by Lily Baldwin
“Hold on tight,” he said. His deep voice washed over her as they sped out into traffic. Winding through Boston’s narrow streets, the crisp air on her face sent a shiver up her back. She snuggled closer to Ethan’s warmth while she watched the tall buildings whizz passed. When they pulled onto Beacon Street and passed the State House, she sat straighter. “Where did you say we were going?”
“My place,” he answered.
He stopped on Beacon Hill right across from Boston Common. She scanned the historical row houses. “Which one is yours?”
He pointed up at the corner unit.
She took in the massive bay windows and the white woodwork, which contrasted beautifully with the brick exterior. She didn’t try to hide her surprise. “But this is Beacon Hill.”
He nodded. “I’m aware of that.”
She lifted a skeptical brow. “That’s a multi-million-dollar condo. How does a mechanic live here?
“I work hard and make good investments.”
“Oh,” she said, not knowing how else to respond.
“And my business involves more than trying to rescue young women broken down on the Zakim.” A soft smile curved his lips while he cupped her cheek and examined her face. “Let’s get some ice on that.”
He helped her off the bike and held her hand as he led her up the front steps.
“When was this built?” she asked in awe of the surrounding history.
“1822,” he said, guiding her through the front door and over to a plush, grey sofa. His hand stayed about her waist as she slowly sat down. When she was settled, he stepped back. Panic struck her as he started to walk away. She grabbed his forearm, afraid to be alone.
“Everything is gonna be okay,” he soothed. “I’m just getting you some aspirin and an ice pack, okay?”
She swallowed the knot in her throat and nodded.
He grazed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”
She watched him walk away into the kitchen, her gaze traveling over his wide shoulders and powerful arms. Again, she nearly burst into tears, but not tears of panic or fear. It was gratitude that sent the rush of emotion surging up her throat.
Ethan had saved her life.
She couldn’t bear to think of what might have happened if he had not appeared in the alley when he did.
She gazed up at the towering ceiling. Tonight had been the third time he had come to her rescue, only this time she had been in no position to refuse his aid. Her eyes shifted to the large marble fireplace and the massive bay window. The wide wood panels around the hearth gleamed under the delicate crystal chandelier—both, she assumed, were original to the house. The art and furniture suited the historical home, but also boasted clean lines and simple colors, which brought the space into the twenty-first century. As she took in the surrounding opulence, she couldn’t help but wonder after its owner—who the hell was Ethan Calloway?
“Here,” he said.
She looked up. He stood above her; the brows framing his ice-blue eyes were pinched with concern. “Thank you,” she said, taking the aspirin and water from his hand.
“This is not where I imagined you lived,” she said absently before she swallowed the medicine. Suddenly exhausted, she set down the glass, slumped back against the sofa, and closed her eyes. She could unravel the mysteries of Ethan when her head wasn’t pounding so hard.
She looked at him as he sat down beside her. He inspected her cheek, his gaze intense and probing. Then he leaned close. His warm breath caressed her skin while he gently pressed a linen-covered icepack to her bruise.
“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.
She swallowed hard and tried to speak, but she couldn’t get the words out. Fatigue dragged her down. Her head was spinning. A wave of nausea gripped her stomach. Then her legs started to tremble. She tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t. The tremors gripping her body intensified. Shaking all over, she tried to stand. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist. “It’s okay, Angel…Angel, look at me.”
She did as she was told.
His deep-set eyes held hers. “You’ve been running on adrenaline, but your tank’s empty. That’s all this is. You just need some rest.” He slid his arm beneath her legs and effortlessly scooped her into his arms. “Let’s make you more comfortable.”
He carried her down a shadowy hallway and into a large bedroom, illuminated only by the city lights slanting through the window. Supporting her weight with one arm, he pulled the covers back and laid her down. She snuggled into the warmth, enveloped in his masculine scent.
∞∞∞
Ethan eased his blanket over her shoulders. She looked so small curled up in a tiny ball in his king-sized bed. He sat beside her and again gently pressed the icepack to her cheek. “Can I get in touch with your family for you?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “I don’t have one.”
“What about a roommate?”
Again, she shook her head.
“There’s no one I can call?”
“I don’t have anyone,” she said. Then her eyes flew open. She sat up. “But my boss will be expecting me at work tomorrow.” She gripped the blanket in her fist so hard, her knuckles turned white. “Maybe I should get going.”
A pang of tenderness struck his heart. She was alone in the world. No wonder she lived with such fear.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me, Angel. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She shook her head, her eyes downcast. “I know, but it’s late. I really need to—”
He cupped her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You need to stay here. I’ll take care of you.”
Her shallow breaths grew deeper while she met his gaze. Slowly, she uncurled her fingers, releasing the blanket, and her shoulders eased back in place. He helped her lay back down, then brushed her silken brown hair away from her face. A slight smile curved her lips as she looked up at him with those big, innocent brown eyes. In that moment, he saw himself in her eyes—the way she thought of him. He saw a good man—too good. Not him.
