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  Saved By A Stranger

  Copyright © 2015 by Andi Madden

  All rights reserved. Smashwords Edition. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter One

  When Liz arrived inside the dimly lit movie theater’s lobby, dressed in comfy pants and a baggy sweater, she was cheerfully met by her two girlfriends—and their two husbands.

  Two couples—so much for just us girls.

  She had forced a smile, but a feeling of annoyance lingered.

  Then—holding six movie tickets in his hand—another guy stepped to the uneven numbered group and made it an even one.

  So, it was one of those evenings out.

  It wasn’t the first time her well-wishing friends tried to fix her up, so her surprise lasted only seconds.

  Then Liz took another look at him, met his dark gaze and her throat went dry.

  “Ben,” Jenna, best friend and traitor, chirped, “I’d like you to meet Liz. She runs her own bakery!”

  His handshake was firm, warm, pleasant. “Nice to meet you, Liz.”

  “I make cupcakes,” she blurted, because she somehow had expected he would ask what kind of bakery.

  His eyebrows rose, his mouth twisting to a smile, and he still held her hand. “Really,” he said, and then he cocked his head to the side, giving her a quick once-over that had her cheeks burning. “Maybe you can tell me more after the movie?” A quick squeeze of his hand and he let go to turn to Jenna’s husband.

  Jenna placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned in. “Ben just moved here,” she said, not whispering, but she kept her voice quiet. “He’s an old college buddy of Michael’s, never met him before. But he’s cute, isn’t he?”

  She made a noncommittal sound. Cute wasn’t the word she’d have used to wrap up her first impression. That she’d felt a spark passing between them when he looked at her still left her befuddled. “Why did he move here?”

  “He said he accepted a job offer downtown, journalist.”

  “Jenna,” she said quietly, “I just want to watch the movie tonight. I mean, look at me.” She tugged at her old sweater. “I wish you had given me a word of warning.”

  “You look great,” Jenna said, looping her arm through hers. “And it will be fun watching the movie together.”

  In the already-darkened cinema, the opening credits were running over the screen.

  Liz sank into the red upholstered chair, sucked in her breath, but not because Ben took the seat next to hers.

  Digging her fingers into the plush armrests, she leaned forward, trying to catch Jenna’s gaze two seats to her right.

  “What the hell, Jenna!” she asked, and was instantly shushed by dozens of people.

  “Sorry,” Jenna mouthed, and had the grace to look it. “The guys weren’t up for romcom. But Dawn of the Zombies is already considered to be a classic.”

  Ben also leaned forward, catching her gaze. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he wrapped his hand in a supposedly calming manner around her wrist.

  “Sorry, I thought everyone had agreed to the movie choice. Didn’t you see the title on the ticket I gave you?”

  She snorted, not bothering to dig out the ticket from her back pocket. “No, I didn’t because—”

  “Lady, get your ass out of here or shut the fuck up,” a guy a seat row behind her said.

  Blood prickled with a hot rush into her face and she shut her mouth. She hated when people talked during a movie—apparently, she was now one of them.

  Ben turned in the seat next to her and her breath caught in her throat when he stood.

  Whatever he did, she couldn’t tell, but the guy said, “Okay, okay, sorry,” and then she heard him get up and move a couple of seats over.

  “I didn’t ask you to get all protective,” she whispered through her teeth, even more mortified than before. “That was entirely unnecessary.”

  “I disagree,” he said, and his hand wrapped around her wrist again.

  She turned her head to him and met his gaze. There was a hard edge in his dark eyes, a grim line around his mouth, but then his features shifted into a smile she couldn’t help but answer in kind.

  “You got a rough deal tonight, didn’t you?” he asked quietly. “What’s worse? Having me as your date or watching the horror movie?”

  “You’re not my date,” she whispered back. “I just met you.”

  “Let’s not kid ourselves,” he said, leaning forward, a hint of his aftershave reaching her nose. “They are trying to set us up.”

  She nodded, a witty reply on the tip of her tongue, but words were somehow failing her. She inhaled deeply again, deciding he smelled like wood and leather and something simply male.

  “You okay?” he asked, his hold on her wrist increasing.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” she held his gaze, drank it in, wondered why he held on to her so tight, as if afraid she’d run away, and wondered why she didn’t mind.

  At the pit of her stomach, a peculiar feeling spread.

  Crossing her legs, she drew in a breath sharply as her skin erupted in goose bumps and her nipples puckered, straining against her bra. It took her a moment to figure out what her body was trying to tell her.

  Something must have shown on her face because his eyes narrowed and his gaze dipped to her mouth. Afraid he could read her mind or sense her arousal, she broke eye contact and leaned back in her chair.

  She ground hard on her teeth as the first images of dead people appeared. Great, absolutely fucking great. She sat beside a guy who turned her pussy into a hot, liquid mess while on the screen the first of probably many victims suffered a violent and graphic death.

  Her stomach turned, her mind reeling to take in all the fake blood that looked so horribly real.

