A Dangerous Man

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by Rachel Cade


  She literally ran on her tiptoes, praying she wouldn't fall over.

  By the time she made it inside the brick building she looked, and felt, like a drowned rat.

  Ciara tried to catch her breath while suppressing an agonized groan.

  “How in the hell did you know it was going to rain?”

  He wiped water out of his face. “You can smell it.”

  “You can also watch The Weather Channel.” Ciara frowned at the wet plastic and soggy Twinkie still in her hand before tossing it out into the rain. Clouds were moving across the sky and would eventually block out the sun before nightfall.

  “Those shoes are gonna get you in trouble, miss.”

  She glanced down at the spiked monstrosities. Her pink nail polish was chipped and there was mud between her toes.

  “I think they already have,” she mumbled.

  They stood in silence while the rain beat against the roof over their heads. She folded her arms against her chest. In the dank garage with soaked clothes and hair, the temperature had gone from sweltering to cool.

  He was peering out into the wall of rain in front of them. His side profile was straight and relaxed as his head almost reached the door frame.

  Ciara’s discomfort was overshadowed by the wariness of being in a confined space with him. The cement floor appeared clean, so she leaned against the wall and removed each of her shoes by the strap. Setting her flat feet against the cold surface was a relief. When she glanced up, he was watching her.

  “How do you walk in those things?”

  Her mouth folded. “It’s an art form,” she answered blandly.

  The man must have at least been 6’5. The rainwater had washed some of the dirt off his face, but the combination of the bad lighting made it hard to tell what he looked like aside from being big. But from what she could make out he appeared to have nice bone structure.

  And why was she even noticing that?

  “I bet it is,” he drawled, looking back outside.

  “Alright - I can try and check out your car in the morning,” He sighed heavily and lifted the edge of his shirt to wipe his face.

  Ciara’s gaze slipped to the oil smudged skin he revealed.

  “So you can stay here till then if you want.” He mumbled the last part, still not offering eye contact.

  He moved to go outside before she could accept, causing her to blurt, “Where are you going?”

  “Home.” He thumbed to his right. “I have a cottage up the path.”

  Ciara’s eyes widened at his admission. “But it’s pouring.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “And I don’t know when it’s gonna stop. A lil’ rain never killed anybody - 'cept maybe you.”

  She let out a breath on the joke at her expense.

  He waited, then he turned to face her. With his hands planted at his waist, Ciara in turn waited while he assessed her. The crinkles in her toes offered the only giveaway to the awkwardness she felt.

  “You don’t want to come back there with me, do you?” There was a genuine astonishment in his tone that she would have found funny in another situation.

  But she didn’t really know how to answer him.

  This entire situation was like being caught between a rock and a hard place, her options slim to none. Was she supposed to accept a non-offer to go behind lock and key with someone she didn’t know who was obviously annoyed with her presence?

  Damn, she must have looked pretty pathetic just then.

  His mouth was a flat line. “Well, you flipped out when I was just offering you water-”

  “I’m out here by myself! I didn’t hear you and you were just there. And it scared me,” she corrected quickly.

  What she wouldn’t give to be home, submerged in a hot bubble bath that she wouldn’t emerge from for at least two hours.

  His foot shifted on the ground, his voice low, “I’m sorry.”

  He’d already apologized, but she accepted it with a nod. “I am too… you were minding your own business. I invaded your space… and drank all your water.”

  He let out a quick breath, and she again found herself wondering if he was amused, but let it go.

  “Like I said, I don’t know when this is going to let up.” The rain was still pretty heavy, a hushed sound penetrating the natural silence as it stabbed the earth. “Just follow me then, if you’re coming.”

  He darted out into the elements with his shoulders hunched.

  Slack jawed, Ciara stared before snatching her shoes off the ground and running behind him. The path he led her on was narrow and lined with hedges. She hugged her unzipped purse to her as cool summer rain pummeled and drenched her body. She could barely see in front of her face and the path was winding and turning, a virtual maze of moss green.

  Ciara prayed she wasn’t making a mistake following this man to some unknown destination, but there was no way in hell she was spending the night alone in that spooky garage.

  Chapter Three:

  Nothing Personal

  Ciara couldn’t believe how fast the sky had darkened.

  Grass and soft earth squished under her feet as she struggled to keep up with him. Wild warnings kept going off in her head to turn back.

  She wanted to yell at him to slow down but was afraid to. Not to mention afraid of where he was leading her.

  Ominous heavy clouds were pouring buckets of water on them. She could barely make out his figure in front of her. Her mouth clamped against yelling at him. Would he even hear her?

  Ciara pushed herself forward until they finally came to a clearing. Her blurred vision made out a small aging blue cottage home outlined in wild rose bushes.

  The stranger made a beeline for the porch after pausing, and she wondered if he was as blind as she had been?

  They stumbled onto the porch together.

  “God damn, that was a run, huh?” he breathed, leaning next to the front door.

  Trying to catch her breath, Ciara set down her purse and shoes. She pulled the clip out of her hair to squeeze the rainwater out. “I don’t even understand what this is! I thought it only rained like this in… the Amazon or something.”

