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“That’s the alcohol talking,” Connie said.
“I like what it’s saying,” Kira said back, looking up at Derrick. “Don’t you like what it’s saying, Derrick?”
He was going to hell, because for damn sure he most certainly did like what it was saying, what she was saying.
Connie looked conflicted. “You don’t know anything about him,” Connie said. Glancing up to meet his eyes she added, “No offense. I’m sure you’re a great guy.”
No. Tonight he wasn’t. She felt so good, desire tried to overtake good moral character, screaming, “Take her to the nearest motel and give her what she wants, hard and fast. Exhaust her then leave while she’s sleeping. She’ll never know who you really are. First thing Monday morning, call her again like nothing happened.” Common sense fought back, screaming, “You’re not that guy. You don’t take advantage of drunk women, no matter how sexy they are or how much you dislike them.”
“You’re the one who told me some hot sex would make me feel better,” Kira said to Connie. “I’ve had a rotten day. I need to feel better.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. “Make me feel better, Derrick.”
“She’s not a big drinker,” Connie explained apologetically.
All evidence to the contrary.
“Come on, Kira.” Connie tugged on her arm. “Let the nice man be on his way.”
Kira looked up at him, again, her expression soft and sweet. “Do you want to be on your way, Derrick?”
He should want to be on his way. He needed to be on his way, had a long drive ahead of him. And yet, “Not, really,” snuck out of his mouth, followed by, “How about we go get a cup of coffee or something to eat?”
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_8d9cc82d-d850-56ac-b043-8ae6cb57be81)
KIRA CAME AWAKE to the smell of coffee. Oh, God. How did Mom get to the kitchen? She jumped out of bed and...
“Whoa,” a man said. “Slow down.”
She froze at the sound of a male voice in her bedroom. During that pause she noticed carpet below her bare feet. She didn’t have carpet in her bedroom.
A quick perusal of her surroundings made her think she was in a child’s room. One she didn’t recognize. A single bed draped in a baseball-themed comforter, baseball trophies covering the desk and dresser, and posters of baseball players she didn’t recognize hanging on the walls. Thumbtacks held a large periodic table on the back of the closed door. Funny, she’d done the same thing in her bedroom as a teenager, to hide her inner science geek.
But what the heck? She turned back to the handsome man before her, standing tall and solid, holding two mugs of coffee. He wore a tight white T-shirt that showcased a muscled chest and arms, and navy blue slacks. His feet were bare. Dark, mussed hair fell haphazardly over his forehead, and stuck up in spots. A day’s worth of scruff covered his jaw. Kira liked scruff. But who was he? And why did his blue eyes stare back at her with a wary edge?
She studied the face, recognizing it. Derrick. Memories of last night whooshed into her mind, seeing him at the bar, watching him as he watched her, stumbling into him, pushing him against the wall, and oh, God, propositioning him. Connie taking a picture of him and his driver’s license then patting him down for weapons before walking them out to his car to check that for weapons too. She shook her head in disbelief then dropped her forehead into her palm. “I’m sorry...bad week. Too much to drink.” Sexual deprivation. A night of freedom.
“So you said. Last night.”
Kira could have done without the humor in his tone.
So what? She’d propositioned him. He was a good-looking guy. For sure she hadn’t been the first. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks, because there was a definite chance, a small one, but a chance nonetheless, that she could have been the first woman to refuse to get out of his car until he took her somewhere they could have sex. And she’d been pretty explicit about what she’d wanted.
Yet here she stood, fully dressed in the skirt and blouse she’d worn to work yesterday. “My clothes.” She looked up at him. “We didn’t...?”
He shook his head.
Well that sucked. The awkward morning after without the night of hot sex that should have preceded it.
“Why not? Didn’t you want to?”
Damn he had a nice smile. “Yeah, I wanted to. But it wouldn’t have been right.”