  “That is all wrong,” she pressed through her teeth as the wonders of CGI transformed dead humans into a torn-up things. She slapped her hand over her mouth, her stomach revolting. People were laughing in the cinema, but she failed to see the humor. She jumped up, tripped along her row and stepped on toes and popcorn—she had to get out of the movie before she threw up.

  When she came out of the bathroom where she had washed her hands and rinsed her mouth, Ben was leaning against the opposite wall, waiting.

  “That bad?” he asked, and she searched for signs of laughter in his eyes, but he showed nothing but sincere sympathy.

  “I’m a movie lightweight,” she said. “If you’re here to convince me the movie is great and all the blood just fake, forget it.”

  “I’m here for you.” He pushed off from the wall and stepped toward her until she had to gaze up. “I really did ruin your evening, didn’t I?” Lifting his hand, he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

  The breath caught in her throat. “Only if you picked the movie,” she said after a breathless second.

  “Guilty as charged.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, making her wonder if her lipstick was smudged, then remembered she wasn’t wearing any.

  “Then you’ll have to make it up to me.” As soon as it was out of her mouth, she realized how raunchy it sounded. She bit her lip, seeking his gaze. When she found it, she took a step back from the intensity in his expression.

  “I will,” he said quietly, his voice sending another shiver along her skin. His hand settled at the small of her back. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get a drink in the bar across the street. The others can join in after the movie.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him no, to tell him she needed to go home, but his touch felt warm and sure and so good that she swallowed away her reservations. She fel
l into step next to him, realizing that they must look like a couple to the casual observer. When she had settled into the booth at the sports bar, he came back, carrying drinks.

  “A water, a soda and a beer,” he said, sliding the two glasses and a bottle in front of her. “And some fries. I didn’t know what you wanted.” He sat down across from her and took a swig from his own beer. “Tell me about your bakery.”

  “Sure,” she said, aware his knee touched hers under the table. “I opened it—”

  His cell rang and he held up his hand, taking the phone out of his jacket. “Let me just quickly switch that off.” Then he took a look at the screen and his brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, I’ll have to take this,” he said, looking at her, and then flipped the phone open. “This better be important.”

  While he listened, she got up, heading for the bathroom to give him time to finish his call. Staring at her pale reflection in the mirror, she wondered what he saw in her to give her all that attention.

  Wetting her fingers with water, she worked them through her hair to tame it, wondering if it was safe to return to the table. She didn’t want to leave the impression that she was trying to overhear his phone call. She rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror, wondering why she even cared what he thought.

  When she returned to the booth, he was nowhere to be seen, just the barely touched beer bottle showed that she hadn’t imagined him.

  Nibbling at the fries, she had waited for an hour for him to return before a waitress seemingly took pity and informed her he had left through the back.

  Chapter Two

  Three weeks later…

  The last rays of sunlight flickered like flames into her small apartment.

  She fished a praline from the open box sitting on her desk. She’d made them yesterday for her maybe newest creation, praline cupcakes. Closing her eyes, she savored the buttery crunchiness while the loud humming of her outdated computer drilled a hole in her head.

  But no matter how good her creations, her finances didn’t allow for experiments anymore.

  Wine in one hand, mouse in the other, she clicked the browser window shut, which had educated her about the maximum sentence for arsonists, and tried not to think about the gasoline canister hidden in the basement.

  She wouldn’t, couldn’t do that…so why was she still thinking about this?

  And if tonight’s meeting went well, she wouldn’t need to follow in Nero’s footsteps—not that her conscience would ever let her do it anyway.

  After opening her email account, she switched on her laser printer then hit the print button. Lowering her forehead to the desk, she listened as the printer gave an unhealthy cough. The smell of paper burning wafted.

  She jerked her head up. The display flashed red, and no matter how hard she tugged, the e-invitation to tonight’s entrepreneur meeting was stuck. Counting to ten, she resisted hurling the printer out the window.

  Violence was never the answer.

  One floor below, the sound of a doorbell rang and carried over fifteen crooked steps and through the two paper-thin doors that separated her shoebox apartment from her shop.

  The day had gone by without anyone buying a single anything, so she jumped to her feet and made her way down the staircase to greet her first, hopefully buying customer of the day.

  Placing her wine glass carefully next to the register and smoothing down her hair, she made an effort to smile as she stepped into the storefront that held all her hopes. And lots of unsold cupcakes.

  Instead of the face of a paying customer, she stared right into the barrel of a gun.

  “Don’t scream.”

  Her stomach did a somersault, but she kept her mouth shut. Baffled, she glanced along the cold, glinting metal and up an arm, over a broad chest under a navy shirt, and then found the face behind the gun.

  Like a sudden sugar rush, delirious pleasure spread through her.

  “You?” she whispered, her heart beating in her throat as she gave him another quick once-over. He was fetching in a hard, square-jawed, dark-eyed brooding way. Hard was the operative word, she thought—and was thinking it not for the first time. But he looked dead on his feet, with dark circles under his eyes.

