Love Gone Wild: A Contemporary Romantic Comedy

by Michele Bardsley

  "Compared to what? The last hour has been right out of The Twilight Zone."

  She found the list and handed it to Dane. "Did you see the one where the man wishes for all the money? One problem after the next. There's a lesson to be learned."

  "Money doesn't bring happiness?"

  "No, that's not it. The lesson is to be very specific when making a wish." She smiled when he stopped perusing the list to stare at her open-mouthed. "Money is only a tool. The person wielding it can choose to do harm or to do good."

  "I've never thought about it that way." Dane pointed to the paper. "Your list doesn't say anything about wet T-shirt contests."

  "I can add to it if I want. It's my list."

  While Dane continued to read, Marissa examined her surroundings. She'd ended up in an untidy part of town. Some of the buildings were boarded up and others were crumbling remnants; graffiti marred the walls, the sidewalks, and the street signs. She shivered at the ugly despair around her.

  She'd been lucky to find Dane and not some unscrupulous miscreant. The only reason she'd gone to the Paradise Club was because of Gillie. In her sister's things, Marissa had found a shot glass with the bar's logo on it. Her heart clenched in anguish.

  On that horrible night so long ago, she'd gone into Gillie's room, and cried herself to sleep in her sister's bed. When she awoke, she went through the entire room and stole items her parents would be shocked to discover: cigarettes, mini-bottles of alcohol, condoms, photographs of Gillie at wild parties. She'd hidden it all from her parents—allowed them to enshrine the room, given them the wherewithal to remember their eldest daughter as angelic and virginal and perfect.

  Ever since she'd escaped the confines of the mansion, she'd felt...happy freedom. Yes, happy freedom was an excellent way to describe how she felt. She'd been happy, somewhat, in her parents' home, but they'd forgotten she'd grown up. She'd finished high school and college with private instructors. Her parents and Geoffrey had been her only companions since that fateful night when her sister had died.

  A clip-slish-clip-slish sound interrupted Marissa's morbid thoughts. She stood on tippy-toe to see over Dane's shoulder and spotted a teenaged boy on Rollerblades racing toward them. He wore a black cap, jeans, and an oversized yellow sweatshirt. His grin was shiny and white and mischievous. Dane, still concentrating on the list, didn't glance up as he moved out of the boy's way. She tried to do the same, but the boy whipped past her before she could move an inch.

  Marissa felt like her arm was being pulled out of its socket. She spun around, lost her balance, and fell. She skinned her palms on the rough sidewalk and, to her dismay, her hose tore at the left knee. The cuts on her hands stung, but not nearly as much as her pride. She sat up and stared at the retreating teenager.

  The boy whirled and skated backwards just long enough to show off his thief's prize—her purse.

  "Marissa, stay here!" yelled Dane.

  The pink paper on which she'd written her list floated down and landed in front of her. Dane's sneakers rubber-scraped the concrete as he took off after the boy. Wow. Jeans looked really good in action, tightening in the right places. What am I doing?

  She grabbed her paper and, knees throbbing from the cuts incurred from her fall, managed to stand. Her legs felt like wet noodles and her breathing was unsteady.

  She leaned against a stop-sign pole. Dane and the boy had disappeared. The street ended at the freeway entrance. She doubted they'd gone toward the on-ramp; they must have gone west up the last street, just past the Paradise Club. She squinted. Everything past the bar looked blurry and indistinct. Terrific. She'd tucked her glasses into the purse.

  With Dane gone, her surroundings seemed more menacing. The dark, derelict buildings with broken windows and empty doorways looked like monsters with unseeing eyes and screaming mouths. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself. The nape of her neck tingled. She glanced around, unable to shake the feeling of being observed by someone...or something...in the shadows.

  Her gaze flicked to the club's neon green sign glowing atop the square flamingo-pink building. While the club lacked the security of a castle keep with a hundred knights to protect her, and it looked like Miami Vice on acid, it was safer than standing alone in the creepy darkness of a barren sidewalk. It was only a couple blocks away. Taking a fortifying breath, she headed toward the bar.

