Present Danger

by Susan Andersen

  Down in the yard, Aunie voiced the question that had just occurred to her. “Shouldn’t you be at work, Bob?”

  “I’m headin’ back now,” he replied. “I took an hour off.”

  “Just to get me? Oh, Bobby, you shouldn’t have.”

  “You took care of my brother when he needed it.” Bob shrugged. “Jimmy said he wants everyone at your school to know you’ve got friends who’ll take care of you. I owed you, kid, and I wanted to do it. It’s no big deal.”

  “It is a big deal,” she insisted and rose up on her tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. She followed it up by gently dabbing at the small smear of lipstick she’d left behind, erasing it with her thumb. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” He handed her the book bag and grinned once again at her small figure in its big jacket. “I can trust you to return Jimmy’s coat to him, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, then. See ya around, kid.” He turned and lumbered over to his bike. Mounting up, he gave her a small salute and roared away.

  James acted rather testy when she returned his leather jacket, so Aunie didn’t linger. She let herself into her own apartment and called the telephone company to report her list of dates and times from the previous week’s calls. She was instructed to start a new list.

  The week that followed was much like the last. Each day when she left her final class of the day, she was met outside her classroom by one of the men. Otis met her twice, Bob once, and James twice. They brought her home; she studied; she worked out with Leon … and she had lessons in how to fight dirty.

  Out of all James’s multitudinous plans, those lessons were her least favorite. They were too … difficult.

  In every respect.

  Yes, she was learning to function under pressure, to redirect emotions, to concentrate her awareness. But it was difficult to be with him, know herself to be in love with him, and have him treat her like his not-so-bright little sister.

  And that was usually the highlight of the lessons, when he was encouraging her.

  When he tested her with a practical application of the knowledge he’d been hammering into her, he raised difficult to an entirely new dimension.

  She knew her emotions were overloading. The disparate sensations he raised in her made her feel schizophrenic. When he was her instructor he touched her, he pinned her down; he gave her directions in his usual blunt way, in his usual blunt language. She absorbed and she learned, but underneath it all Aunie itched with a need for a different kind of recognition. He made her crazy with his intimate touches that held no trace of intimacy, his sexual references that had no real reference to her. Unknowingly, he taunted her with the weight of his body on hers, the feel of his skin as she grappled to break his hold, his scent, his voice … Gawd. And because he wanted her to learn, he was never satisfied to show her a move once and let it go at that. Oh no. He had her repeat the movements over and over again until she thought she’d scream with pure, unbridled frustration.

  But when he staged practice attacks to test how well she had absorbed what he’d taught her, sex was the furthest thing from her mind. That was not the vacation it might have been, however, because at those times, he just plain frightened her. He stalked her, regarded her with someone else’s eyes, talked to her in a voice devoid of his usual intonations, and she felt genuinely threatened. Knowingly, he took personal knowledge that she had given him and goaded her with her own fear.

  No, the lessons were not a picnic, not in any respect. If she wasn’t tormented in one manner, she was tormented in another.

  On Friday, she snapped.

  “Once more,” James said as he pushed off her prone body and climbed to his feet. He extended a hand to her, and wearily, Aunie reached for it to be briskly hauled erect for the umpteenth time that day. “Now, pay attention, dammit,” he growled and she gathered herself. “Concentrate on what needs to be done. Wesley’s just busted through the door and his only desire is to hurt you. You’re scared; it’s okay to be scared. But… what did I tell you about emotions?”

  “Control them; don’t let them control you. Don’t lose your temper. Don’t panic,” she droned automatically. She knew what he said made sense. She should … God knew he’d drummed it into her often enough. He’d told her repeatedly not to allow herself to be taunted into losing her temper and not to give in to panic. You can’t fight effectively, Aunie, if rage or terror is ruling your brain.

  Her mind was stuffed full of such advice. Take that adrenaline surge and turn it to your own advantage … it can give you strength. Watch every move he makes, Magnolia. Read the damn body language to learn which way he’s gonna move. He’d told her all kinds of stuff, demonstrated even more, but she was tired … dead tired and sick of the whole business.

