 Lana Hargrove had spent half
of her life running from men. Either running from men who wanted
more than she was willing to give – like a second date, or
a returned phone call or e-mail, or running from men who wanted
to give her too much – like the key to their house or a kidney.
But, after spending five months in a self-defense class that she
had initially taken because the instructor looked like a shorter,
darker version of Boris Kodjoe, she had vowed to never run from
a man in fear. Not that she ever had before, because Lana
Hargrove was scared of no man, but she didn’t want there
to be a first time either, which was exactly why Lana decided to
confront the man who had been following her for the last half hour
on the crowded streets of the Georgetown shopping district.
Lana turned down a quiet, tree-lined street that branched off
from Wisconsin, the main street in the heart of Georgetown. She
hurried on her tip toes – so that her three-inch stiletto
heels didn’t make noise against the pavement – to the
opening of the alley. She set her three shopping bags on the ground
then waited. Sure enough, she heard the steady rhythm of
footsteps on the sidewalk. It had to be the pervert.
Lana balled her right hand into a fist and patiently waited, remembering
to breathe evenly and deeply. She was following her training perfectly,
except for the part where she planned this confrontation. Her self-defense
instructor, Raj – who later turned out to be married with
two kids and, more importantly, had the personality as exciting
as a package of tofu – had always taught the other smitten
and subsequently disappointed women in his class to avoid confrontation
and to only engage "the enemy" when forced to. Lana
had never liked avoiding anything.
She tensed as the footsteps grew nearer then as she was about
to jump out and attack, a short white man walked past her, yelling
into his cell phone. Lana stared past the man confused. There was
no one else on the sidewalk. Where was the tall Black man in the
baseball cap and sunglasses? Lana had been certain that there had
been a tall Black man, with impossibly broad shoulders, following
her. Men usually followed her, because she was an attractive Black
woman in Washington DC where Black men followed any Black women
as if she held the Holy Grail. The following thing didn’t
bother her. It was the fact that the man never made his move. He
just followed her. The lurking stalkers she didn’t like,
the open and obvious stalkers she could deal with.
Lana was so preoccupied with her disappointment that she wouldn’t
be able to kick some pervert’s butt today that she didn’t
notice the man with the baseball cap and sunglasses until he stood
almost in her face. Her instincts took over. She grabbed his hand
and tugged and pulled with a warrior yell that would have made
Raj proud. The man flipped over like a Hollywood stuntman and landed
in the middle of the sidewalk with a loud groan that made Lana
smile in satisfaction.
She placed one thin heel squarely in the middle of his chest and
stared down at him, feeling mildly triumphant, even though common
sense told her to just run. Unfortunately, a lack of common sense
was one of the traits she would actually admit that she inherited
from her father.
"Why are you following me?" Lana asked coolly, as
if she had all the time in the world.
Then she noticed his face, which was fully visible since his cap
and glasses had flown off during the fall. The majority of his
face was chocolate brown perfection, a perfect nose and full lips,
almond-shaped eyes and eyebrows as dark as midnight and silky smooth.
But then there was the left side of his face that was very far
from perfection. It was as if one side of his face melted and the
tangled, scarred tissue was frozen to preserve the injustice of
it compared to the majority of his dark, unblemished skin. Only
a small portion of his face was horribly scarred, but it was enough
to draw her attention and enough horror and sympathy flowed through
her body to make her take her foot off his chest.
The man took the opportunity that her obvious shock provided and
pushed her off him and scrambled to his feet. She almost lost her
balance but remained on her feet just in time for him to grab her
shoulders and slam her into the brick wall behind her, hard enough
for her to wince in pain and berate herself for feeling sympathy
for him. His hands were hard on her shoulders as he pinned her
to the wall. It was a strange time to notice, but she noticed how
dark and intense his eyes were. If his hands hadn’t been
digging in her shoulders at that moment, she would have thought
he was easily manipulated like most men she met.
"Are you scared, Lana?" he demanded in a husky voice
as his mouth hovered inches from hers.
Lana’s gaze unwillingly lowered to his wet, full lips. She
was grateful for the sudden pinpricks of pain in her back from
the sharp edges of the brick wall through the thin material of
the dress. She winced and it could have been her imagination, but
it felt as if his hands loosened on her shoulders. She cursed herself.
She refused to have lust-filled thoughts about her attacker.
She forced herself to swallow the lump of fear and arousal in
her throat and demanded, "How do you know my name?"
