Tall, Dark and Paranormal: 10 Thrilling Tales of Sexy Alpha Bad Boys

by Opal Carew

  Poor thing was looking at him like a deer in the headlights. Or maybe like a sane person staring at a crazy one. He grabbed her hand and headed toward the garage door. “You are. Or you’ll find yourself the object of intense media scrutiny. That reporter, and others like her, will hound you for information about me.”

  “What could I possibly tell them?”

  Exactly.

  He stopped, his grip tightening as she swung around to face him. His fingers clenched around hers. “Nothing, Jolie. You’re to tell them absolutely nothing. No matter how much anyone offers you for my life story these days, or any snippets about how I live, don’t tell them a damn thing.” He opened the garage door.

  “The last thing I need or want is for my life to be an open book.”

  Chapter Three

  “Ready?” Todd secured his seatbelt in the 560 SL and turned on the ignition.

  Sunlight streamed in the beveled windows at the top of the garage door as Jolie bent forward, her mink hair spread over a gauzy top so splashed with color it reminded him of his drop cloths.

  Not that he’d seen one of those in two years. Nor would he ever again.

  “As I’ll ever be.” She wrapped her arms around her legs, tucking her purse beneath the seat and her head between her Indian Yellow capris. Todd punched the garage door button, feeling like a racecar driver in the starting gate—only he had more to lose than a driving trophy.

  Gunning it, they bounced over the end of the driveway as the newswoman and her cameraman clunked down the walkway. He knew Lizette; he’d been counting on her heels to slow her up.

  In the street, he slammed on the brakes, silently apologizing to the Mercedes and Jolie, then shoved the car into drive, and tore off down the street just as Lizette reached the end of his driveway and flung her arms to her sides.

  “Can I peek now?” Jolie spit some hair from her mouth as she turned his way from her doubled-over position.

  “Sure.” He tapped the brakes once the video threat was gone. “Sorry about that.”

  “What exactly was that?”

  “A pain in my a—an invasion of privacy.” He glanced over. “I’m sorry about all the phone calls, the doorbell, the high-speed chase. I guess the job description didn’t say anything about a media circus.”

  Jolie sat back and set the torso portion of her seatbelt in place, brushing long hair off her face. “You guess right.”

  He turned back to the road, slowing his speed to a non-ticketable offense. “I always appreciated the press coverage back, well, before, but now—” He shook his head and stopped at the stop sign. “It’s gotten worse as today approached.”

  “Today?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.” Not what he wanted to talk about. He leaned an arm on the steering wheel and checked the oncoming traffic.

  “Oh, well, um… not a problem,” Jolie said with a happy-go-lucky tone he’d give anything to have back in his life. “Kind of exciting, I guess. And you know, the job description didn’t mention nudity either, but I seem to have overcome that.”

  He glanced right and her face filled his line of vision. She had grayish eyes. No, not gray. Something beyond gray. Not blue, not hazel…

  “Hello in there?” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Are you okay?”

  He found himself responding to her smile. It wasn’t her fault he was having a shitty day. “Sorry. Again.”

  “No biggie. But I have to tell you, if you’re in the habit of greeting your employees in the buff—not that I’m complaining, mind you—I think one’s the limit for this line of work.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and massaged the back of his neck. Yeah, that.

  He sighed. “I had a, well, rough night.”

  “I gathered that. Oh, and you missed a spot.” She pointed to his chin.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.” She waved her hand and sat back. “Go on.”

  “Like I was saying, it was a tough night and I just kicked back on the sofa.” He should have gone up to bed; would have if he’d known the “new girl” would be a witness to his habit of sleeping naked. Not that he’d been thinking of much of anything. Or maybe he’d been thinking too much, hence the hangover. “I was pretty groggy when I heard you moving around. Hangovers and nudity are not normal occurrences, I promise.”

  “I imagine the Grays would have apoplexy if they were. Where are they anyway?”

