* * * *
I was left alone to finish my shower. The man rocked my world, then strutted away, naked, wet, and oozing confidence. He returned moments later wearing jeans, beads of water across his chest, and a daunting glare.
“I’ve got something to take care of. I grabbed your keys. I’ll lock the door behind me.” He paused and raked my body from top to bottom with a sharp, haunted perusal. It chilled me, even under the hot water.
“I won’t be gone long. Promise me, you won’t go anywhere or open the door for anyone.” His forearm rippled as he tightened his grip on the shower door. God, the muscles that man sported. What a freakin’ turn-on.
“Um, ok.” I made a face. “Bossy, much?”
Franklin didn’t appreciate my snarky remark. His Adam’s apple protruded, jaw tightened, brows pinched.
“Tatum. Promise me.”
“No problem.” Nothing to worry about. Jacob was the only one who ever knocked on my door. Him and the pizza delivery guy. Pretty sure neither of them would come by for a Sunday morning chit-chat.
He turned to leave, paused at the door, shook his head, then disappeared around the corner.
I wasn’t sure what to make of his mood shift. Reminded me of my father. Dad was the most loving, mild-mannered guy I’d ever known. But when it came to my safety, the gentle giant could crank up the protective dial to raging beast mode.
I emerged from the shower, wrinkled and rubber-legged. I threw on some mascara and lip gloss, fluffed my dark blond hair, and dug my favorite jeans from the dryer.
A hot pot of coffee awaited me on the kitchen counter next to a half finished cup. Black. It was darker than what I was used to but smelled divine. I paused before pouring cream into my mug and pictured Franklin in all his naked glory. No room for half-n-half in a body that physically fit—that void of fat.
I grabbed an apple and headed for the balcony. A cool breeze greeted me when I stepped outside. The sun made an honorable attempt to emerge from the fluffy billows of gray hanging in the sky. The usual hustle and bustle of Alki Beach on a Sunday morning was well underway, street and foot traffic already thick. A few brave, hardcore beach lovers stretched on oversized towels on the sand.
I loved my home. My view. Safety had never been a concern.
Until my neighbor and dear friend was brutally attacked.
Life could turn on a dime. My happy-go-lucky outlook? Yeah, that changed too. I used to study people in awe and wonderment. Now, I scrutinized each character. Sized them up. Judged by appearances which ones were most likely to commit heinous crimes. It sucked. It sucked bad.
I didn’t want to people-watch anymore.
I was about to go back inside when a figure caught my eye. Dark gray hoodie, dark sweats, aviator glasses.
Holy shit.
The man jogged along the footpath, stopped to tie his shoe, lifted his head, and looked directly at me. Was it my imagination again? He stared for a long time, then raised his hand and waved.
I froze, teeth half sunken in my fruit.
His wave morphed into a pointed finger. Then a fake pistol. He shot his fake pistol. At me.
Blood drained from my head and congealed in my feet. I couldn’t move.
He stood, then jogged away in the direction he’d come.
I screamed like a horror movie victim when something squeezed my shoulder.
Driven by pure adrenaline, acting on impulse, I whirled around and rammed my apple between Franklin’s baby blues.
Faster than I could process what’d happened, I was on the floor. Franklin had straddled me and I’d been completely decommissioned. Again, I found myself unable to move. Pinned to the floor, wrists bound, legs immobilized, lungs emptied.
“Fuck, Tate. What the hell?” He wiped apple mush from his face. He wasn’t out of breath, yet I couldn’t find mine.
“Hoodie man.” I pushed the words out between gasps for precious oxygen. “He was outside.”
Franklin was on his feet and peering over the balcony in a heartbeat. “Where? Which way?” He turned to look at me but I still couldn’t breathe.
As quick as he’d sent me to the floor, he pulled me to my feet. Damn, the man moved fast.
Blood managed to find its way back to my head. Thoughts cleared.
I punched hard at his chest. “Are you a damn ninja? Jeez, Franklin. You can’t sneak up on people like that!”
“I’m sorry, didn’t you hear me come in?” He shot me a stupefied glance.
“What was that?” I gestured to the floor. “You could’ve killed me.” I patted myself from chest to buttocks, in search of injury. Found nothing.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, irritated and snappy.
“No,” I grunted. “So not the point.”
“Exactly the point. You weren’t hurt.”
Bastard. Where did he learn to move like that? “I think it was him. He looked right at me, then pointed his finger like a gun.”
“Shit. Are you sure?” Hands fisting and stretching at his sides, he strode to the kitchen. I followed.
“No.” Shoulders slumped, I shook my head. “Maybe it was my imagination.” Or the fact that he’d fried my brain beyond repair with his fine tongue skills earlier.
“Come here,” I ordered. I wet a towel and wiped the sticky mess from his handsome face. “I’m sorry. Just jumpy I guess.” With a shrug, I tossed the cloth into the sink and brushed a finger across the wrinkles between his brows.
“Think it’s gonna bruise?” His sensual drawl coated my ears, soothed my raw nerves. “Killer reflexes you got there.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry.” A purple bump already marred his face. Not big, just enough to be a reminder of the skirmish. “How you gonna explain this at work?”
I gasped when his lips hovered above mine and his arm encircled my waist.
“I’ll tell them my girlfriend is abusive, but the sex is so hot, I can’t bring myself to leave her.”
Girlfriend? Why did that word, coming from his mouth, make me want to put on a princess dress and twirl around the kitchen?
* * * *
By noon, my doors sported brand new, state-of-the-art hardware, and three bulky men, dressed in light blue poplin shirts with Rogue Security logos, invaded every square inch of my home to perform last minute adjustments on the surveillance cameras they’d installed. Not one of them spoke more than two words to me. Franklin barked commands and they obeyed—all business, all stealth. Barely shot me a glance when they finally left. What kind of pull did Franklin carry to get these men to work on a Sunday?
“So that’s where you went? Shopping? This is a bit over the top, don’t you think?” I passed him a turkey sandwich and a bowl of fruit salad. “You should’ve asked me first. I don’t need a security system. There are cameras throughout the building, a doorman, and a secured entryway.”
Franklin rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, shook his head, and rolled his shoulders. “The program this building uses is a joke. A moron could get through or bypass it altogether. A woman living alone in this city can never be too careful.”
“I’m