Wouldn’t have been right? Why the hell not? Two consenting adults. Check. Mutual attraction. Hmmm. Had their attraction been mutual? The feel of his arousal, big and hard beneath her while she’d straddled him in the front seat of his car came to mind. Oh, yeah. Their attraction had been mutual. So why—?
Someone knocked on the closed bedroom door.
Kira jumped.
“You want breakfast?” an older sounding male voice asked.
“We’ll be down in a few minutes,” Derrick said.
“Who was that?” Kira whispered, like whoever it was could hear her. Then she scanned the room for her shoes, messenger bag, and briefcase. Time to go.
“My dad.”
She swung around to face him. “Are you kidding me? You live with your parents and you brought me home to their house?” At the age of thirty, Kira was way too old to be worried about getting caught in a boy’s bedroom by his parents. Yet she found herself glancing toward the window as a means of escape.
“Second floor,” Derrick said, as if he could read her mind.
But Kira was focused on what she saw outside that window...or rather what she didn’t see. She stepped closer.
No big buildings, no crowded streets. No closely spaced buildings or brownstones or houses. No signs she was in New York City or any of its five boroughs. No, sirree. He’d taken her someplace rural, with lots of trees, wide open spaces, and no neighbors that she could see out of what appeared to be a back window. She squinted off into the distance. Heaven help her, was that a...cow?
Maybe fear would have been an appropriate response right then, but Kira got mad and turned on him. “Where the hell am I?”
“I can explain,” he said, holding out a cup of coffee. “You’re probably going to need this.”
Kira eyed the dark liquid. Last night, alcohol had allowed a far-too-long-ignored desire for sex to overtake her usually strong protective instincts. Well, this morning they were back at fully functional. She didn’t know this man, didn’t know what he was capable of, and would most certainly not drink a beverage she had not watched him prepare, regardless of how much she wanted it.
“It’s coffee,” he said. “Do you want me to take a sip before you drink it?”
“I want you to explain what’s going on.” Seeing her shoes, bag and briefcase lined up neatly at the foot of the bed, she bent to pick them up. “Where am I, and why is your father here?”
“Fine.” He set one mug of coffee down on the dresser. “If you change your mind, help yourself.” He walked over to the small desk, pulled out an old wooden chair and sat down. “Sorry, but I need to sit. I’ve been up watching you most of the night and I’m exhausted.” He took a sip of coffee.
“Watching me? That’s not at all creepy.” It was totally creepy. She took one step closer to the door.
“Wrong choice of words.” He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. “I’ve been up most of the night waiting for you to wake up. So you didn’t freak out. So I could explain...”
“Go ahead then. Explain.” Kira sat on the corner of the bed closest to the door, making sure she had a clear path, her hand inside the bag on her lap, her fingers wrapped around the canister of pepper spray she kept on her keychain. Just in case.
“Remember how I told you it wouldn’t have been right for me to have sex with you?”
She nodded.
“That’s because my being in that bar last night wasn’t a random coincidence.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “I’d followed you from your office.”
Kira didn’t wait to hear more. “That’s it.” She stood. “I’m out of here.”
Derrick stood, too.
The movement wasn’t in any way threatening, but when he reached for her Kira whipped out the pepper spray and held it few inches from his face. “Don’t.”
He stopped and held up both hands in surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“No, you’re not,” Kira told him, standing tall and on guard, confident in her ability to protect herself thanks to several self-defense classes. “By the way, I’ve been taught that you should never trust a man who says ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ because that means he’s thought about it.”
“Or,” Derrick countered, his hands still raised up by his shoulders, “it means he realizes he’s bigger and stronger and he really doesn’t want you to think he’s going to use his size or strength to hurt you.”
He said the words matter-of-factly, but Kira could sense his tension.
“Who are you? Why were you following me?”
“I’m Derrick Limone.”
Limone. Why did that name sound familiar?
“I got a HIPPA form signed and faxed it down to your office, just like you asked. Then you wouldn’t take my phone calls. So late yesterday afternoon I rushed down to the city to meet you at your office to give it to you in person so you’d speak with me about my mother.”
