by Неизвестный
noticing how his gaze shifted to her legs when her skirt accidentally showed a little bit of flesh. She
started to say something about his wandering eyes and decided not to. It probably wouldn’t do any good
anyway.
The drive to her place was uneventful and whenever she glanced in her rearview mirror, he was there.
She would admit that, considering the incidents of the past two weeks, she felt a semblance of security
knowing he was near, just like the days and nights following that episode with Tyrone.
She parked her car in the driveway and was surprised when he parked behind her and got out of his
vehicle. The other times he had followed her home, he had stayed in the car while she went inside and
then left. She wondered why he had changed the routine, and she didn’t like the way her skin seemed to
feel warm all over as he came closer.
“You have a two-car garage. Any reason you aren’t parking in it?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of
her.
“It’s full of boxes. I haven’t unpacked everything yet.” She paused. “Why did you get out of the car?”
She appreciated him seeing her home, but she had no intentions of asking him inside. Her house was her
place. Her own private space. When she had moved to Somerset and found what she thought was the
perfect neighborhood along with the perfect house, she had moved in, determined to keep bad memories
from past experiences outside. Darius was a reminder of a bad past experience.
“I overheard you mention to Marcy that you had a dripping bathroom faucet that was keeping you awake
at night. I thought I’d take care of it for you.”
“Now?”
“I don’t have anything else I have to do.”
Summer sighed. She did. She wanted to take a shower and go to bed. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll get
around to calling a plumber later this week.”
“No need. It will only take a minute. Then I’ll be out of here.”
Standing in the shadows, she could barely see the features of his face in the moonlight. But what she did
see was a man who had first been her friend and then her lover. She didn’t know what he was now, aside
from very determined to look out for her.
From the look of things, his mind was made up. She really wanted the faucet fixed. Since he had
volunteered, she might as well take him up on his offer. “All right, then. Thanks.”
“I’ve told you more than once that you don’t ever have to thank me for doing what I do when it involves
you, Summer.”
She swallowed. Yes, he had said that more than once. Most times had been when they were sitting on a
sofa, hugged up while watching television. She’d enjoyed those nights when they would sit curled up
with a movie, sharing a bowl of popcorn in her living room, talking.
Another thing she had appreciated about him was that he had never tried pressuring her into sex. That
night when they had finally made love, it was because it was something they both wanted, not something
he had pushed her into doing.
“Yes, I know you don’t need my thanks, but I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate it,” she finally
said.
“Fine. Let me grab my toolbox out the car.”
She waited while he went back to his car. Moments later, she grabbed her mail out of the box and
opened the door, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake letting him inside.
He followed her and closed the door behind them. The click of the lock made her fully aware that they
were alone, totally and completely. Trying to ignore her nerves, she threw the mail on the table. Since
she paid most of her bills online, she knew the majority of it was nothing but junk mail anyway.
“Nice place,” he complimented, glancing around. She knew he was taking stock of her place.
She tried to ignore how at home he looked in her living room. Like he belonged there. “Thanks.”
This house was a lot more spacious than her apartment had been, and since she had a job that paid well,
she could afford nice furniture.
“Which bathroom has the dripping faucet?”
“The one in my bedroom.” Too late she realized that he was going to go into her most private room.
“Which way?”
“Down the hall to your right.”
When he disappeared around the corner, she inhaled deeply, deciding she needed to do something other
than just stand there while he repaired the faucet. She needed to at least appear busy. Unfortunately,
there weren’t any plants she had to water, nor were there dishes in her sink that she needed to wash. Her
gaze lit on the junk mail that she had placed on the table and she decided now was as good a time as any
to go through it.
Darius moved down the hall toward Summer’s bedroom, thinking she had a lovely home. It was an old
house, but very well cared for and maintained. He also liked the vibrant colors that suited her decor and
the furnishings that blended in so well. And she was still neat as a pin, he thought, entering her bedroom
and glancing around. His gaze came to a stop on the queen-size bed and he couldn’t help but wonder
what man had probably shared it with her. A rich, older man, no doubt.
Overhearing the conversation about her dripping faucet had given him the perfect excuse to invite
himself in. For some reason, he had wanted to see the house that she was living in without him.
Although they’d never actually discussed marriage seven years ago, as far as he was concerned, it had
been the next thing on the agenda for them. He’d known that after what Whitman had put her through, it
would be hard for her to put her trust in any man, but he had been willing to be patient and give her
whatever amount of time she needed to learn to trust a man again. She’d needed to know that he was
someone she could depend on. Someone who would always be there for her. Too bad she hadn’t given
them a chance.