  “Yeah, well, welcome to the country, honey.” He laughed shortly as he wiped water from his face. The dingy t-shirt he wore was plastered against his wide shoulders and abdomen, revealing the heavy muscle hiding underneath.

  Droplets of cool water splashed against the tops of her bare feet, snatching her attention from him to herself.

  She squeezed at the hem of her soaking dress as he opened the front door then disappeared inside.

  A sarcastic remark about chivalry passed through her mind, before she quickly remembered her life was now a disaster.

  All she wanted was to be home, but not this home. Her home, with people she actually knew. She rummaged her purse and pulled out her phone, making one last ditch effort to see if there was a signal.

  Nothing.

  Letting out a deep breath, she entered the shadowed doorway of the house with her mace discreetly tucked in her right hand.

  The stranger turned on a lamp, flooding the living room with much needed light. She let her gaze flutter over her surroundings. There was a brown plaid couch and love seat, heavy oak tables, and yellowing flower print wallpaper. Despite the retro look there was a fresh scent to the cottage.

  Several magazines and books were strewn over the couch and coffee table, which he saw her notice, and began to quickly move into a neat pile.

  In the light of the lamp, she stared at the way the wet fabric suctioned against his back as he moved.

  He stood quickly, scratching the side of his neck. “Would you like to use the bathroom?”

  Ciara swallowed. “No. No, I’m fine.”

  He paused before saying, “Alright, I’m going to take a quick shower then.”

  Moving to her right, he opened a door that revealed a pale blue bathroom with an old French bathtub by the far wall. She flinched at his movements, trying to cover
it with a sidestep, but was pretty sure he noticed.

  A moment later, he returned with two pale pink towels, setting them on the couch instead of offering them to her. “In case you want to dry off,” he quickly spoke before heading back into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

  Ciara had barely dried her face when she heard him turn on the water, but quickly dropped the towel to do a quick tour of the tiny home.

  It appeared the entire cottage was a seventies time capsule. There was a tiny modest kitchen and only one bedroom, and all the walls had the same, yellowing wallpaper.

  The house seemed empty, but she made sure to keep her mace in hand.

  As she reached for the second towel to dry off her hair, she noticed a sport jersey folded underneath it. Ciara picked up the large worn top, reading the tag inside. “Boston Bruins?”

  She wasn’t quite sure if he’d intentionally given it to her, but it was a far better option than her saturated, probably ruined outfit. She snatched the dress over her head, her shoulders shivering as she swiped at the dampness on her skin.

  And then she heard his shower water stop.

  Only in white panties, she stared at the door, listening for sounds of his movements before swallowing.

  Once the long dry shirt was on, it only increased the contrast of the damp underwear against her skin. She couldn’t take it. Cursing, clammy hands removed the underwear and she quickly did a length check to make sure the baggy shirt covered most of her thighs.

  When the bathroom door opened she was sitting on the couch with the shirt pulled tightly over her knees.

  Had he heard her snooping around? Should she try to read a magazine or something?

  No. Too obvious.

  “You like meatloaf?

  He was in her peripheral. When she glanced up him, she paused for a long moment without speaking. “...Meatloaf?”

  He stared down at her with bright hazel eyes covered in thick dark lashes. “Yeah, we got two things in the house, meat loaf and turkey breast, but I ran out of bread yesterday so...”

  “Meat loaf sounds great.” She flashed her teeth at him.

  He nodded once before going through the open doorway of the kitchen.

  After toiling around in the kitchen for a few minutes, he returned to sit on the couch across from her.

  “No T.V. either, huh?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  The man on the couch was far from the borderline Neanderthal she first encountered. His hair was a little lighter than she first thought. His face was rugged, making her think he was in his mid- thirties or so. He had a strong, serious jawline; if he chose not to smile, he could appear pretty intimidating. His eye color was so odd though, almost iridescent. She couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone with them before.

  The dark blue Henley shirt he wore fit him like a glove, and three buttons were undone at his collar bone. He was still wearing jeans. They were far cleaner than the other pair but more faded.

  Was she staring?

  Shit.

  “Ok, so you don’t have a car, a phone, or a T.V. Do you have a name at least?”

  He leaned back into the couch. “I do.”

  She raised a brow in the following silence.

  “Jack.” His gaze skirted away from her, but a barely visible twitch in his lip betrayed his amusement.

  “Jack,” she repeated. “Ok.”

  He cleared his throat. “The food will be ready in a lil’ bit.”

  Jack shifted on the couch, the profile of his odd house guest staying in his peripheral. He wasn’t used to having visitors, and surely not a woman. Did she expect small talk?

  Damn.

  He glanced at the small open window to see that the rain seemed to be tapering off.

  “How did you get my shirt?” he asked.

  Ciara’s eyes widened slightly as she pressed her knees together. “It was underneath the towels you gave me Do you mind?”

  “No. I mean, what else are you going to put on? I just had been lookin’ for it.”