"Nice outfit," he said, his gaze raking over the lilac-colored
sun dress she wore. It was too short and cut too low and those
were the two main reasons she had bought it, except she had not
pictured this scenario when she bought it. When lust flashed openly
in his eyes, she struggled against his hold on her shoulders, but
his grip was too strong. His gaze lingered on her breasts, on the
cleavage visible there, and he actually licked his lips. His very
beautiful and full lips. He finally met her eyes again. "With
that dress, I’m surprised half of the men in DC aren’t
following you . . . or throwing dollar bills at your feet for a
lap dance."
Rage flowed through her body and she rammed a knee into his groin
with enough force to make him scream in pain. He immediately released
her and fell into the wall as he cradled his private parts, his
face contorted in pain. He slid to the ground. Lana smiled at him
then spotted his sunglasses nearby and purposely ground one heel
into the designer sunglasses. Then she crossed her arms over her
chest and watched him.
"We were about to get to the part where you tell me who
you are and how you know my name," she said cheerfully.
His eyes rolled in their sockets as he continued to grimace in
obvious pain. Lana sighed in impatience then examined her fingernails
to wait for his pain to subside so he could actually talk. It was
definitely time for another manicure.
"You’re insane," he finally managed to gasp.
"That’s creative," she said dryly then demanded, "Now,
who are you?"
"You could have caused serious damage," he spat out.
"Hopefully, I have. I guess we won’t know for certain
until you take the equipment for a test run. I would volunteer
for the job, but I think it’s probably too small to hold
my attention for long," she said cheerfully then pointedly
stared at the spot in his pants where the equipment resided until
he cleared his throat. She smiled in response at the look of censure
he sent her.
She was surprised she didn’t internally combust from the
look of hot anger he directed at her. She actually took a step
back to place more distance between them. He obviously tried to
calm himself as he took several deep breaths before he said, "My
name is Justin Larkin."
"That’s a good first step, Justin," she said,
in a soft, soothing voice. "Next question. How do you know
who I am and why are you following me?"
"I’m not going to hurt you," he said, then slowly
and carefully pulled himself to stand, although she noticed with
satisfaction the flicker of pain cross his face with the movement.
She never before wanted a man to think about her while he used
the bathroom, but she hoped that Justin Larkin would be thinking
about her while he painfully tried to take a piss for the next
few days.
She laughed amused then said dryly, "Thanks for the reassurance.
I feel much better now."
"I work with your father," he said flatly.
It was Lana’s turn to lean against the wall for support.
She tried to breathe, but suddenly forgot how. Her father. She
looked at Justin again, but his face was a blank mask as he watched
her. When her gasps for air intensified, a flash of concern crossed
his eyes before he hesitantly approached her, almost as if he waited
for her to knee him again. Then he placed a hand on her back, a
large, warm hand that felt nice. There were no ulterior motives,
no demands from him, just comfort. It had been a long time since
any man had touched her without any ulterior motive and she forgot
how nice it could feel.
"Breathe, Lana," he instructed in a surprisingly gentle
tone.
"My father?" she whispered confused. That word ‘father’ hadn’t
existed in her life in years. Twenty years, to be precise. "If
you work with him then . . . then you’re a—"
He smiled and the sight was almost out of this world, showcasing
beautiful even white teeth. It was a shame that a pervert had to
have such a nice smile.
"I’m a thief," he supplied the word for her,
his smile only fading slightly. "Or as your father likes
to say – we commandeer and exchange art work for a fee."
"But, you’re . . . How can you . . ." Her voice
trailed off but her gaze remained glued to the scarred side of
his face.
His smile instantly disappeared, and she realized too late that
she had touched – or more accurately, looked at – a
sensitive spot. "One of the only jobs, outside of Disneyland,
where wearing a mask is a prerequisite. You can see why I’m
perfect for it."
For some reason, she didn’t like the self-loathing she heard
in his voice. Once more she had to shake herself from feeling sympathy
for her attacker, or even worse, he was no longer her attacker,
but potentially worked with her father. Lana abruptly moved from
his hand, all too aware of the feelings being awakened by his touch.
She told herself that any man could make her body hum like that,
but it would have been a lie. She had never reacted to a man like
she reacted to this one.
"Why are you following me?" she demanded, finding
her voice again.
