by Ashlyn Chase
She chuckled. "They're your floors, I believe. And, yeah, I'm sure I can find something." She pulled the tape off a box marked Kitchen and rummaged through it until she fished out a couple of pot holders fashioned of stretchy, colored strips—the kind a child probably crafted. "This should help."
"Perfect." He held up his hands as if they were playing catch. She simply walked over beside him and dropped one beside each leg of the couch. "Can you lift it a little? I'll push it under."
"Oh, sure." Boy, did he feel out of his element with this unimpressed woman. He hoped she didn't think of him as a dumb jock.
By the time her major furniture had been placed and set up, he had expended some physical energy and released most of his tension.
I wonder if she has a serious boyfriend? "So, would you like to come up to my place and see what I mean about uncomfortable, hoity-toity furniture?"
"I would, but I'm exhausted. Maybe another time?"
"Sure. Of course. How about tomorrow night? I could make you a welcome-to-your-new-home dinner, unless you already have plans…"
"I'd love that, believe me, but I have to work." She shook her head.
Crap. You're striking out, Falco. "That's too bad. You're a nurse, right?"
"Yeah. I work at Boston General on the evening shift."
"That must not be very convenient for a night life." C'mon, sweetheart. Give me a hint. I'm dying over here.
"Tell me about it. I can't wait to have some kind of life now that I'm out from under my father's thumb. In case you couldn't tell, he's a little overprotective." She laughed. "Actually, he's a lot overprotective."
Jason chuckled. "He just seemed like a nice, caring father."
"He behaved himself in front of you. If I don't call him tomorrow, he'll be all over my case and chew me out like I skipped school. I don't usually tell people this right off the bat, but we lost my mother when I was sixteen. She had just stepped out for a carton of milk and happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was second degree murder, but the guy got off with manslaughter. Ever since then, he's barely let me out of his sight."
"I'm so sorry." Jason could relate to a hovering, smothering father. His dad had attended every game and as many practices as he could from Little League on. Jason suspected it had more to do with checking up on his athletic prowess and making sure the family "condition" remained a well-guarded secret than offering moral support.
Damn. He caught himself just staring at her. She had the softest looking skin and he wanted to reach out and caress her cheek. Later, Falco. Don't blow it—even if it's much later. And he hoped it wouldn't be. He desperately wanted what everyone else had—a loving family. And he had until Spring Training to find the one or give it up for another long, lonely year.
***
Chad the ghost drifted up from apartment 3A and settled in to haunt his new landlord for the evening.
Jason was back in his pristine penthouse apartment, pacing and mumbling to himself.
"I can't believe I got shot down," he grumbled. "The first time in years a girl has said no to a date with me—and I even offered to cook! That usually crumbles even the most reluctant woman. I probably just asked her at a bad time. She seemed tired. More like exhausted. She had unpacking to do… Damn it, why am I making excuses for her? She said no to me!"
Sighing, he halted and let his eyes roam over his showroom penthouse. "I hate this place. It feels like some billionaire's mansion—a chick billionaire! And I probably put the rotten designer on the road to fame and fortune by giving her free reign."
Chad grimaced. I knew he'd regret that.
Jason suddenly shivered as chills ran up his spine.
Easy, man. I didn't mean to give you the willies by actually touching you, but I like to mock people by pacing right behind them. I didn't know you were going to stop so suddenly. Maybe you should save this crap for your therapist. Don't all rich people have a therapist?
"Now what? I hate to confront people. I'd rather just donate the whole pile to charity and go shopping for myself. Hmm. Since it's off-season and I have a little time to myself, I could ask Merry to go shopping with me to help pick out new furniture. It would give me an excuse to see her again. Damn, I'd like to shop downstairs in Apartment 1B. I keep thinking about that comfortable couch in Merry's apartment—and how I'd love to be straddled on it."
Chad grinned. Ah, now we're finally getting to the good stuff! Lay it on me, brother.
Jason grabbed the cordless telephone and dialed a long number he knew by heart.
"Hi, Mom. Yeah, it's been a while. How are things back in good ol' Minnesota?"
After a short pause, he said, "I need to vent. I met a girl. A friendly girl who didn't throw herself at me and didn't even know who I was."
He scratched his head. "Yeah, it's rare and weirdly refreshing. But she shot me down. I'm used to women wanting me—well, almost used to it, but it's probably just for my money or so they can brag about doing a professional athlete." He chuckled. "Sorry, Mom."
Chad gave an exaggerated sigh. Oh, you poor baby. I'd have given my left nut to be in your position when I was alive and horny.
Jason sighed and lowered himself onto the low armless chair. "I'm getting used to being used, and now I've become another kind of player. All of this goes against my upbringing and values. You raised me better than that."
Again, I feel for you, man. You're fuckin' breaking my heart.
"You taught me to treat all women with respect. You drummed into my head that one-night stands aren't okay. But I've had a lot of those—more than I'd care to admit."