  Just as she reached the edge of the building, its doors burst open. Ear-deafening music blared; the minty-burn scent of cigarette smoke rolled out with two men clumsily exiting the club. They were propelled by a large gentleman who had their shirts twisted in his hands. Taller than Dane and bigger than one of those professional wrestlers she'd seen on television, the mountainous fellow turned the intoxicated men toward each other and proceeded to bang their heads together. Marissa cringed as the men moaned in pain with each resounding thud.

  The bouncer let go of their shirts and they slid to the ground. "You losers stay out of this club. Don't come back again or I'll get rough." He turned around and lumbered back into the noise-and-smoke-filled club.

  Get rough? Marissa wondered what the giant thought attempted skull cracking constituted. She crept closer, wondering if they needed medical treatment. She stopped short and stared at the so-called losers.

  Probably in their early 20s, both had spiked hair, pierced faces, and tattoo-covered arms. Dressed in tattered shirts, hole-riddled jeans, and Army boots, they looked like rejects from a punk-rock band. They had yet to realize that Marissa stood a mere foot away from them. Fascination outweighed fear. She felt like a biologist who'd just discovered a new species.

  "Snipe?"

  "What, Bullet?"

  "That's the third club we've been tossed out of tonight."

  "Fourth."

  The one called Snipe grinned, revealing teeth that hadn't seen a toothbrush in years. "Wanna go for a fifth?"

  Bullet, whose two eyebrow rings trumped Snipe's demure one, grinned back, also revealing a lack of concern about dental hygiene. "Yeah, man."

  They stood up, whooping and hollering and dancing around like a pair of demented cranes. When the strange ritual ended, they turned toward Marissa. Surprise registered on their faces.

  "Hey, it's a babe," said Snipe. "You working 'round here, girlfriend?"

  "Yeah, little momma...you lookin' for a date?" asked Bullet. Babe? Girlfriend?Little momma? Marissa didn't like their snide tones or the glazed looks of interest entering their red-rimmed eyes.

  "Cease your name-calling," she said, pointing an imperious finger at them. "You should be more respectful of a lady."

  "A lady?" Snipe's yellow grin promised trouble. "I don't see no lady. Hey, Bullet, you ever seen a lady?"

  "Not on this street. Seen a lot of hookers, though."

  Marissa's mouth dropped open in outrage. "I'll have you know I'm not a—" Her lips wouldn't form the word. "A woman who grants sexual favors for money."

  Snipe and Bullet looked at each other, then at Marissa. "What did she say?" Bullet scratched the side of his spiked head.

  Snipe punched Bullet in the arm. "Never mind, stupid. We'll tape her mouth shut so we don't have to listen to her talk." They slouched toward Marissa, their grins curled with gleeful malice.

  Three

  FEAR CHILLED MARISSA. Too late, she realized her predicament. These boys intended to harm her. No use thinking about how she should have kept walking until she found Dane. She would have to speak to him about remaining at her side. What was the point of having a bodyguard if he wasn't here to guard her body?

  Marissa tucked the crumpled list into her bra then took the guard's stance she'd learned from her karate master. "Aye ah!" she yelled.

  Bullet sneered. "We seen The Karate Kid, babe. You can't fake us out with that crap." Snipe lunged for her; she spun and struck him in the chest with an around kick. He stumbled backwards, fell to his knees, and collapsed.

  "Holy shit!" Bullet looked at her with wide eyes then bared his ugly teeth. "You won't
do that to me." He grabbed her arm. She snap-kicked her leg. Her shin contacted his groin then she threw a power punch to his stomach with her free hand. He fell backwards, aided by Marissa's thrust kick to his stomach, rapped his head solidly against the concrete, and joined Snipe in unconsciousness.

  "Marissa!"

  She turned to see Dane, dragging the skate-less purse snatcher in a headlock, walking toward her.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  "They started it. I was only defending myself."

  "They...you..." Dane clamped his jaw shut. "I told you to stay put."

  "You did?"

  "Yes, damn it. I did."

  "I'm terribly sorry, Dane."

  He stared at her. "You are?"

  "Of course, I am. I didn't hear you tell me to stay put."

  "You're apologizing to me and admitting you should have listened to me."

  Dane acted like he'd never received an apology before. She touched his arm. "Do you forgive me?"