  A car behind him honked and Todd turned left onto Orchard. The Grays were another thing he hadn’t wanted to deal with today—none of them had wanted to deal with today. Thank God they’d finally taken his advice—he couldn’t really order them around—and taken a vacation. “They usually show up around lunch. There’s not a lot for them to do, it’s all pretty much under control. And it’s not like I’m high maintenance. Right now they’re visiting their grandson.”

  “Oh.”

  He liked this chef. So far. She’d backed off the issue of today and wasn’t plying him with questions. She might work out.

  He almost laughed. Who cared if she didn’t? Not him. It’d just be some other woman in his house where his wife should be.

  “So—” Her animated hands never stopped moving. “Do you go to your brother’s office a lot during the day? Or hang out at home? The links? I mean, I don’t want to be invading your space. I can work around whatever schedule you’ve got going. I just like to know up front so I can plan. That way I won’t bother you, yet I can still get your meals ready when you want them.”

  Hmm, maybe she wouldn’t work out. This was the chattiest one yet. Ah well, a few days in his presence would either cure her of it or have her running for the hills. Nothing new there.

  He pulled up to a traffic light, then held up his hand to her.

  “What?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Do you ever stop to take a breath?”

  And in one fell swoop he swiped the refreshingly happy smile from her face and sent the corners of that perfect-bow mouth into a frown.

  Way to go, asshole.

  He blew out a breath and touched her shoulder.

  Which sent her sliding against her door, back to the leather, shoulders squared, eyes like a kicked puppy.

  Note to self: Don’t touch the chef.

  “Hey, I’m sorry.” He raised his hands. “And I didn’t mean that comment as an insult. I just don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with quite as much energy as you. At least, not in a long while... “ Two-fucking-years-long while.

  He turned back to the steering wheel. Two fucking years.

  The light turned green. Todd cleared his throat and stepped on the gas. The car lurched forward.

  He didn’t need this. Not today. Not another chef to get used to, another person to make small talk with, someone else who knew his life story, or all the pity that entailed.

  He just needed a clean start. He’d thought moving to this new house, one Trista had had nothing to do with, would do it. But he’d brought it all with him. The memories, the pain…Even the art. Oh, that was all hidden in the attic over the garage, but still, it was there, gnawing at him.

  He needed to deal with it. Finally, inexorably, deal with it.

  ***

  Jolie smoothed her yellow capris and squidged back into her seat in the proper position. Talk about overreacting. She shouldn’t have flinched, but she wasn’t used to being touched. Bad mother, yada, yada, yada.

  “Well, um, that’s okay. No apology necessary.” She sat up a little straighter—kinda hard to do in the bucket seat, but, hey, she was a trooper. “I have a thick shell anyhow. And I know you didn’t mean it that way. But I do tend to talk a lot. I like to get to know people and have them know me. ’Cause what you see is what you get and some people can’t deal with that, know what I mean? Some people are always looking for the hidden agendas and ulterior motives and that’s just so not me. I’ve got too much going on in my life to take the time to do little subplots.” She tucked some o
f her blowing hair behind her ear. She liked the top down—a sense of freedom rushing over her with the wind.

  “So, Jolie—can I call you that?” he asked with a smile.

  Oh, good. She’d gotten him smiling. “Sure. Why not? It’s my name.”

  Another little chuckle. “About this morning. You were a good sport about the whole thing.”

  “That’s me, Good Sport Jolie.”

  “Can I finish my sentence?”

  She slunk down in her seat, tucking hair behind both ears. Bad habit she had of cutting people’s sentences short even though she always tried very hard to adhere to the niceties. Not having had many growing up, niceties were important to her. “Yes.”

  “Look. Today’s… well… “ He exhaled heavily and ran his fingers through his hair again. “I need to get out. Tonight. Not be home. How about if we grab some dinner out instead of you cooking? We can call it an apology and a get-to-know-the-new-employee wrapped up in one.” He touched her shoulder with his free hand.