"Because your father asked me to," he said simply
then retrieved his cap and broken sunglasses off the ground. He
placed the shattered sunglasses in his shirt pocket and sent her
a look that was designed to make her feel guilty, but instead made
her want to stick out her tongue at him. "I’ve been
following you for a month—"
"No, you haven’t," she protested, shaking her
head in disbelief. "I would have seen you."
"Yes, I have."
"No, you haven’t."
Justin sighed impatiently, obviously stopping himself from arguing
with her again, then said, "The point is you’re in
danger and your father wants me to take you somewhere safe."
"You?" She snorted in disbelief. "I’m
supposed to voluntarily follow a strange man to God knows where,
all because my father, who I haven’t seen in twenty years,
supposedly wants me to? Maybe your head was damaged in the fall
but I . . ." Her voice trailed off when he held up his hand
and a familiar small sapphire pendant dangled from a white gold
chain.
She snatched it from his hand and studied the sapphire. On the
back of the pendant LH was engraved and her birth date. It was
hers. Her father had bought it for her on the day she was born
and gave it to her the day her mother died. She hadn’t seen
it in twenty years since her father dropped her off at her grandmother’s
house in River’s End, Texas, and she gave it to him with
a foolish innocence that he would return to give it back to her.
Her heart beat wildly as she glared at Justin. "Where did
you get this?"
"Your father wanted me to give it to you so you’d
know that you can trust me."
She snorted in disbelief but her gaze returned to the pendant.
She couldn’t believe that he had kept it. Twenty years. She
abruptly slipped it into her purse then said to Justin, "I
don’t trust him and I, sure as hell, don’t trust you.
He disappears for twenty years with no contact and then you show
up saying I’m in danger and I’m supposed to follow
you without question—"
"You weren’t supposed to see me yet. I was supposed
to wait to talk to you after your father contacted you," he
grumbled reluctantly.
"You’re hard to miss," she snapped. He went
completely still and Lana rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I’m
not talking about your face, I’m talking about you. Have
you looked in the mirror lately? You’re a big guy."
She would die before telling him that the way his shoulders filled
out a shirt and the square line of his jaw, any woman would notice
him. That was how she had noticed him. Lana liked to think that
she had radar when it came to fine men and she had spotted him
blocks ago.
"You just noticed me today," he obviously felt compelled
to add.
She rolled her eyes then asked, with feigned boredom, "Why
am I supposedly in danger?"
"Your father has some enemies in DC. He doesn’t want
you to get hurt, and he thinks that they’ll use you to get
to him."
"What did he do this time? Steal something from the most
violent criminal in America?" She felt an uncharacteristic
flash of fear when she saw the distinctly uncomfortable look on
Justin’s face. "I was being sarcastic, but that’s
it, isn’t it? My father took something from the wrong person
and they want it back."
Justin ignored her question and glanced up and down the quiet
street. "It’s not safe here. Let’s go to your
house so you can grab a few things and then we’re going for
a drive."
Lana laughed in disbelief and shook her head. "I’m
not going anywhere with you."
He sighed as if he was a long-suffering martyr. "I’m
not going to hurt you, Lana."
"I know you aren’t going to hurt me because I won’t
let you," she said simply. "But, I’m still not
going anywhere with you. If you are telling the truth, that someone
is trying to use me to hurt my father, then you could be the exact
men that I’m trying to avoid. And if you aren’t telling
the truth, then you’re crazy and if you make any sudden moves
I’ll make sure the family jewels are permanently out of commission."
Silence stretched between them as Justin glared at her. She could
tell he was half-tempted to throw her over his shoulder and take
her where he wanted to go and she wasn’t entirely certain
that she could stop him besides screaming a lot. And there was
that part of her that forced her to stare too long at his mouth
that wouldn’t have screamed too loud.
Justin abruptly threw up his hands in surrender and muttered, "I
give up. I’ll tell Frank that I tried." He turned and
began to walk down the street.
"Where are you going?" she demanded, surprised.
"I don’t like to waste my time and talking to you
is a waste of my time," he called over his shoulder, without
breaking his stride.
"What about all the danger and my father’s enemies
and . . . and stealing?"
He ignored her and continued walking until he rounded the corner
of the building and disappeared from her sight. Lana tried to tell
herself she was glad she had gotten rid of the man, but then she
pulled the sapphire pendant from her purse and studied it. The fact
that the man had it told her that the man really knew her father
or her father was dead.
END OF EXCERPT. LIKE IT? ORDER
IT.
Read another excerpt
that was featured in Cosmopolitan! Click here for details.
|
