Taking the Plunge

by Kishan Paul

  Lauren rolled her shoulders back, tilted her chin, and spoke with an air of confidence. “I don’t need Sunny. I can take Mr. Handyman on myself.”

  Her chocolate German shepherd, Jack Sparrow, nudged her leg as soon as she approached the front door. After rubbing his neck, she grabbed hold of his harness and stepped outside.

  A beautiful mix of greens and blues touched with red swirled around her. After several blinks, her eyes adjusted to the brightness. She pointed in the direction of the neighboring townhome.

  “Jack, Mrs. Rourke’s door.” A pang of guilt ran through her. She and her former neighbor had been close until Lauren placed her in a nursing home. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but when an eighty-five-year-old woman sat in one’s kitchen butt naked talking about the weather, it left few options.

  Jack tried to warn her but she ignored him and sent the poor dog to the backyard. She cringed at the memory of Mrs. Rourke’s bare skin under her hands when she hugged the old woman; it was one she wouldn’t soon forget. Since the episode, Lauren made a concerted effort to pay better attention to her guide dog’s whimpers and barks.

  Together they made their way across the lawn. Once at the door, Jack sat and waited for her to do the rest. Taking a deep gulp of fresh Denver air, she held it for a few seconds before slowly releasing.

  Calm and patient.

  That’s the person I am and that’s the person he’ll see.

  Lauren felt the wall for the doorbell and pressed the plastic control. A few dozen doorbell presses later, realization hit. If he’s banging away in there, how’s he going to hear the doorbell? She slammed her knuckles into the wood for what seemed like an eternity but still no response.

  Okay, time for Plan B. Since her home connected to the demolition man’s, they shared a common backyard.

  “Jack. Home.”

  He rose, maneuvering them back. Together, they marched into their townhouse, through the living room, and out the backdoor. Jack guided them across the lawn, straight to the offender’s patio. She banged her knuckles against the glass pane. After they were raw and felt like they were on fire, his hammering stopped. A few minutes later, she heard the sound of plastic blinds shifting. Lauren plastered on her biggest smile and waved. Metal slid against wood and the door opened.

  The faint smell of sandalwood mixed with cedar filled her lungs. It was the same scent she’d gotten whiffs of the past four weeks since he’d moved in.

  “Can I help you?” His soft Southern drawl flowed through her skin, warming her face. The image of a shirtless man in a cowboy hat and jeans leaning against the doorjamb popped into her head. For a moment, she forgot why she’d come.

  “Umm, hi, I’m Lauren.”

  “Hello, Lauren.” The amusement in his voice pulled her out of her cowboy fantasy.

  Jack nudged her leg, reminding her they were there on business, not to drool. “I live in the townhouse next to yours.”

  “I see you two jogging the park in the evenings.” From the angle of his voice, he sounded about six feet tall. She could hear the smile in his words. When he shifted his weight, the doorjamb squeaked. She wondered if his shoulder leaned against it, like the half-naked cowboy in her head.

  Thank God I changed out of my onesie.

  “They have some nice jogging trails.” Her voice came out husky and she caught herself playing with her hair when she responded.

  What the hell?

  Lauren dropped her arm and grabbed a fistful of her jeans to curb her need to twirl, flick or touch her hair—or him for that matter. “I maht have to try them out.”

  Maht? Yup, definitely a country boy. Images of tight jeans and cowboy hats filled her thoughts. He cleared his throat. “Would you like to come in?” Her heart thudded and her palms moistened at the prospect.

  Yes…

  “No, I wanted to ask a favor.”

  “A favor?” The evil man continued his flirty tone, successfully melting her organs.

  “What kind of…favor?” The way he said the word had her brain exploring all the inappropriate things he could do with her—for her.

  Stop it! You are stronger than this. Focus.

  Lauren cleared her throat for the hundredth time. “I work from home and spend most of the day on the phone with clients.”

  He chuckled. “Ahh. So replacing crown molding isn’t helpful, is it?”

  Her stomach fluttered.

  Speechless, she smiled and shook her head.

  “Well, what time are you finished with work?”

  “Five, tonight. But it varies.”

  “So if I work on the molding after five…”

  “I’ll be very grateful,” Lauren finished.

  “How about giving me your number so next time I have a project I can find out your schedule before I start?”

  Wait? Was that a line or sarcasm? He can’t be hitting on me.

  No. It made total sense he needed her number. After all, sometimes she did have evening clients. “Okay, you want to get a pen?”

  “I’ll remember.”

  Lauren’s face heated.

  Yup, he’s flirting.

  She wiped her clammy palm on Jack’s back and rattled off the digits.

  “I’m Gabe, by the way.”

  “Hi, Gabe, and thank you.” She turned to rush away before she agreed to more than her phone number.

  “Lauren?”

  Damn.

  “Since you’re done with work at five, how would you like to go to dinner with me tonight?”

  Lauren had relationship issues. They started after her ex-husband cheated on her. Hence the reason she preferred to keep people with dangling parts at a distance. Mechanically, she spouted out the same answer she’d used for years. “Sorry, I’m dating someone.”