Forcing those thoughts from his mind, he headed toward her bathroom. He had just stepped over the
threshold and placed the toolbox on the floor when she frantically called out his name.
He rushed to the living room and saw total shock on her face. “Summer? What’s wrong?”
She stared up at him, barely able to force words past her lips. But he did hear the one single name she
said.
“Tyrone.”
He looked at her, confused, not sure why she was bringing up the man who’d caused her nothing but
grief. “What about Whitman, Summer?”
She glanced down and he followed her gaze to the mail sprawled at her feet. He quickly figured that
something in one of the letters must have upset her.
He bent down, picked up the envelopes and flipped through them. Then he saw a letter from the Texas
Parole Board. From the look of the envelope—specifically, all the stamp marks all over it—the post
office had made several attempts to deliver it to her.
He pulled out the letter and read it, and then took a deep breath. As a former police officer, he was
familiar with Texas law regarding those who’d been victims of violent crimes. A standard letter was
issued to notify victims of the parole board’s decision to release an inmate.
Darius glanced up at the date of the letter. It had been sent over a month ago. Tyrone Whitman was now
a free man.
“I want you to drink this and please don’t tell me that you don’t need it because you do,” Darius said,
walking over t
o where Summer sat on the sofa with a cup of coffee laced with brandy in his hand.
Something had had him on edge all day, and he hadn’t been able to figure out what. But now he knew.
The thought that the man who had caused Summer so much grief had only served seven years of a
twenty-year sentence made him very angry. But right now, Summer didn’t need his anger. More than
anything, she needed his support.
Surprisingly, she took the cup without giving him a hard time and took a sip. A frown appeared on her
face and he knew why—he had made it a little too strong but if anything, it would help her sleep.
“I can’t believe it,” she said, breaking the quiet stillness of the room and leaning forward to place the
cup on the coffee table. “How can Tyrone be out of prison? That makes no sense.”
Darius had to agree with her. It definitely made no sense given the man’s crime. They should have put
him in jail and thrown away the key. There was no way Whitman should be free to walk around. At least
not on this planet. How could they have done such a thing?
He cringed whenever he thought about the final days of the trial and the threats Whitman had shouted
out to Summer, saying what he would do to her if he ever got out. He wondered if Summer was
remembering those days. He doubted she could forget. She stood and began pacing the floor. He
watched her. He of all people knew how she felt, how upset she had to be.
“Tomorrow I’ll make a few calls and try to pinpoint his whereabouts,” he said, trying to make her feel
secure. “Usually when someone who has committed a serious crime is paroled, they’re released with a
number of restrictions. I bet Whitman can’t leave Houston.”
She stopped pacing and glanced over at him with blatant hope in her gaze. “You think so?”
“I’ll find out tomorrow.”
Seeing the panic she was fighting to control gave him pause. At that moment she was no longer the
confident, self-assured woman he had watched over the past two weeks. Now there was real fear in her
eyes and a sign of helplessness in her voice, and he didn’t like it.
Crossing the room he pulled her into his arms. And when she began to tremble while he held her close,
whatever hard casting surrounding his heart began to crumble. She needed him and there was no way he
could not be there for her.
As if she was relieved to be able to hold on to something solid, she wrapped her arms around him. He
was unprepared for the slew of emotions that rushed through him. He would protect her with his life if
he had to, and would never let Whitman get close to her again.
He pulled back slightly, wanting to look at her, to make sure she was okay, and when his gaze settled on
her lips, he was drawn to them like a magnet. Without any control, he lowered his mouth to hers.
The moment he drew her tongue into his mouth and began feasting on it, he felt sensations all the way to
his toes and couldn’t do anything but shiver with the pleasure of their intimacy. He drew his arms
around her, tightening his hold to bring her body flush with his.
Summer felt his hardness, firm and rigid, pressing against her and marveled that his body was letting her
know how much he wanted her. The only times she’d ever been kissed with such heat and passion was
when he did the kissing.
He shifted the angle of his head, which caused her to follow as she tilted the curve of her mouth to his
and nearly moaned out loud when his tongue took hold of hers with an intensity that made her weak in
the knees.
When he finally released her lips, she leaned into him and sighed deeply. She had needed that kiss. She
had needed the connection.
He felt firm, warm and solid—everything she needed at that moment. And in his arms she felt safe and
secure. Protected. The thought that Tyrone was no longer locked up behind bars sent real fear through
her, fear she was trying hard not to show. But every time she remembered those threats he’d yelled out
in the courtroom while being taken away, she couldn’t ignore the real panic that wanted to overtake her
entire being.