Sure, he saved her from the bad guys, but that didn’t make him a hero.
She smiled up at him sleepily. Then her lids fluttered and drooped. She was like fine-boned china, delicate, fragile.
Breakable. And tonight she had almost been destroyed.
He stood, raking a hand through his hair as he looked down at her, her breaths slow and even as she slept.
What if he hadn’t been outside Tidal Wave at that moment?
Fury coursed through him as he walked from the room, leaving the door partially open. He stopped in the bathroom and pulled off his sweaty t-shirt before washing the dried blood from his knuckles. Those assholes that attacked her deserved so much more for their crime than a good beating. Sure, he had left them broken and bleeding, but if he could, he would go back and beat the life from them.
Head pounding, he went to the kitchen and poured a tall glass of water, which he downed. Then he strode into his office, and he eased into a high-backed leather chair. Staring out over the lights surrounding Boston Common, he fought for calm. Morning was only a few hours away. He may as well just consider it tomorrow.
A muffled whimper penetrated his thoughts. He jumped to his feet, sprinted down the hallway, and threw open Angel’s door. She thrashed about under the covers, crying for help, deep in the throes of a nightmare.
He pulled her into his arms. “Wake up, Angel.”
She jerked awake, her eyes wide and fearful, her gaze darting about the room.
He cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. “It’s okay, Angel. It was only a dream.”
After a moment, she nodded, and wrapped her thin arms his neck. She squeezed hard, burying her face in the hollow of his throat. Her tears wet his skin. “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he crooned.
Holding her close, he rocked her and continued whispering soothing words in her ear. I
t had been a long time since he held a woman. As he felt her body curve into his, he realized that maybe he never had, not really. He inhaled the subtle scent of her shampoo. Her long, soft hair cascaded like silk across his arms.
“Damn,” he whispered. “This feels good.”
Chapter Seven
He woke with a start, his hand immediately feeling the empty space beside him. Sitting up, he scanned the room, but Angel wasn’t there. He swung his legs over the bed and wiped the sleep from his eyes before he stood, adjusting the jeans he still wore from the night before. Striding from the room, he made his way down the hallway into the open living area and spotted Angel at the kitchen island scribbling a note.
He leaned against the large archway that separated the two rooms. “Are you making a to-do list for the day?” he asked quietly, although he assumed she was writing him a goodbye note.
She looked up at him with wide, nervous eyes. Her face turned bright crimson.
“You’re blushing again,” he said softly. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw a woman blush so much.
The color on her cheeks only deepened. “I…I was just trying to thank you.”
He started toward her. “You seem nervous. Are you okay?”
She blushed even more and tucked her hair behind her ear. “You make me nervous.”
Her innocence drove him wild. He stopped walking. “How so?”
“You’re just so…well…you know…” she said, motioning to his body.
He smiled. “No, I don’t know.”
“Unforgettable,” she blurted. Then she motioned to herself. “While I’m as forgettable as they come.”
More than anything, he wanted to grab her, tear the clothes from her sleek body, and show her just how unforgettable she truly was. His shoulders tensed with restraint as he started toward her again. “Actually, Angel, I’ve not been able to get you out of my mind since I first laid eyes on you.”
She backed up against the fridge. Once again, she tucked her chin to her chest. Her shoulders tensed around her ears as if she expected him to strike her. He stopped in his tracks. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, reaching out a calming hand.
She nodded and swallowed hard. “I know. I can’t help it. I know you don’t mean to, but you make me nervous.”
He held her gaze a moment longer. He wanted to go to her, to be near her, but he didn’t want her to be afraid of him. She seemed to be afraid most of the time. Forcing the tension from his body, he took on an easy stance and moved to the other side of the room and started making coffee. “Stay for breakfast. I’ll make you French toast. It’s impossible to be nervous while eating French toast.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I have some things to figure out, and I have to work tonight and—”
“And we have some things to discuss,” he said, interrupting. “Anyway,” he continued, his lips curved in a slight smile, “you have no choice. You can’t get out of here without my code.”
Her big, beautiful eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Was that supposed to make me feel better, knowing that I’m trapped here?”
“No, it was supposed to demonstrate that I will always tell you the truth. I may be many things, but I’m not a liar. When I tell you I won’t hurt you, I mean it. When I tell you I will protect you, that means you can count on me to keep you safe. When I tell you, that I’ve been unable to think of anything but you for days, despite even my own wishes, it’s because it’s true. You will always get the truth from me, Angel. That’s the one thing I ask from you—honesty. Can you give me that?”
She nodded but remained quiet. At length, her cheeks took on a pink hue, and she asked, “Have you really been thinking about me?”
He crossed back to her side with a full cup of coffee in hand. “I hope you like it black. I have no cream or sugar. And, yes, I really have been thinking about you.”