Chad drifted to the ceiling and mimed bowing a stringed instrument. Oh, break out the violins. I think I need a tissue.
"Dad suggested I ignore women altogether in order to concentrate on the sport. Actually, I want it all—the career and a special relationship—but I'm an athlete and meeting nice, normal women is tough."
He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. "Yeah, sure, I guess you're right. Someday when I least expect it…"
Another long pause. "Hey, someday I'll have to do something else, but for now, I'm okay. If I have to, I can always sell the apartment building."
Chad's ears pricked up at that. Why would he have to dump the apartment building? He could probably sell the rights to his life story for a million bucks. I, on the other hand, worked my tail off as a real writer and struggled to pay the rent—but I'm not bitter or anything. Snort.
"I know, Ma. Thanks for listening. Have fun at bingo." Jason smiled. "I love you, too." He hung up, and went straight to his exercise room. Chad floated after him.
I do hope he won't sell the building. I don't think I can stand any more changes. His aunt might ruin it for him, though. Even though her nephew is giving her husband a job and she should be grateful for that, she makes a habit of poking her nose into everyone's business.
Jason squatted on the rubber floor and pumped out some furious push-ups.
Chad hovered directly above him, pumping up and down with Jason's push-ups. This was fun—kind of like a workout but with no effort. In a way I do feel sorry for Jason… I get the feeling he's not really used to his aunt's ways, and he's worried about her itchy trigger finger. Not that she's going to shoot anybody—I don't think so, anyway. She's trigger happy on the telephone and has threatened to call the police for everything from a little noisy sex to a homeless person walking by.
I hate to think what having cops at the building would do to Jason Falco. For one thing, it would put him in the newspaper and expose his whereabouts—his safe haven. Good-bye peace and quiet. Hello rabid fans. Chad chuckled sadly and drifted out the window.
***
On Merry's drive home from work the following night, she cursed her rotten luck. The real motivation behind her move to the big city was to meet cute guys and date—maybe even have s-e-x. In a bed! Something she had to go without for the most part while living under her father's roof and ever watchful eye. Backse
at sex just didn't cut it anymore.
Yesterday, the most incredible guy asked me out… and I had to work. Crap. Crap. Crap!
It had been a crappy shift, too. They were already understaffed and the assistant head nurse called in sick. Thanks a pantload. That meant Merry had to give out the meds for the whole floor and that would make any new nurse neurotic. She hadn't even met the whole staff yet.
What if she made a mistake? She needed this job to pay her rent. She needed to pay her rent to keep her apartment. She needed to live in her own apartment to have a life! Hopefully a cute intern or two would show up before she made a med error and was tossed out on her keester.
Even a tiny taste of independence excited her like nothing else had in the last… how many years? Maybe since her training wheels had been removed. Just thinking about her quest ending in failure and retreating home to Rhode Island upset her enough to bring on an asthma attack.
The motivation to leave wasn't all about dating. She needed a fresh start. She had been "that weird MacKenzie girl" ever since she was little. For some reason she could smell blood blocks away. It's why she became a nurse in the first place. It seemed only natural that she should take first aid courses.
Merry's thoughts kept her thoroughly preoccupied as she parked her aging Volkswagen in the alley behind her building. Apparently none of the long-term residents owned a car, so she secured a free assigned parking space. Hooray!
Strolling away from her car with competing thoughts swirling through her brain, she fumbled in the dark for her back-door key. Suddenly, her feet went out from under her and she found herself hurled to the ground and pinned by some foul-smelling brute. A moment later she realized she had hit hard pavement with her head.
Unable to find her voice right away, or even process what had happened, she lay there, dumbstruck. The moon reflected a glint of metal nearing her face.
"Shhh… Don't scream and I won't hurt you—much." Maniacal laughter followed. A hand fumbled with the buttons on her coat.
Oh my God. What is it they tell you to do in case of rape? Oh, yeah, scream!
Merry inhaled deeply and let out a blood curdling scream. She didn't even recognize the voice as hers. Suddenly her throat tightened and she recognized another threat—her asthma.
She remembered being told to fight but not struggle. They liked it when a woman struggled. Gouge out his eyes! Punch his nose up into his brains. Fight like your life depends on it.
As she tried and failed to get near the bastard's face, her assailant grabbed her wrists in one hand and pressed the sharp knife to her neck with the other.
He hissed, "Shut up! I told you to shut up!"
She pushed his arm away from her and freed one hand. Grabbing anything else she could get a hold of, she tried to yank him off of her.
His jeans must have hung low on his hips, because she grabbed onto the waistband of his underwear. Riiiiiip.
The perp yelped. His eyes flashed in horror and she realized she had just given him a world-class wedgie.
Dear God, I'm going to die. I'm going to be raped and killed in a back alley on my first night as an independent adult. I'm never going to fall in love, get married, hug my children, or live in a McMansion.