  "C'mon, man, forgive her before you cut off the rest of my oxygen," said the thief.

  "Shut up." Dane's gaze pierced Marissa. "How did—" He sighed. "We need to have a long talk, princess. You're going to explain to me why you need protection if you're a black belt in karate."

  "I'm a brown belt."

  The thief squirmed and Dane tightened his hold. "I should let her beat the crap out of you, too."

  The boy's gaze drifted over the punks' prone bodies. "It wouldn't be good for my rep if I got beat up by a girl."

  "One should never employ the use of martial arts for anything but defense. Dane, I think your prisoner is turning blue around the lips."

  Dane abruptly let go of the kid's neck and grabbed him by the arm. "Give the lady her property."

  "Name's Tuesday Jones, ma'am," he said. He winked at her as he gave Marissa the orange monstrosity. "That's the ugliest purse I've ever stolen."

  "I caught him before he could take anything, but you better look through it and make sure."

  "You're a rather charming thief, aren't you, Tuesday?" Marissa made sure the purse's contents were intact. "Is Tuesday your real name?"

  "Yep. I don't believe in aliases. If I get caught, I take the rap." Dane snorted. "A responsible thief. Yeah, right."

  "Your mother named you Tuesday?" asked Marissa.

  "I'm the sixth of seven kids and Momma was tired of naming us. I was born on a Tuesday and that's what she called me." He grinned. "Better than answerin' to Number Six."

  Marissa closed the bag. "Everything's here." She stepped closer to Tuesday. "Do you steal because you're poor? Do you need money?"

  "Look at his clothes, Marissa. He wears top of the line stuff. Those blades he was wearing cost a fortune."

  "Do you steal because you can't afford nice things?" asked Marissa. Pity at his misfortune crept into her heart.

  "I steal because I can." Tuesday's shiny smile dimmed. "I get on just fine. Don't feel sorry for me, lady."

  "Why not?"

  He frowned. "What do you mean 'Why not?'"

  "Why shouldn't I feel bad about your situation? You're one of seven children. I imagine you dropped out of high school and you live in a gang-infested area. Are your parents divorced? You don't sell drugs, do you?"

  Tuesday's brows rose. "Are you for real?"

  Tears crowded Marissa's eyes. She had more money than she could spend in ten lifetimes. The least she could do was share it with someone needy. Someone so needy, he'd turned to a life of crime. She dug in her purse and pulled out a fistful of hundred-dollar bills.

  "Here, Tuesday. Go back to school. Don't do drugs, okay?"

  "Marissa!" The censure in Dane's voice made her look at him. "He needs it more than I do."

  Tuesday's eyes bulged. "You had that much dough in your purse?" He stared at the money in Marissa's hand. "You better put it away before someone steals it."

  "You stole it," said Dane. "C'mon, Marissa. We need to call the police."

  "No! Let him take the money. He can start anew."

  "This isn't a television sitcom. It's real life. Giving him money won't solve his problems."

  "Oh yeah? What do you know?" Tuesday's charm disappeared under a deep frown. "I could start anew, dawg."

  "I see boys like you every day, Tuesday. You think you got the world in your pocket, but all you got is trouble. You need more than a bad attitude to make it in life."

  "You're the one with a bad attitude," interjected Marissa.

  "You're unbelievably naïve. You can't walk around giving away money and spouting off moral platitudes."

  "I can, too." She crossed her arms.

  Dane opened his mouth then closed it. "We better get going before dumb and dumber wake up."

  "Where are we going?" asked Marissa.

  "The police station. Tuesday's going to turn himself in for petty larceny, then you and I are going to a hotel."

  Marissa's protest on Tuesday's behalf stilled in her throat. She looked at Dane. "A hotel? Really?"

  "Don't sound so hopeful. We're getting separate rooms, princess."

  "Honestly, Dane, you are so stubborn." She looked at Tuesday. "I don't want to press charges."

  "I do."

  "Your property wasn't stolen."

  "Do you want him to steal someone else's purse?"

  "No." Marissa looked at Tuesday. His casual stance and bored expression belied the vulnerable look in his dark eyes. He was just a boy. All he needed was a chance to prove his worthiness—to himself and to the world. "I want to hire him."