  One more time. She’d do this one more time this evening, and then she was through. She hadn’t had a night to relax and do absolutely nothing in much too long.

  “Okay, sit at the table,” he instructed. “You’re studying.” She tensed. Instruction was over. It was practical application time. She sat as instructed and he walked out into the hall. Suddenly, he reappeared from out of nowhere, the way she’d told him Wesley used to do. “Hello, Aunie,” he said in a monotone, staring at her with emotionless eyes. “I told you I’d be back for you.”

  Aunie’s awareness of everything around her was suddenly heightened, and she stood. Keeping her eye on him, she edged for the panic button on the end table. Use a moderate tone of voice, Magnolia. Don’t spook him into action. “Wesley,” she said calmly. “What are you doing here?” She reached the table and paused with her back to it, blocking it from his view. Casually, she curled her fingers around the edge, one of which reached out and touched the switch. If this actually had been Wesley, the alarm would now be on and he wouldn’t know it. James’s voice in her head said, Unless it’s unavoidable, don’t broadcast what you’re doing.

  “You’ve been cheating on me, Aunie,” James said in a flat voice as he moved nearer, and Aunie nearly shivered. She hated this part … when James used words that Wesley had used the last time he’d hurt her. She picked up the phone behind her back and felt along it for the M1, M2, or M3 buttons, all three of which had been programmed to dial 911. Pretending to push one, she dropped the receiver on the couch cushion. James had told her that police responded quickest to calls that were on an open line yet gave no information or were cut off in the process of giving information. 911’s computer automatically scrolled up the phone number and corresponding address for the incoming calls.

  He was moving in on her and Aunie experienced the spurt of adrenaline that never failed to surprise her. She knew that this was James; yet her body forever insisted on recalling Wesley’s attack during these sessions.

  Never removing her eyes from him, she edged around, angling for the door. That was her primary objective, if at all possible. If the opportunity presents itself, Aunie, don’t dick around. Get the hell outta there. But James suddenly moved, blocking her way. She correctly judged his intent on his next three moves by watching his body language and she successfully dodged him.

  Then he was on her.

  Aunie reached for his eyes, and this time her nails were only centimeters away before he got a grip on her wrist. With her other hand, she jabbed for his Adam’s apple. James’s hand whipped out to stop her. She slammed her knee up between his legs.

  She came the closest she’d ever come to reaching her objective. But ultimately she failed, and in the end, he had her down in her usual position, spread-eagled on the floor, her wrists pinned to the hardwood on either side of her head, his body weighing her down. Dammit!

  He released her hands and placed his own on the floor to push himself off her. Suddenly enraged, she gripped his hair, twisted her head to the side, and yanked with all her might, trying her damnedest to smash his face into the floor. James grunted as he felt several hair roots give. Instinctively, he grabbed her wrists and slammed them back to the f
loor.

  “Good girl,” he panted. “That last was a great little piece of improvisation. You came close this time, Magnolia.” He released her wrists once again and started to push off. “Okay, let’s give it another try.”

  She made no move to rise. “No.”

  That single, flatly stated negative halted him in his tracks. He dropped back over her, propping himself up on his forearms. “Whataya mean, no?”

  “Just what I said. No. Ah’ve had enough.”

  James didn’t consider how hard he’d been pushing her. He overlooked the signs of strain on her face. He had demons of his own riding him; her defiance enraged him, and he reacted with instinctive aggressiveness. “You’ve had enough?” he demanded furiously. Unreasonably aggravated, he jammed a hard muscled thigh between her legs and curled his hand into the thin material at the loose neckline of her Betty Boop T-shirt. He twisted his fingers and hauled on the material, making her back arch. “Is that what you’re gonna tell Wesley when he shows up?” he snarled, his face thrust close. “Ah’ve had enough? Dammit, Magnolia, he could have this little shirt ripped off of you in two seconds flat and rape you where you lie. Now, what’re ya gonna do to stop him?”

