by Hazel Hunter
“You know it’s illegal to stay in the park at night, and now there’s some pervert going around raping the women he finds here after sunset,” he told her as he pressed the key into her hand. “In this cold weather you’ll need the shelter, too.”
It had been increasingly difficult for Summer to dodge the nightly police sweeps, and find spots to sleep where she wouldn’t be noticed by them or the criminals who crept in after dark looking for victims. She was particularly concerned about the rapist, who had already assaulted four women over the last month and had nearly beaten two of his victims to death.
Despite the offer of safe shelter she couldn’t help asking.
“Why are you doing this? How do you know I won’t steal anything?”
“You wouldn’t,” he said, with the assurance of someone who had known her all his life. “Not a lovely girl like you. Now come on––I’ll buy you a hot dog.”
Summer didn’t know what to do about her effect on people. She certainly wasn’t doing it on purpose, and with the thousands of visitors and locals that came to Central Park every day she couldn’t avoid people altogether. She also couldn’t leave the park because she had nowhere else to go. Refusing to take what anyone offered her made them even more insistent––to the point they wouldn’t leave her alone until she did. One boy from the Bronx had followed her around the park for hours, tearfully pleading with her until she finally accepted the brown bag lunch he’d been carrying. As soon as she had taken the bag from his hand, however, he went on his way, whistling cheerfully.
It’s almost like a relief for them to help me, she thought, and then they seem to forget about me the moment after they do. But why?
Summer walked back through the Vanderbilt gate to Fifth Avenue and turned south to take the long walk to the 79th Street Transverse, which crossed the center of the park. After three months she felt as if she knew every inch of the eight-hundred-plus acres of New York City’s biggest nature retreat. She also loved the Conservatory gardens with a passion, now that they seemed to be returning.
Why the gardens had come back to life was another mystery. Since Summer had begun spending most of her days in the northeast corner of the park, which was not as popular with visitors, it was as if fall was reversing itself. The lawns, shrubs and trees had grown greener and more lush, and flowers had begun blooming again. As with the generosity effect she had on strangers, Summer didn’t want to believe she was responsible. Then she had sat down to read on a bench covered in red and brown leaves, and when she got up to take a walk an hour later she saw that all of leaves nearest to her on the bench had turned green.
Suddenly the hair on Summer’s nape prickled, and she slowed her pace toward the Miner’s Gate. For weeks she’d been convinced someone was watching her. But whenever she looked around she could never catch sight of who it was. Although she knew she should have felt frightened of being secretly watched, whenever she sensed the watcher she felt warm and safe, as if she were being guarded instead of stalked.
Summer had hoped she might cross paths with someone who knew her, but if that were the case why didn’t the watcher come and speak to her?
A laughing toddler running after a bouncing ball scurried past Summer and appeared to be heading straight into the busy street after it. As she turned to chase after the little girl, a tall, broad-shouldered man climbed out of a sleek black sports car. Watching him scoop up the child and her runaway ball with one arm made Summer stop in her tracks. He moved as silently and effortlessly as a big cat. He wore his blond hair in a short, military-precise cut that emphasized the rugged masculinity of his striking features and gave him the look of a gladiator. His plain gray T-shirt and black trousers clung as if sewn onto his heavily-muscled frame. He was so tall Summer doubted the top of her head would reach his shoulder––and she was no shrimp.
Summer took a step toward him and then halted again as a semi-hysterical woman rushed past her toward the man. He handed the little girl and her ball over to her. As the young mother clutched her child and gushed her thanks, the man nodded and looked directly at Summer.
Whoa.
The impact of the man’s gaze made her take a step back and hold her breath. She’d never seen a guy with such beautiful eyes. Long and narrow, they had a slight tilt to the corners that gave him an air of mystery. As he moved, the sun illuminated his irises, which were so green they looked like polished jade between the golden filigree of his thick lashes. But the intense way he looked at her was what made her heart skip a beat.
Are you the one who’s been watching me? Do you know me?
As if he could read her thoughts, the big man inclined his head, before he climbed back into his car and drove off.
• • • • •
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• • • • •
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Dedication
For Mr. H.
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 Hazel Hunter
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Making Magic
Welcome to Making Magic, a little section at the end of the book where I
can give readers a glimpse at what I do. It’s not edited and my launch team doesn’t read it because it’s kind of a last minute thing. Therefore typos will surely follow. Be careful where you step.
I’m so thrilled to get back to the very first paranormal romance series that I wrote! Readers keep asking for it, so I carved out some time to do it, and I’m so glad I did. There’s something kind of freeing about a standalone novel: no threads to keep track of, no wondering if I’ve used a phrase before, no putting love scenes in ever new places. Did you realize I do that in a series? I try not to have any repeats.
Anyway, Matteo is an idea I’ve had brewing for some time. And I’m sure you can guess where it came from. That’s right, a magic show. Although I saw it in Tahoe at Harrah’s, I knew the climax of this book had to be at Hoover Dam—because I like epic. That meant the story would take place in Vegas, where I’ve been a few times. Though I don’t gamble, I find the city positively surreal, especially at night, when it’s 100 degrees. For Matteo’s romantic dinner spot (you know I’m a fan of these if you’ve ever seen my Friday posts at Facebook), I used what I’d seen from the driving tour of Red Rock Canyon. And of course, I’ve been to Hoover Dam. Strangely enough, my husband and I went with a friend who had a fear of heights. Well it never occurred to us that visiting a dam would trigger that fear—until we looked down. Whoa.
And why does Matteo quote Dante? Because the poet is a favorite of mine, ever since I ran across him in high school. From the very first lines, he had me: In the middle of the journey of our life, I came to myself in a dark wood, where the straight way was lost. That’s just from memory, so you better look up the real thing! But I find myself coming to that wayward spot over and over in life. I also find myself returning to the classics of late. There’s something in them that really feeds the soul.
So those were the humble beginnings of Matteo and Natalie’s story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Maybe I should do some more of these!
Thank you for reading, thank you for reviewing, and I’ll see you between the covers soon.
XOXO,
HH
Los Angeles, April 2017
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