His mother. “Daisy Limone.” Un-friggin’-believable.
“I missed my train,” he went on. “So I drove down from White Plains, in Westchester County, where I live and work. I drove past your office just as you and Connie were getting into a cab out front...so I followed it.”
“You followed it? You think that’s acceptable behavior to follow me after business hours? Why on earth would you do such a thing?” Because he was a total nut job!
“You wouldn’t take my calls.”
He said it like it made perfect sense. It didn’t. The man was obviously not right in the head. “Which son are you?” she asked. “The attorney who called me degrading names and threatened to sue me or the doctor who yelled at me and hung up on me?”
“The doctor,” he admitted, looking guilty. “But in my defense, you were giving me a pretty hard time.”
Not as hard as he deserved for not stepping up to take care of his mother like a good son should. His mother. Then it clicked. Him taking Kira to a rural location, his father knocking on the door. Her eyes went wide and she sucked in a breath. He didn’t! “I’m at your parents’ house? In West Guilderford?” Four hours from her home.
He just stood there.
“You really are insane.” She backed toward the door. “As in mentally unhinged and in need of inpatient psychiatric therapy. Immediately.”
“No. I’m not.”
“You kidnapped me!”
“Kidnapped you?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s talk about that, shall we?”
He seemed way too calm for a man on the verge of being arrested. Because he’s insane! Run while you can!
Kira lunged for the doorknob.
Showing amazing speed and agility, Derrick lunged too, grabbing the pepper spray and putting his full weight against the door to keep it closed. “Not so fast,” he said, looking down at her while keeping his shoulder pressed to the door. “You are not leaving this room thinking I kidnapped you.”
“Let’s look at the facts, shall we?” Kira held up her right index finger. “One. You followed me out to the bar last night. Two.” She added her middle finger. Hmmm. How to tactfully put it? “You lured me out of that bar under false pretenses.”
He actually had the nerve to laugh. “I did not lure you anywhere. I offered to take you for coffee and something to eat—”
“We both know you only said that to appease Connie.” Kira waved him off. “I offered you sex and you accepted my offer without ever intending to follow through.”
“No. I offered you coffee and something to eat and I had fully intended to follow through with that, but you refused to get out of the car when we got to the diner.”
“Because I wanted...”
“You wanted what?”
Sex, damn it. She’d wanted sex not coffee and not something to eat.
Based on his slow, sexy smile, he knew exactly what she’d wanted.
That, and the fact he hadn’t given it to her, pissed her off. So she pushed his chest. “Go to hell.”
“Help me out here,” he said. “Are you mad because you think I kidnapped you or because we didn’t have sex?”
Both! “You’re an ass.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m not a kidnapper.”
“Then how, exactly, did I wind up here at your parents’ house, with no recollection of how I got here? I don’t recall you asking. And I don’t recall agreeing to come.”
“That can easily be explained by the amount of alcohol you drank last night.” With a tilted head and raised eyebrows he simply said, “You passed out.”
No. Kira shook her head. No way. She had never in her life consumed enough alcohol to pass out. “Fell asleep, maybe. But I most certainly did not pass out. Okay, let’s say you’re telling the truth and I fell asleep in your car.”
“I am telling the truth,” he said confidently, still blocking her escape.
“So there I am, asleep in your car, and all you can think to do is take me on the four hour drive up to your parents’ house?”
“What would you have liked me to do with you?” he challenged.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe take me to my home?” she yelled.
“You have no memory of what happened after we got to the restaurant, do you?”
No, not really.
“You don’t remember me going through your bag to find your wallet to find your driver’s license?”
Nope. “If I had seen you doing that I would have told you I don’t have a driver’s license.” She’d lived in New York City all her life and couldn’t afford to keep a car, so she’d never bothered to learn how to drive.
“I found a few college IDs, a bunch of credit cards, and insurance cards. But you know what I didn’t find?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “Anything with your current address on it.”
Very possible.