  That did it! He’d done this before—in fact, he did it all the time. He was forever introducing the possibility of rape into the conversation whenever she dared balk, but she was way past allowing such tactics today. “Wesley would never rape me,” she snarled right back. “How many times do I have to tell you that before it’ll sink into your thick skull? You want to rip my shirt off, James? Then rip it! But don’t go attributin’ that particular motive to Wesley. He never much cared for my little ol’ lily whaht body.” She lay on her back, knees bent around the thigh pressed up hard between her legs, breasts heaving against the backs of his fingers.

  James was twisted into a thousand knots. He’d just spent the past couple of weeks hammering at her not to allow her emotions to go unchecked, and here his own were totally beyond discipline. For weeks, for months, he had denied, denied, denied.

  Something different was pushing him now.

  “Yeah, well maybe I’m not old Wesley,” he said with soft menace. “Maybe I’m the phone guy from the college, and doll baby, he’d rape you in the blink of an eye.”

  It suddenly hit Aunie that he was aroused. She could feel him against her inner leg, hard and hot, and it infuriated her. Because she knew him and his insufferable self-control. He’d go stick it in a knothole before he’d avail himself of her. “I don’t think we’re talkin’ about Wesley or the Campus Caller,” she said venomously. “I think we’re talkin’ about you.” The irony of it hit her and she laughed bitterly. “Gawd, James, that’s funny.”

  He stared at her with uncomprehending fury, denial written all over his face, and she sighed. “Oh, James, you just don’t get it, do you?” she asked. “You just don’t get it at all. I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you. Because, if we’re talkin’ about you here … if you’re the one who wants to make love to me, Jimmy … then, sugah, go ahead; I’m more than willin’. It sure as heck wouldn’t be rape!”

  CHAPTER 13

  “Christ!” James recoiled from her as if he’d been scalded. He released her shirt, withdrew his thigh, and shoved to his feet. “Listen, Aunie,” he croaked, thrusting his hands through his hair. “Don’t talk like that. I’ve told you before, you’re not…”

  “If you say I’m not your type one more time, I swear I shall scream,” she bit out between clenched teeth. She rose to her knees, staring up at him defiantly. “I’m sick of you tramplin’ all over my ego with that excuse. If I’m not your type, why are you sportin’ that?” She indicated the erection straining behind the fly of his worn jeans. He opened his mouth as if to reply, but she rode right over whatever he would have said. “And why is it you can’t seem to be in my company for more than five minutes without introducin’ sex into the conversation? Y’ do, y’ know … every darn time we’re together. So, what’s the story, Jimmy? Either you’re nothin’ but a big ol’ lily-livered coward or …” She tilted her head as if she were considering. James was standing only feet away, his big hands now at his side, clenching and unclenching into fists. “Or,” she continued slowly as she climbed to her feet, “you’re one of those men who’s all talk and no action. Is that it? Ooh. I bet it is. James Ryder,” she imprudently mocked him, “thinks he’s a stud, but he’s only a pony.”

  James forgot all the reasons why he couldn’t touch her. All he could think of was that he didn’t have to take this. Not on top of the past couple of weeks he’d had. Shit, he’d put himself on the line for her, exposing his dark side in order to teach her a little street savvy. He hadn’t wanted to do it. Up until now, she hadn’t seemed to fully realize just how different the worlds from which they came were, and he hadn’t wanted to be the one to clue her in. He’d known damned well that once she’d seen what he was capable of, it would be driven home to her like a stake through a vampire’s heart.

  And, dammit, it had been. He knew she hated these sessions; he’d seen her fear of him every time he’d had to test her on how well she was learning, and it had twisted him up in knots. To cap it off, he’d thought he’d go nuts, rolling around on the floor with her, keeping his hands to himself, and now she was calling him a pony? Well, no more Mr. Nice Guy. If it was a stud she wanted, then it was a stud she’d fucking well get. He almost laughed aloud at the thought. Appropriate choice of words, those.

  He was towering over her in two giant steps. “What did you call me?” His hands wrapped around her hips and he picked her up and stood her on the couch so their eyes were on a more even level.

