, how many siblings did he have, what did they do? What was his work history, did his business make money, was he financially secure? What was his first name, what did he mean he didn’t use a first name, was it David, Michael, Paul? Did he own his home, what was his star sign, his shoe size, did he have any tattoos or scars? Was he married, had he ever been married, had he ever considered getting married? Did he date, was he currently dating anybody, what kind of woman did he prefer to date? What did he think about children, did he hope to have children one day, how many children would he have, what would he call his children? Gayle sat sulkily by his side, unable to attract his attention.
He suffered through the bombardment with reasonable patience and good grace, eyes sliding in my direction on occasion. I admired the skilful and subtle way he managed to avoid answering most of the questions, easily diverting my mother with the few answers he did provide. But he was in a mischievous mood, choosing to only answer the questions that would get Mum buzzing the most.
He admitted that he’d never been married nor had any children and wasn’t even remotely interested in changing the status of either. Mum’s face fell immediately. He admitted that he only dated casually (which was a nice, polite way of him saying that he screwed around extensively) and her face fell even further. But then he offhandedly added that his ideal kind of woman to date seriously would be tall and slender, with long wavy dark hair, big brown eyes and good old-fashioned values. Mum’s eyes lit up with expectation and future wedding plans, and I shot him a look of pure poison. He winked at me. I didn’t wink back. He was going to cause me no end of trouble.
Mum asked him some more questions, but I think he was mesmerising her with his icy blues and finally she petered out, exhausted, flopping back on the lounge. I thought she was going to ask for a cigarette afterwards as it had been such an intensely enjoyable experience for her. Eventually though, maybe even later that night, she would realise that she didn’t know much more about him than she had when he’d arrived. None of us would.
Gayle perked up, hoping for her turn to ensnare Heller in her conversational web, when Sean butted in, quizzing him about his fitness regime. Sean prides himself on his muscularity, and was impressed enough with Heller’s magnificence to seek his comment and advice. Heller muttered his excuses to the ladies on the lounge and moved over to lean against the wall to talk to Sean for a very detailed ten minutes on repetitions, cut abs, Lorna Jane sportsware and Zumba classes. Nah, I’m just making up that last bit. I don’t know what they were talking about because I was dragged into the kitchen by the female members of the family who were all, “oh my God, he is so gorgeous”, “you must bring him around more often”, “that accent is so intriguing, where’s he from?” and “when can I come and visit you and would Mr Heller be there?” I rapidly reached a point where I’d had enough of everyone drooling over him, and marched into the lounge room in an antsy mood.
“Heller, we have to go now, remember? We’ve got that . . . thingy . . . to attend to. You know, on the other side of the city. That’s why you came to pick me up.” I glared at him in a meaningful manner.
“Oh yes, the thingy. How could I have forgotten about that?” he drawled. And ignoring complaints that he’d only just arrived, Heller and I made our farewells and escaped gratefully into the late afternoon sunshine. Mum came out into the front yard to wave us off and I could see Gayle and Elise staring longingly from the front window. We jumped into his Mercedes and drove off hurriedly.
“That was fun, wasn’t it?” I said, desperately cheerful. He turned to stare at me in pointed silence. “Thank you for doing that for me, Heller,” I continued, in my sweetest voice and with my most winsome smile. He rolled his eyes. “But you shouldn’t have teased my mother like you did. She believed you and I’ll never hear the end of it now. She’s probably writing out wedding invitations as we speak.”
“Maybe I did mean it,” he smiled.
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Sure you did.”
“Your brother – not Sean, the other one?”
“Brian.”
“Yes, him. I could sense a lot of hostility towards me from him. Why?”
“I dunno. Maybe because his wife was making goo-goo eyes at you the whole time? Or maybe because he’s a cop? Which you already know, remember?” He smirked. “Maybe he could smell you. Are you on a most wanted list somewhere?”
“Perhaps.”
I scoured his face with my eyes. “You know, you really are very secretive about yourself. I’m going to google you when we get home.”
“You won’t find anything that you don’t already know,” he said with confidence.
I continued to regard him steadily and decided to subject him to my own third-degree. “I noticed that you didn’t answer many of Mum’s questions.” He smiled enigmatically. “What is your first name anyway?”
“My driver’s licence and passport say it’s Peter.”
“That’s a strange way to answer a very basic question. Isn’t it Peter?”
“No, not really.”
“Is that why you don’t use it?”
“Partly.”
I had a disturbing thought. “Is Heller your real name?”
“No.”
“Why do you use a fake name?”
Silence.
I sighed. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
“Is that true?”
“Possibly. That’s what my passport tells me.” He was making fun of me, but I can be very stubborn for the truth sometimes.
“What’s your star sign?”
“Depends what I’m claiming my date of birth to be.”
“You have more than one date of birth?”
“I like to be flexible.”
“Currently?”
“Currently I believe I’m a Scorpio.”
“You don’t strike me as a Scorpio.”
“I don’t know – mysterious, deeply running dark passions, vengeful. I think it suits me quite well actually.”
“I suppose. Do you have any tattoos?”
“Why don’t you look for yourself later this evening?”
“Heller!”
He sighed patiently. “You come from a very nosy family, Matilda. No, I don’t have any tattoos. I decided long ago it was better not to have any identifying features.”
Apart from being a tall, stacked, gorgeous Viking warrior that is, I thought in silent amusement.
He threw me that half-smile again as he glanced at me. “But I know exactly what tattoo I’m going to get when I retire from this business.”
“What?” I asked curiously.
“I’m going to get ‘Matilda’ inked right across my heart.” And he patted his left pec twice, completely deadpan.
I burst into laughter and smacked him lightly on his forearm. “You’re such a flirt!” He chuckled quietly to himself. “I have a tattoo.”
“I kno
w. Inner right ankle. A thistle. Symbol of the Chalmers’ Scottish heritage, I presume.”
I stared at him surprised. “You’re very observant! Most people don’t notice. It’s only small.”
“I notice everything about you, Matilda.” That unfathomable smile again.
“Does that mean I’m tougher than you, because I’ve got a tattoo and you haven’t?”
In response, he merely laughed in that low growly sexy way that made my stomach flip over. I had to look out of the window after that to hide my expression from him. We turned into our street and I was thinking about whether I should offer Daniel another cooking lesson that evening when the windscreen on the Mercedes suddenly shattered and I felt something flying past my face.
“Get down!” shouted Heller, pulling me down forcefully towards the seat, his hand around the back of my neck. I cracked the side of my head painfully hard on the gearstick, but stayed crouched obediently in enormous discomfit, eyes popping out of my head in fear, heart thumping. He bunched his fist and smashed the shattered glass of the windscreen so that he could see through it, showering both of us in glass fragments, blood trickling down his fingers and wrist. He sped recklessly down the street, skidding noisily into the driveway of the Warehouse and scraping the top of the vehicle, not waiting for the automatic garage door to open fully. He screeched down to the first basement garage, slammed on the brakes, pulled up the handbrake and jumped out of the Mercedes, running over to press on an alarm button mounted on the garage wall.
I sat up cautiously. Within minutes, every security man in the building was pounding down the stairs from the floor above, followed a few moments later by Clive, who was carrying a gun. They listened grim-faced while Heller explained what had just happened, Clive holstering his weapon. One of the men assisted me out of the vehicle and helped me brush off the pieces of glass in my hair and on my clothes. I was in shock, not sure what had just happened, silently watching everyone with frightened eyes. My temple was throbbing where I had hit the gearstick and I rubbed it gently, a mammoth headache coming on. It made me feel a bit nauseous.