Her smile widened. She accepted the mug. Holding it in both hands, she brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply. “Black is the only way to drink coffee,” she said, hiding her face behind the mug. “I had a roommate for a brief while who always said he liked his coffee like a candy bar, rich and sweet. But once when he was making the morning coffee he smelled the grounds and said, ‘Wouldn’t it be great if coffee tasted the way it smelled?’ I pointed out if he didn’t add all that stuff to it that it would.” She laughed nervously. “Sorry,” she said, shifting her gaze to the floor. “I’m talking too much.”
Her trip down memory lane had renewed the tension in his shoulders. “Talk all you want. I like listening, but last night you said you didn’t have a roommate.” He couldn’t handle the idea of another man living with his Angel.
When had she become his Angel?
“I don’t. I was just talking about my friend, Matty, from work. His boyfriend kicked him out, so I let him crash on my couch for a few weeks.”
Ethan relaxed and took a long sip of coffee. “So, you don’t have another roommate?”
She shook her head. “No, I prefer to live alone.”
“And you said last night that you don’t have any family.”
She nodded but didn’t offer any more information. Ethan wasn’t going to press her, knowing whatever her story was, it was bound to be tragic. At that moment, he wanted to make her feel at ease. Still, he needed a few questions answered before things went any farther. “How long have you been on your own?”
“Since I was sixteen,” she replied.
“How old are you now?” he asked. She looked so young. He’d been worrying that she wasn’t even legal.
“Twenty-one.”
He smiled. “Good.”
∞∞∞
Angel put her half-finished coffee on the counter. “Listen, Ethan, I really have to go.” He stood, leaning against the counter with capable ease. She eyed his washboard stomach and wide chest. A thin silver chain and small cross hung around his neck, and he wore a pair of worn jeans, slung low on his hips. Her heart wouldn’t stop racing at the sight of him. Her palms were sweating so much, she worried she was going to drop her coffee. She had to get out of there before she said or did something stupid.
“Give me a minute,” he said before he disappeared back down the hallway.
She crossed to the large picture window, which looked out onto the Common, and tried to steady her breathing. A few minutes later, he came back into the room wearing a plain white t-shirt and work boots. Her heart started to race again at the sight of him, his strength, his stunning blue eyes, his sideways smile that made her insides melt. She turned away and gazed out the window. “With a view like this, you can almost feel like you’re escaping the city,” she said, trying to appear unaffected by his presence.
“You’re not a city girl?”
Her stomach fluttered. He was standing right behind her. When he spoke, she had felt his warm breath on her neck, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
She swallowed hard. “Actually, I was born and raised in Manhattan.”
“Really?” The surprise in his voice forced her to turn and meet his gaze.
“I’m from New York, too. Did you come here when you lost your family?” he asked.
She nodded, unable to speak. Her heart thumped her chest so hard, she worried he could hear it pound.
“Me too,” he said, his voice low. Then he stepped even closer. She resisted the urge to press her hands on his broad chest. She felt this pull to him, this unbreakable connection.
He continued to hold her gaze, his breathtaking eyes searing a pathway to her soul. Then suddenly his brow furrowed with concern. “Why do you want to escape the city? Are you in trouble?”
She shook her head and took a step back, trying to regain her composure. “No, nothing like that. I just really like the country. I try to go up a few times a year. You know, stay in one of those cheap motels off 95.” She looked around his place. “Not that you know what I’m talking about. I’m sure you don’t frequent roadside motels.”
<
br /> “I know more about cheap motels than you think.” He grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter. Then he crossed to a closet and opened the door and grabbed one of several helmets. “It will be big, but it’ll work,” he said as he set a black helmet on a nearby table. Then he reached for his black leather jacket and held it open for her to put on.
She shook her head. “I’ll be okay. I’m not cold.”
“It’s for safety.” Then he flashed her a smile that made her knees weak. “You have to dress for the slide, not the ride.”
She smiled shyly as she put her arm in the sleeve. He pulled the worn leather over her shoulders. His smell surrounded her. She had to resist bringing the sleeve to her nose, though she longed to inhale his masculine scent. His jacket had been in the closet. Still, she would have sworn she could feel heat from his body pour off the leather. The sleeves dangled well past her fingers, and the bottom hem skimmed the middle of her thighs.
A slight smile tugged at one side of his lips as he looked down at her. Then he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Come on,” he said, grabbing the helmet. “I’ll drive you home.”
While they rode through the city, Angel couldn’t help but wish she didn’t have to wear the big helmet. She preferred the feel of the wind whipping through her hair. And more than anything, she wanted to rest her cheek against Ethan’s strong back. Still, his insistence about her safety flooded her heart with warmth. So, too, did the memory of his tenderness with her the night before. Not only had he saved her, he had taken care of her, soothed her, put her to bed.
She couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of her.
Beneath the cover of her helmet’s visor, she smiled freely, feeling safe and wanted for the first time in so many years.
But when they arrived at her rundown apartment, her smile faltered. She felt self-conscious as she led him up the cement front stairs and opened the entryway door.
“Wait,” he said abruptly behind her, causing her to jump. “Doesn’t this door stay locked?”