  Oh, he was one of those people. The touchy-feely kind. He probably wasn’t even aware he was doing it. God, how lonely he must be since—

  She was so not going there.

  “Look, Mr. Best.” She slid to the right, just out of finger-reach. “You don’t have to take me out. The apology’s fine. I was hired to do a job and I don’t mind starting. Really.”

  He zipped over to the curb, hitting the brakes in front of a brick building that looked more like a church than a grocery store. It even said St. Gabriel’s. She braced herself against the dashboard to stay in her seat. What?

  “Let’s get one thing straight.” He was all business, quarter-turned in his seat, his arm leaning on the steering wheel, his other on the back of the seat, that nicely tanned muscular thigh sliding between them—

  She really needed to stop noticing those things but that Naughty Girl side sometimes wouldn’t be denied.

  “First of all, my name is Todd, not Mr. Best. Makes me feel like your damn grandfather. Second of all, I haven’t eaten out in over two years and I thought today it’d be a good idea, and third, I’ve just given you the night off with pay and a free meal. Are you going to take me up on the offer or not?”

  Whoa. So much emotion over dinner. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “What? No discourse on the type of restaurant? No dissertation on the correct time for the meal? Just okay?”

  “Yep. Just okay. Whatever you say. Boss.”

  He was quiet for a heartbeat or two, then cocked up an eyebrow and corresponding side of his mouth and chuckled again. Hmmm, maybe she missed the chuckling stipulation in the employment contract and that was what the exorbitant salary was about. She shrugged. Even if it wasn’t, it didn’t matter; chuckling could only be good for the guy since he’d been through so much. Besides, she wasn’t cut out to deal with people who were that sad. Too much down emotion was bad karma, so making people chuckle was kind of her raison d’être. (That on-line French course she’d taken to help out with some of the trickier menus she learned in culinary school often came in handy outside the kitchen.)

  “Okay. Dinner it is. Any special place you want to go?”

  “Well, since you’re asking, yes, there is. I’ve always wanted to try out The Midnight Maiden.”

  “The Midnight Maiden?” His voice got all hoarse and raspy as he moved the car back into traffic. Did he swallow a bug?

  “Yeah. You know, the boat down on the riverfront landing? It’s a floating restaurant, but I’m pretty sure it’s docked.”

  He nodded but seemed to be having trouble swallowing. Must have been a really big bug.

  “Uh, Mister, uh, Todd? Maybe you should pull over? Cough that thing out?”

  Oh, boy. It was worse than she thought. He was choking. His eyes grew wide, but then he coughed and shook his head, the insect seeming to have magically dissolved. “No, I’m fine. I know The Midnight Maiden. It’s a good choice. We can do that. Sure.”

  Why did that sure sound less sure than the word sure implied?

  “Here’s Arena’s Grocery,” he said, suddenly all choked out and business-like. “I’ll drop you off and run over to see Mike. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

  He was looking somewhere over her left shoulder and she got the feeling he thought she wasn’t in the car anymore. Or maybe he hoped so.

  Fine. She grabbed her purse and scooted off the warm leather, thankful she’d chosen capris today instead of a skirt. Much easier to slide with and not expose certain parts that shouldn’t be. Though since he had exposed—

  Not going there.

  “Sure,” she said in a tone loud enough to garner his attention, bunching her hair behind her neck like a ponytail and flipping it to settle down her back. “If I’m done earlier I’ll just head on up to the office. Around that corner and down a few blocks, right?” She pushed off the car door, wiped away the fingertip smudge marks, then slung her purse strap over her shoulder. “Toodles.”

  And so, she left the man with way too many dark thoughts for a summer day sitting in the bright sunshine.

  Chapter Four

  Todd pulled into his space in the parking garage, killed the engine and stared at the sign in front of him. Reserved for T. Best. Someone had written “he” after the T.

  The Best.

  Once upon a time that had meant the world to him.

  Once upon a time he’d felt a sense of pride when he’d seen that nickname.