  She was trying to hide the fact that she was skittish being alone with him, but he was shocked she’d opted to follow him at all. He’d only asked out of some kind of half-assed courtesy and didn’t expect her to act on it.

  But she had - and now here she was, wearing his shirt.

  She tucked the damp locks of dark hair back behind her ear, and for a while no conversation interrupted the lingering raindrops filtering from the sky outside.

  Her mouth folded, almost in a pout, he imagined all types of thoughts and questions swirling around her head.

  And knew his quiet evening was definitely shot to hell.

  “You know I thought,” she laughed shortly, “you know I thought you lived in the garage.”

  “What?”

  Ciara grimaced. “I’m sorry. When you said you sort of lived out here, I thought you meant the garage.”

  She shook her head and looked away from him, whispering an embarrassed apology.

  “So... you live out here… all alone?” she asked. There was a deep rose-colored stain to her lips, though rainwater had washed most of it away. Her mouth was very full, and the natural shape was actually pouty.

  “Where were you headed when your car broke down?”

  Thick, arched eyebrows furrowed over her dark brown eyes. “I asked you fir- Oh my God, I think I left the windows down!”

  This time, he laughed. “It’s just a car. Imma check on dinner.”

  When he returned to the couch, he plopped down with a thump. “Do I really live out here alone? When I’m here, yes.”

  “But don’t you get lonely or… bored?”

  He shrugged. “I read, I work on the truck ...”

  “That’s working out real well.”

  Jack scoffed at her sarcasm. “It’s called a hobby.”

  “Well, you know it’s all fine and dandy if you want to be out here alone. But if I were you… ” she paused.

  But his interest was piqued. “If you were me...” he coaxed.

  Guilt briefly flashed in her eyes. “I’d... hire a decorator,” she finished quickly.

  Maybe he was sort of amused by her.

  But he wasn’t very amused when she’d materialized out of nowhere in front of his garage, looking scared and frazzled in shoes that should have been licensed weapons. He’d been in the middle of a decent nap.

  But he couldn’t blame her for her wariness; if she was 5‘7”, he’d be surprised.

  “Is that what you do for a living?” he asked.

  “What, decorating? No. I like to pick out clothes, not furniture.”

  His only reaction was a raised brow as he returned to the kitchen for a second time.

  When he set the piping hot slab of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and bottled water on the coffee table in front of her, she seemed surprised. He offered her a fork as he got his own plate from the kitchen and returned to sit across from her.

  “You think I’m ridiculous, right?” Ciara leaned forward, after glancing at him shrewdly.

  “Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted some ketchup?”

  “Ketchup?” she questioned.

  “Yeah, for the meatloaf. Some folks like it with ketchup.”

  “Oh. No, I’m okay. Thank you,” She placed the paper towel over her legs and reached forward, using the fork and knife to cut away at the meat. Jack noticed for the first time a thin silver bracelet on her wrist.

  Her nails were long and natural, the white tips contrasting with her deep brown skin. She had an elegant way about her when she wasn’t complaining. Whether or not it was intentional was anyone’s guess.

  “I was going to Annapolis.” His gaze darted up from her hands. “I didn’t answer your question.” She placed a hefty piece of meat in her mouth and her chewing slowed after a moment.

  “How is it?” he asked.

  She swallowed before opening her mouth. “It’s a little dry,” Ciara answered truthfully.


  “That’s why you need the ketchup.” He slid the bottle over to her and she accepted it.

  “Annapolis, huh?”

  Nodding, she squeezed the bottle over her meat.

  They ate in silence for a while, which surprised him.

  Not long after, night fell, and a settled-in heat made him turn on the fan.

  “This really wasn’t bad. I was very hungry.” She wiped her mouth with a paper towel. “Thank you,” she added sincerely.

  He’d finished his meal long before her.

  “Have you never had meatloaf before?”

  “I’m sure I have - it’s just been a while.” From the look on her face her true answer was probably no.

  His answering expression must have implied as much, because she looked down at her empty plate, sheepish.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to fix my car?”

  Jack stretched his legs out in front of him, “I guess.”

  Ciara smiled. “So you have a name and you’re clean now. That’s nice.” she paused. “You seem less unibomb-ery.”

  Jack snorted, resting his head on the back of the chair as he stared up at the ceiling.

  She apologized, adding, “That’s probably not even a word.”

  “You talk a lot, high heels.”

  “I usually do. But I’m just trying to make light of an… odd situation.” She paused, and he could hear her movements causing the chair beneath her to squeak. “And it’s just so quiet out here. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

  “It’s relaxing.”

  “Does that mean you don’t have a phone or T.V. purposefully?”

  “Bingo.”

  She didn’t speak, and since he wasn’t looking at her, he imagined her sitting across from him, gnawing on her bottom lip.

  “And?” he asked.

  “And what?”

  “What else did you want to ask me?”

  “Nothing.” she admitted. “You said I talk too much. I wanted to leave you in silent solitude.”

  Jack licked his lips to keep from chuckling. “My solitude ended the minute you decided to follow me home. What did you do with your clothes?”

 

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