  “You,” she said again, balling her fists, ignoring how lust welled in her body.

  Recognition sparked in his dark gaze. He lowered the gun and murmured a curse, a vein throbbing in his temple.

  Yes, he remembered her all right.

  Probably even remembered how he had dumped her, even though he was a step ahead, because he knew why he had dumped her in the middle of a sort of date.

  “Ben, wasn’t it?” she asked, knowing damn well his name and ignoring that he still held a gun in his hand. “Should I call the police or will you leave on your own?”She couldn’t even begin to guess what went on inside him, but then his features smoothed into a poker face.

  “You mistake me for someone else.”

  “Ha, right.” Bet he hadn’t figured on bumping into someone who knew him while he… What exactly was he doing?

  “Are you trying to rob me?” Laughable. She was so broke, she should rob him.

  After squinting at her, he glanced over his shoulder at the street.

  “Um, listen, buddy,” she said. “I don’t have a lot of money in the register but anyway, if I were you, I’d pick another store to rob.” She gave him what she hoped to be a convincing glare.

  His answer was a snort, as if her suggestion amused him.

  After another look over his shoulder, he pushed past her and dived—cursing—behind the counter and out of sight. “Listen, honey,” he said quietly, “close the front door and lower the blinds.”

  “Don’t you ‘honey’ me,” she muttered, her gaze drawn to the street, aware that he was in her store, hiding, holding a gun. Why?

  Two guys built like brickwalls headed toward her shop. They moved with a certain grace, like cold-blooded predators. As if someone walked over her grave, sudden dread came over her. She wrapped her arms around her middle, skin itching just looking at them.

  Before she could move, the door swung open.

  “Afternoon, miss,” Brickwall number one said while number two stood facing the street.

  “Afternoon,” she said, forcing a smile. “The Red Velvets are on special today.”

  “DEA.” Brickwall flashed a square piece of plastic—too fast for her to read. “You didn’t happen to see a man running by your shop? My height, dark hair, navy shirt, somewhat shifty?”

  “What did he do?”

  “Sorry, that’s confidential. But he’s dangerous.”

  She didn’t believe him. And his ID was probably as fake as a porn star’s boobs.

  “Goodness, I guess I better close shop for today.”

  He gave a curt nod, saying, “If you see anyone suspicious, call,” and offered her a card. “There’s a reward for any information that will help us catch this guy.”

  She took the card and locked the door behind them. Through the window, she watched them making their way across the street. She lowered and closed the blinds, shutting off most of the light, and switched on the light above the register.

  “So,” she said, flicking the card into the paper bin, “a simple thanks will do.” She placed both hands on the countertop, leaned over, expecting to find him hiding behind the counter. Besides a piece of lint skittering across the polished wood floor, nothing. Warm breath hit her neck just beneath her ear.

  “Thanks,” he whispered, sending a shiver of goose bumps along her back. Exasperated, she slowly turned to face him. If it weren’t for the obvious questions she had for him, his sight was actually a pleasant one. But he was still holding a gun in his hand.

  “I just covered your ass,” she pressed through her teeth. “Put the fricking gun away.”

  As if he was sorry to have bothered her, he lifted both arms.

  “Sorry, some habits die hard,” he said, pocketing the gun in an ankle holster. He took two steps away
from her, giving her another opportunity to check out what the wind had so suddenly blown to her doorstep.

  “What’s going on,” she said. “Do share.”

  “Trust me,” he said. “It’s best you don’t know.”

  “Should I call the cops?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t let you do that. You’ll have to put a little trust in me.”

  “Trust. In you?”

  “Yes, in me.”

  About six-foot something of lean, muscled male met her gaze. His stance was relaxed, feet hip-width apart, his legs clad in snug jeans.

  She resisted working her hand through her hair. A shiver worked its way over her skin from the soles of her feet upward to her center, sending a jolt through her clit.

  “Listen,” he said, interrupting her out-of-control thoughts, “this is how it will work.”

  “Work?” she replied, and dragged her focus back to the situation at hand. “Do you remember at all that we met twenty-three days ago at—”

  “Don’t remember,” he said, walking up and down the room as if he had trouble standing still. “You’ve kept count?”

  Dark eyes met hers with a mischievous expression.

  “Very funny,” she said, blood rushing to her cheeks. No, she hadn’t kept count, or maybe she had, but she remembered the evening rather vividly.

  He rubbed his face, blinking his eyes, as if he had a hard time staying focused.

  “I need to crash here,” he said, all playfulness forgotten, and she got a glimpse of the man she’d thought he was when she first met him—an honest, sensitive, courteous, quietly strong man. Boy, had he fooled her. “For a few hours, until tomorrow morning tops. Okay?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “You don’t have much of a choice, honey.” He raised his eyebrow, probably referring to his stupid gun.

  “Call me ‘honey’ one more time,” she said, pointing her finger at his face, “and you’ll suffer a violent death.”

  “Sure, pumpkin,” he said, grinning. “But I am pretty much having a perfect day today, so excuse me that I won’t let you spoil it.”