  “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen any men come over. So I assumed…”

  While her feet stayed rooted, her brain buzzed in search of a response. Very rarely had individuals with said parts challenged her “I’m not available” line. “Well, Jack travels a lot on business,” she shot back.

  “Tell your boyfriend it’s just dinner. My way of apologizing for ruining your workday. I’ll bet Jack wouldn’t mind.”

  Jack Sparrow let out a soft whine at the sound of his name. She nervously rubbed his neck and prayed Gabe didn’t notice. She needed to get out of there before her lies caught up with her.

  “After the previous owner, I decided it best to not make friends with the neighbors. Stopping by naked, unannounced and asking for coffee didn’t work too well the last time it happened.”

  He laughed. “What?”

  She shook her head and giggled. “Long story.”

  “A rain check then. Once I’m done refurbishing this townhouse and renting it out, I’ll come back and we’ll do dinner.” Mercifully, he shut the door before anything else stupid came out of her mouth.

  Stunned, Lauren escaped to the sanctuary of her home and slumped onto the couch.

  My boyfriend Jack? Naked neighbors coming over for coffee? I’ve lost my mind.

  Sensing her complete mortification, Jack plopped his head on her lap. She patted him and kissed his nose. “Baby, you are the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. So technically I didn’t lie.”

  Unfortunately, she attracted a certain kind of man. The kind who demanded being cast in the starring role as hero. As she had found out the hard way from her failed marriage, heroes needed a constant stream of damsels in distress. Lauren had learned a simple lesson from her experience. She might need a great many things but never again would she need to be rescued.

  In the case of her neighbor, did he even realize she was blind? That’s the thing about retinitis pigmentosa. Her eyes looked completely normal.

  And speaking of looks, Gabe probably looked nothing like the sexy man she imagined. As she focused on all the awful images of what her neighbor probably looked like, the phone rang. Pushing her canine boyfriend off her lap, she rushed upstairs and picked it up. “Dr
. Lauren Baxter, how can I help you?”

  “Lauren, it’s Gabe.”

  Her stomach fluttered at the way her name rolled off his tongue.

  “Hi.” Her voice came out husky.

  “I forgot to tell you; I already have some interested renters for the house. They’ll be signing the lease agreement tomorrow. So by the time they leave, we won’t be neighbors. I’ll come by about seven tomorrow to take you for the dinner I owe you.” He hung up before she could respond.

  A confusing mixture of excitement and anger filled her veins. Mrs. Rourke’s voice popped into her head. “Lauren, sweetheart, what mess have you gotten yourself into now?”

  “Oh God, Irma, I should have never sent you away.”

  Where to buy your copy of Blind Love:

  Publisher

  Read on for the first chapter of The Second Wife

  If you want to live, you must let go of the past...

  Twenty-eight-year-old psychologist, Alisha Dimarchi, is abducted by an obsessed client and imprisoned in his Pakistani compound for over two years. Forced to change her name and live as his second wife, her life is filled with trauma and heartbreak. Thrust into a world of violence and oppression, Ally must fight not only to keep herself alive but to protect the lives of the people she now considers family. At night, she retreats into her memories of the only man she has ever loved—a man she believes no longer loves her.

  Thirty-four-year-old handsome surgeon, David Dimarchi, has spent the last two years mourning the disappearance of his wife. After a painful and isolated existence, he begins the process of healing. It is then he is visited by a stranger, who informs him that Ally is very much alive and needs his help. In a desperate attempt to save her, David enlists the help of a Delta Force Operative. Together they find themselves in the center of more than just a rescue mission. Will he be able to reach her in time, and if he does, will she still want him?

  The Second Wife

  Chapter 1: Kidnapped

  March Twenty-third, Philadelphia

  The slow drip of a leaky faucet disrupted Ally’s otherwise quiet slumber.

  “Ally.” The distant sound of David’s voice soothed her, enveloping her in a warm blanket of safety.

  A smile tugged at her lips. Soon he’d crawl into bed and wrap his limbs around hers, cocooning her with his love.

  Instead of the heat she anticipated, something coarse scraped against her cheek. When she tried to swat it away, her arms refused to comply.

  “Baby, wake up.” Her husband’s echoed tone became louder, rougher. “You need to wake up.”

  The urgency in it made her eyelids flutter, pulling her further away from the dark claws of sleep.

  Like a silent movie, foggy images of a dimly lit parking lot invaded her dreams. A woman, tall and lean, walked the deserted space alone. With each clip of her heels against the paved road, the haze cleared a little more. Ally’s heart raced when the woman’s features came into view. Long, curly, black hair, dark brown eyes, tanned complexion.

  It was her.

  Two sets of hands emerged from the shadows, dragging her into the woods. The taller of the two men covered the woman’s mouth, muting her screams as she wrestled to break free, until the other one slammed a brick into the base of her skull, plunging her into darkness.

  This must be a dream.