The knife pressed into her flesh, and the warm trickle down her neck meant he had pierced the skin. Should she scream again? Would he just kill her and leave her rather than rape her? Or would he, ewww, kill her first, then rape her? Oh, my freakin' God!
As she contemplated what would be the lesser of all possible evils, the man flew off of her and landed a few feet away. At first, she didn't see anyone else.
When she blinked, two shadowy figures stood over the gasping pervert. One of them clamped his boot on the would-be rapist's neck and pointed a gun at his face. The other one hurried over to Merry and helped her up.
"Thank you. Both of you. You saved my life!" The man holding her elbow seemed preoccupied with her neck. Awareness rolled over her. She recognized the dark-haired man who had been leaning against the wrought iron fence, watching her move in. Again, he wore all black, but the concern on his face completely changed his ominous air. His dark chocolate eyes were warm and almond shaped, much like her own.
"He missed your carotid artery. You'll be okay."
Merry touched her neck. Thankfully, his diagnosis seemed true. Blood simply trickled from the wound, it didn't gush.
"I saw you yesterday," she said. "Do you live in this building?"
"Nearby," he said, then he turned his attention to the other man, a tall blond with broad shoulders—also dressed in black. "Konrad, here, is one of your neighbors. Hey," he called to the tall blond with the massive shoulders, "leave him to me and take her inside."
"Good idea, Sly," the striking Viking said. His white teeth glistened as a grin spread across his face. His canines seemed larger and more pronounced than in most men. Light facial hair and a short goatee softened his jawline. He had heavy brows of the same color. His ears were slightly pointed and poked though his almost waist-length hair.
The dark-haired man called Sly moved with lightning speed, holding down the assailant.
The guy protested vehemently. "No, please! I'll do anything you ask. Just let me go."
The blond Konrad changed places with Sly and escorted Merry to the back door. She glided along beside him, numb, as if in a dream.
As soon as she had ascended the concrete steps, before she stepped through the door that Konrad held open for her, she turned and caught only a glimpse of the scene she had left behind. Sly knelt beside the stranger and leaned over by his head. Konrad placed his hand on her lower back and hurried her in, closing the door on a male scream that emanated from the dark alley.
***
Merry left Konrad sitting at her kitchen table and strolled to the bathroom, saying, "The hydrogen peroxide is going to sting like crazy, but I know the importance of preventing infection."
She dug through the box marked Linen closet until she found some bandaging supplies. As she swabbed the area, she gritted her teeth and hissed, inhaling a long breath until the worst of the sting abated. A thin bandage did its job staunching the blood.
When she returned, she offered Konrad something to drink.
"No, thanks. I'm fine, but let me get you something while you sit and relax."
Yeah, right. She sat shivering, her arms wrapped around herself while Konrad put the teakettle on and found a mug. Soon he handed her chamomile tea with a spoonful of honey, and she warmed her hands on the steaming mug.
"This is the same comfort drink my mother used to give me when I was hurt or upset as a child. How did you know?" And the same thing I made for my father when my mother was senselessly murdered during a robbery.
"Well, you had tea bags and honey in your cupboard."
"Oh yeah." Her thoughts returned to the incident. "Th-that man…" she began. "I…"
"It's been handled by now. He didn't get your clothes off, so I'd guess your virtue is intact. Right?"
She nodded.
A knock at the door of the apartment startled her and she jumped.
"I'll get it," he said.
"Thanks." Normally she'd let her guest sit and answer her own door, but at the moment she liked the idea of someone else facing the unknown behind it.
Her kitchen kitty-cornered off the living and dining area, out of view of the front door, but she heard both male and female voices.
Jason led the pack and soon her tiny kitchen had filled up with several people she'd never met, all of whom seemed concerned for her safety. Konrad filled them in on what had happened.
"Some creep accosted her in the alley. She's okay though," he added hurriedly.
Jason shook his head, wearing a grave expression. "I'll install motion sensors and spotlights back there tomorrow. I'm sorry I didn't think to do it before."
"Oh, Jason," an older woman with short, curly, dyedbrown hair in desperate need of a root touch-up said. "It's not your fault. How could you know
anyone would be foolish enough to hang around in the alley at night."
Everyone, including Merry, gaped at her. Did she really blame her? She spoke as if instead of merely coming home from work and parking her car right next to her apartment building, she had lollygagged in the alley, waiting for trouble!
"Aunt Dottie, don't be insensitive. It's not her fault."
Thank you, Mr. Hottie. I don't care if she's your aunt or not, that was freakin' rude.
"Damn right," said Konrad. He shot a pointed look at Dottie. "She was minding her own business—something everyone ought to do."
Merry fidgeted. "I had just come home from work and somewhere between my car and the back door, this pervert jumped me." She nodded to Konrad. "Thank goodness you guys got to me as quickly as you did. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there."