“I don’t want you to stay here tonight. You should come home with me, Summer.”
She leaned back in his arms and met his gaze. “I can’t do that, Darius. I’ll be okay and—”
“No, Summer, think about it. I don’t want to scare you, but until we know for sure that Whitman is in
Houston, I don’t want you here alone. What if those two incidents at the shelter had nothing to do with a
disgruntled husband or boyfriend? What if Whitman is in violation of his parole and is not in Houston
but here in Somerset and responsible for leaving that note on your windshield as well as slashing your
tires?”
Darius saw the glint of real fear in her eyes when she considered those possibilities. What he’d said was
true. He was not deliberately trying to scare her but she had to face the facts. And until he checked to see
just where Whitman was and what he was doing, he would not let her feel safe. Hell, as far as he was
concerned, as long as Whitman walked the streets he wouldn’t advise Summer to feel safe. She had
become an obsession to the man. In Whitman’s eyes, she had betrayed him and he intended to teach her
a lesson for doing so. He had made that threat in the courtroom with a crazed look in his eyes. Darius
would never forget it.
“I’ll go back to the shelter and sleep on the sofa in my office, and—”
“And what if word gets around to the women at Helping Hands that you, the woman who counsels them,
is in the same predicament they are? Will that offer them any real hope for a brighter future when the
man who disrupted your life seven years ago is still doing so?”
Summer’s throat tightened as she stared up at him. She wished she could go anywhere but home with
him. Being in such close quarters when she was feeling so vulnerable would be temptation she wasn’t
sure she could handle.
“Go on and pack an overnight bag for now, at least until I find out a few things tomorrow. If I get
information indicating Whitman is in Houston behaving himself under the watchful eye of a parole
officer, then I’ll bring you back here tomorrow. Until then, you’re going to be with me, Summer.”
Summer breathed in deeply. A part of her wanted to scream out that this had all been a mistake, a nasty
nightmare, and she would wake up any minute snuggled in Darius’s arms for another reason, one that
didn’t have anything to do with Tyrone.
Darius released her, dropping his arms. “Get your bag so we can go. I’ll wait here.”
Summer looked at Darius, knowing his mind was set about her going home with him. There was nothing
she could say to make him consider leaving her here tonight. But a part of her didn’t want to be here
tonight, the part that vividly recalled Tyrone’s threats. She was well aware of what the man was capable
of.
Because she hadn’t lived in town for long, she hadn’t gotten to know her neighbors. There were elderly
couples that lived on either side of her that she would see on occasion. But other than the staff at the
shelter, Darius was the only person she knew in Somerset. She had planned to join some community
organizations but hadn’t gotten around to doing so.
Making a decision, she said, “All right. It won’t take me long to get my things.”
A faint smile touched his eyes. “Take your time. I�
��m not going anywhere.”
Her heart felt full. Some things had changed, but Darius was Darius, the man who’d always been and
forever would be her knight in shining armor. The one person she could always depend on to be there
for her.
Without saying anything else, she rushed off to her bedroom to pack.
Eight
S ummer fell in love with Darius’s home the moment she walked through the door. Although it was too
dark outside for her to see everything, she knew he had taken her to a sprawling two-story ranch house.
When she stepped into his living room, she felt a sense of comfort. She knew it was strange for her to
feel that way, but she couldn’t help it. During the short drive he had made her feel safe, assuring her that
he would find out everything he could about Tyrone’s whereabouts and that until he did, she would stay
with him.
She glanced around and wondered if he’d hired an interior designer to decorate his home. Everything
was color coordinated perfectly, and the furniture complemented the decor. A huge brick fireplace took
up one entire wall and a bevy of windows guaranteed sunshine deep in the house during the daylight
hours.
To shield the foyer from the interior rooms, a glass-blocked wall was erected between the main living
area and the front door. The furniture in the living room was dark, rich leather and looked comfortable
as well as sturdy.
“You have a beautiful home, Darius,” she said when he followed her inside, carrying her overnight case.
“Thanks. Come on and let me get you settled in the guest room. It’s past midnight and you have to be
tired.”
She was, and couldn’t wait to get a good night’s sleep, or at least try, she thought. But then she figured
that he had to be tired, as well. He had spent the day at both the shelter and the refinery.
Moments later, after following him up a flight of stairs, she stepped into the guest bedroom. She glanced
around in total awe. The spacious room had a high roof beam with Old Hickory decor. The king-size bed
appeared massive, and the bedspread was a colorful patchwork that matched the country curtains.
“Evidently, your security company is doing well,” she said.