  Rays of light pierced the darkness as Ally’s heavy eyelids fought to open. When she shifted, instead of soft sateen sheets, her cheek scraped against a cold, hard surface.

  “Alisha? Can you hear me?” This voice wasn’t David’s. It sounded thick, heavy with an accent and oddly familiar. So familiar, she shivered.

  Again, her mind transported her to another scene. This time, she found herself in her office at the counseling center. Seated across from her in his trademark, black three-piece suit was her client, Mohammed. Thick, ebony brows sat over a pair of probing, dark eyes. As usual, his black beard was neatly trimmed and thick hair slicked back.

  He nodded, not even challenging her recommendation that he work with another therapist. She shifted in her seat as she blamed her decision on scheduling issues, omitting the part that he scared the hell out of her. The man never did anything inappropriate. What really frightened her was how he stared and the possessive way he said her name.

  “Alisha. Love, wake up.”

  Like right now.

  Please, God, be a dream.

  “David?” Her whisper came out muffled.

  Rough hands brushed her cheeks as they lifted her head. The movement sent jolts of fire rippling from the wound in the back of her neck down her spine. It jerked her awake.

  When her eyelids shot open, instead of the soft, sea green eyes she prayed to see, the pair of widely set dark brown ones she dreaded fixed on her. Between the orbs sat a crooked nose, too large for the man’s round head. His bearded face stretched, flashing a yellowed smile.

  She screamed but the sound came out muffled, making her yell louder. With each cry, the tape across her face strained and split the tender skin beneath. The metallic taste of blood seeped onto her tongue.

  Mohammed swiped a tear off her cheek and pressed his lips on her nose. “Shhh. You’re safe. Everything will be okay.”

  The stench of alcohol and cigarettes mixed with sweat filled her nostrils. Her stomach turned and she tried to pull away but couldn’t. Her hands were tied behind her and her feet were bound together.

  He rested his forehead against hers and blew his soured breath in her face. “I was worried you wouldn’t wake up. You are okay, aren’t you?”

  A trickle of sweat dripped down her neck. Alone. Restrained and at his mercy. She needed to get away. Ally nodded as she collected her thoughts.

  He grinned. “That’s my good girl.”

  His hands moved from her face to her neck and finally rested on her shoulders. Carefully, he propped her up, leaning her against the wall before caressing the back of her neck. “I’m sorry about your head. They were told not to harm you. It never should have happened…”

  While he explained how the kidnappers had failed, she scanned the space for an escape. Other than large containers stacked against a metal wall, the room was empty. A warehouse, maybe?

  Somewhere in the shadows, the two men who’d abducted her probably stood guard. If she could get away from Mohammed, maybe she could sneak out before the others noticed.

  With unsteady fingers, she felt for an edge to the tape binding her wrists.

  “…But they will be dealt with. Their actions were unacceptable.”

  The sound of scraping metal filled the space, silencing him, but making her heart pound faster against her chest. As rubber soles squeaked, Mohammad’s attention turned to the visitor and Ally worked harder at finding a seam.

  Tall, in a dark shirt and jeans, one of the kidnappers from her dream appeared. A contorted smile stretched across his face as he spoke to Mohammed in a language she didn’t understand.

  A nauseating burn built deep inside her stomach, filling her chest and streaming from her eyes. Dealing with Mohammed was enough of a challenge; now with two men, the chances for survival had plummeted.

  Mohammed rubbed her arm and hugged her tight as he glared at the kidnapper. “I promise you, he will never hurt you again,” he growled.

  The man froze in his tracks. The look of shock on his face turned to fear when Mohammed rose to his feet. Still in a three-piece suit, he approached the abductor, his voice low and angry, conversing in a foreign tongue. Soon his black dress shoe slammed into the man’s thigh.

  Ally pushed herself into action while Mohammed yelled and pounded his foot on the attacker.

  Run. She had to run.

  Keeping her palms flat on the ground, she raised her hips, threading her legs through the restrained wrists. With her hands in front, she searched for an edge to the thick tape wrapped around her ankles.

  An explosion rang through the warehouse, piercing her eardrums. Ally closed her eyes, covered her head with
her arms and curled in a ball, bracing herself for more.

  A heavy weight thudded nearby. With every gasp of air she took, the smell of smoke and gunpowder burned her nose and throat. When she opened her eyes and lifted her head, it was to gaze at the kidnapper’s lifeless body.

  Ally’s muffled sobs filled the silence, making it hard to breathe.

  Mohammed squatted beside her and dropped his gun a few feet away. He planted a hand on her thigh and squeezed while he tried to catch his breath.

  His grip tightened when she shrunk away from his touch.

  “Problem solved. You are now safe,” he wheezed. “Like you said in our sessions, sometimes people in our lives disappoint us. It is how we deal with the disappointment that matters.” He smiled and waved at the dead man. “Obviously, I dealt with this one very effectively and I assure you it will never happen again.”

  Where to buy your copy of The Second Wife:

  ITunes

  Table of Contents

  Book Description

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  About Kishan Paul

  Blind Love Excerpt

  Second Wife Excerpt

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