  Now, he just wanted to throw something. The Best. Yeah, that was laughable. To be the best, you actually had to compete. Had to enter the race—the race he’d dropped out of two years ago and had absolutely no glimmer of desire to get back into. He was done with landscapes. He’d never paint one again.

  He couldn’t. Trista had inspired those paintings during their first picnic years ago, when he couldn’t believe his luck that such a beautiful, vivacious woman had consented to go out with him, a poor artist without two nickels to his name.

  He’d tried to be different from all the other guys she could date, guys he could never compete with because they’d been in different social circles. Then he’d taken her on that picnic, his sketchpad always with him, and when he’d drawn her, she’d focused on the scenery he’d depicted behind her, pointing out how he’d captured it, and that had been the start of it all.

  Todd sucked in a breath, shutting his eyes against the pain lancing his gut. When would it stop? It’d been two years. He’d said goodbye a thousand times; what more did God want from him?

  God—ha. The same God who’d stolen his wife, his life.

  God, who’d left him to live an empty existence.

  Todd gripped the steering wheel and pushed back, locking his arms.

  He couldn’t go on like this, drowning in sadness. He’d gone through the motions for the past two years, trying to live a semblance of a normal life. But he never stopped thinking of her. It wasn’t healthy; he knew that. He had to move on; he just didn’t know how.

  He swallowed and swiped a hand over his mouth. He’d missed a few spots shaving.

  As if anyone would notice.

  Jolie had.

  Yeah, she had.

  She’d noticed quite a bit, now that he thought of it. She’d noticed his pain and had changed the subject half a dozen times this morning. He didn’t know if she was always as chatty as she’d been today, but, ironically, it really hadn’t bothered him. He hadn’t wanted her to shut up and leave him alone the way he had with every other woman who’d been in to prepare gourmet meals he’d barely tasted.

  Yet, with Jolie, he’d actually forgotten for a few minutes. That story about her mother misspelling her name…how could anyone care so little for someone they were supposed to love?

  At least his crushing disappointment in the love department hadn’t been due to a lack of love, but Jolie…God. That must have been so rough on a kid.

  Todd released his grip on the steering wheel. If an innocent kid
could pick up her life and move on, he should be able to.

  But how?

  The parking spot sign wasn’t giving him any answers, so Todd clicked off his seatbelt and opened the door. Maybe something would come to him on this improvised trip to the office.

  At least there he had Security and receptionists to keep the vultures at bay.

  ***

  Jonathan Griff gripped the rim of his hat and straightened it, willing the twitch by his eye to subside. He could do this. He was ready.

  He peeked out from behind Mr. Arena’s tower of paper towels. There she was. Now, how to do this? How to do this?

  He tugged on the hem of his suit jacket. Maybe he should have worn a tie. No, that’d be too formal. He didn’t want her to think he was anything other than what he was supposed to be: a helpful older gentleman. They’d chat and maybe he could invite her to the store.

  That was it. Be inconspicuous. Just happen along and start up a conversation. Let a cordial relationship develop.

  He could do that.

  He straightened his spectacles and stuck his hands into his jacket pockets, trying not to think of his personal stakes that were riding on this assignment. He was the only one of his initiate class who hadn’t earned his wings. Sure, some people took longer than others, but when that six-year-old had managed to earn them with one assignment, well, he’d been pretty demoralized. But Raphael seemed to have faith in him, and he wasn’t going to let the archangel down.

  Nor would he let Jolie down. She deserved a happy ending, poor girl. Dealing with a drunk of a mother, then some of those foster families…

  She needed a break and he was just the Guardian to give it to her.

  If he could only find her.

  “Well, hello there.” An elderly, silver-haired woman stopped her cart next to him, the smile hinting at something he had no need of as a celestial being.

  Ah, widows. If he were still mortal—

  But no. He was here to do a job. He patted her hand, injecting a little Befuddlement into the touch. He could manage Befuddlement without messing it up. She’d never remember having seen him.