  "What?" said Dane and Tuesday at the same time.

  "I need an assistant."

  "To do what?" asked Dane.

  "Stuff." She paused. "He can keep track of the list. Run errands. Take notes of my adventures. Maybe I'll write a book."

  "This is a bad idea."

  Dane's cynical outlook needed an adjustment. Marissa looked at Tuesday. "Do you want the job? It's for a week and I'll pay you a thousand dollars."

  "A grand? To follow you around and scribble notes?" Tuesday frowned. "Why would you give me a job, lady? I stole from you."

  "Everyone deserves a second chance." She smiled. "You can change your life one choice at a time."

  Tuesday shook off Dane's grip, extended his arm, and shook Marissa's hand. "You got a deal, lady."

  * * *

  DANE SIGNED THE hotel's register, then handed Marissa a card key. "We're on the fifth floor."

  They got on the empty elevator. Dane leaned against the wall and studied Marissa. Purple shadows smudged the delicate skin under her eyes. She looked exhausted. She was so out of her element—just like Dorothy in the Land of Oz, only Marissa was a mix of all the characters who'd followed the yellow-brick road. Except the lion. Marissa had an annoying amount of courage.

  A loud ding announced their arrival on the fifth floor. Dane walked his charge to Room 506. "I'm across the hall in five-oh-seven. Don't leave your room. I'll knock on the door in the morning."

  "We're supposed to meet Tuesday at that café for breakfast."

  "Marissa—"

  "No more discussion. You argued with me all the way to the hotel and frankly, I'm tired of defending my actions. You don't have to like that I hired Tuesday, but you do have to accept it."

  "Right, Miss Vanderson. After all, I'm only an employee. I should just shut my mouth and do my job."

  "That would be marvelous." She slid the card through the slot and opened the door.

  "Wait just a damn minute." Dane tugged on her arm, stopping her on the threshold. "I'm trying to protect you. If you want me to protect you, you have to trust my judgment."

  "I trust you." A smiled curved her lips. "It's just that you're very good at talking and very bad at listening. Good night, Dane."

  The door clicked shut. He stared at the gold-painted numbers for a long moment, then turned and crossed the hall to his own room. Marissa wouldn't have to worry about his listening skills anymore.

  Tomorrow, he was quit
ting this insane job.

  * * *

  SHE PRETENDED TO check for a hole in her stocking while the man stared at Marissa Vanderson's door and cursed a blue streak. She needn't have bothered with the distraction because he turned, stomped across the hall, opened then slammed his door. She straightened and walked to the end of the hall, inserted her hotel key, and went inside.

  Following the arguing couple to the hotel had been a pain in the ass. It was strange...as she circled the block in her nondescript rental car, looking like a lost tourist, she felt as though she was the one being followed. She should have figured out tall, dark, and Lothario would hoof it to the nearest hotel. Luckily, she'd arrived at the check-in counter in time to hear the clerk say their room numbers, so she'd been able to request a room on the same floor.

  Separate rooms.

  So the handsome guy didn't want the beautiful girl.

  Why?

  Exhaustion poured through her and she flopped onto the bed. Kicking off her shoes, she thought of the sweet young thing a few doors down. Poor Marissa. She'd gone out into the world to finally claim it—and would soon find the ultimate disappointment.

  She didn't bother to undress. She curled under the covers and bunched up the too-soft pillow under her head. Tomorrow. She'd do her job, her duty...and move on. It's what she always did. Would always do. Her eyes drifted shut and the dark world in which she lived fell away. Memories of light, laughter, family, invaded her dreams. Her lips curved into a contented smile.

  * * *

  HE SLIPPED OUT from the stairwell, turned, and made sure the heavy metal closed with a quiet click. Fifth floor. She's here. Somewhere.

  He scanned the empty hallway. Which room was she in? He strained to hear anything that might tell him where she'd gone. Not a single sound penetrated. It'd be stupid to press his ear against every door just on the off chance he'd recognize her voice...her laughter...her soft moans.

  Long legs wrapped around another man's waist.

  His fists clenched.

  Taut, coral nipples caught by another man's mouth.