  If he thought she was going to back down, he was crazy. Aunie’s chin jutted towards the ceiling. “A lily-livered—”

  “No, after that.” His eyes ran over her from head to foot, taking in everything, missing nothing: her bright eyes, her flushed cheeks, the long, white neck, that T-shirt that had taunted him all afternoon with its cropped neckline that slid all over her shoulders, those skin-tight little grey leggings. “Say it to my face.”

  “I said it to your face the first time, you big blond baboon. You think you’re a stud, but you’re only a … umm …”

  James’s long fingers had tangled in her hair and his mouth cut off her words. He wanted to force her to eat her words, literally, but then he tasted her mouth under his, felt her bare arms wrap around his neck, felt her body plaster itself up against his, and his brain short-circuited, all coherent thought erased.

  His mouth was avaricious on hers, lips tugging greedily, tongue pumping insolently, licking up her flavor, showing her who was boss, demonstrating what she could expect if she messed with James T. Ryder. She moaned and opened her lips wider, raking the newly grown nails of one hand across his scalp until her hand reached the coated rubber band that clubbed his hair back. She wrapped her small fist around it.

  He bit her bottom lip, tugging on it, worrying it, then opened his heavy-lidded eyes in time to see her tongue snake out to lick along the edge of her upper teeth. He groaned and went after it, sucking it into his mouth. Releasing it a few moments later, he gripped a silky handful of hair and tugged, forcing her head back, exposing the long white arch of her throat. He sank his mouth into the soft skin just below her earlobe, then slowly dragged it down the length of her throat, pausing to lick, to suck, to rake it with his teeth. Small patches of red began to bloom against the milk white expanse. Aunie shuddered and rolled her head to the side to give him better access.

  He took full advantage.

  One of Aunie’s knees slowly rubbed up the outside of James’s thigh and hip, eventually hooking around the back of his waist. James laughed low in his throat and slid his hands down her back until they were cupping her buttocks. He hauled her up and she wrapped both legs around his waist. “Oh, God, you like this position, don’tcha Magnolia?” He bounced her up and caught her bottom in his hands again, squeezing lightly. His mouth returned to her throat.


  “Umm,” she agreed and rubbed her hands down his spine, grasping handfuls of his shirt and inching it up his back. James bent his knee into the couch cushion and lowered her to a prone position, falling across her, her ankles still locked around his hips. His shirt was bunched under his armpits, and she reached over his shoulders to grab the bottom edge and tug it over his head. It stretched from bicep to bicep in front of him as he planted his hands on the couch next to Aunie’s head and stiff-armed his upper torso away from her. She wrestled it down his arms, sliding it off over each of his large hands as he picked up first one and then the other. She tossed it aside.

  James dropped down upon her, driving her into the cushions, sliding his arms beneath her back to arch her into his mouth. He slid down her body and nosed her T-shirt away from her stomach. Kissing the skin there, he found it to be white and firm and of an incredibly soft texture. He nosed the material higher, then looked up at her, his eyes more green than usual, the grey burned out by the force of his emotions. “Take it off,” he demanded.

  It never occurred to Aunie to argue. She reached down and crossed her hands over her abdomen, grasping the hem and pulling it up over her head. When she shook her hair free and looked down again, James had gone very still. He was staring at her little lace bra and swallowing hard.

  “Jesus,” he whispered hoarsely and eased one arm out from under her back. He pushed up on the other elbow and the fingers still lodged beneath her back splayed across her spine. The hand that he lifted to touch her shook with a fine tremor.

  His long, hard fingers lightly traced the outline of her bra, then slid inward to chart the pattern of pink lace that covered her breasts. He hesitated a second over her nipples, which poked like little pink pencil erasers against the material constraining them. Then he brushed his fingers against them, back and forth, back and forth, inflaming them further with the abrasive rub of the lace. They distended yet more and he caught one between his thumb and finger and pulled at it, squeezing it gently. Aunie sighed deep in her throat. James groaned deep in his.