voice vibrated close to her ear, making her jump. “Where do you live?”
Anna didn’t bother to dissemble. “I have a flat nearby.” There was no point in not telling him where. She would have to leave, anyway. Tomorrow.
“I’ll see you home.”
The statement was delivered flatly, and she wasn’t inclined to argue with it. The stranger was big, well over six feet tall, and from what she had seen and could feel, he was solidly muscled. His arm tightened around her as he urged her across the road to a Jeep.
He helped her into the passenger seat. The Jeep smelled new and expensive. For the first time, it occurred to Anna to question what a well-heeled stranger had been doing strolling through Ambrose Park in the rain, at night, and what had compelled him to even look in the storm drain?
She knew he wasn’t the man who had chased her earlier; he was too tall, for one thing. But what if he had been looking for her? She couldn’t discount that possibility, no matter how much she wanted to trust him.
He swung into the driver’s seat with a sleek, fluid grace that drew her gaze. He had taken his jacket off, and in the dimly lit confines of the cab, his muscled biceps gleamed copper as he twisted and placed the dark bundle in the rear, along with the torch he’d carried. In the short time it had taken him to remove the jacket, his T-shirt had gotten soaked, and now it clung slickly to his broad shoulders and chest.
With dawning apprehension, she realised just how big, how powerfully built, he was, and that he was dressed completely in black: black pants, black boots—even a black watch, with a cover hiding the face. The colour of thieves and assassins.
His hair was long, caught back in a ponytail. She hadn’t noticed that in the dark; she had assumed his hair was short. Anna swallowed, for a moment caught again in the hazy limbo between sleep and wakefulness that had swamped her when she’d regained consciousness. This was no dream, she told herself fiercely. And he was no knight in shining armour, despite the fact that he’d helped her.
She tipped her head back to meet his gaze, and her breath hitched in her throat despite her attempts at control. His eyes were as dark as his clothing, an intense shadow-black that seemed to absorb light, giving nothing back. The effect was sombre, electrifying.
The impact of his face hit her all over again, sending an odd quiver of mingled fear and elation through her, starting a queer shifting sensation deep in her stomach, as if her centre of gravity had just altered and she hadn’t yet found her balance. Heat rose in her as she experienced another heavy jolt of the awareness that had disoriented her so badly earlier, as if she were once more caught in the relentless grasp of one of the vividly sensual dreams that had haunted her through the years.
Abruptly, she transferred her gaze to the rain-washed windscreen. Cold logic and bitterness dashed ice on the mystifying, aching flare of emotion. Whatever improbable fantasies had played through her mind when she’d first seen him, they were just that: improbable. She no doubt had a mild concussion, and her mind was playing bizarre tricks on her. The guy was big, tough and drop-dead gorgeous; he would have women queueing. She wasn’t in the market for a relationship, and even if she were, she had absolutely no confidence in her ability to handle a man like him.
He shoved the key in the ignition; the engine rumbled to life. “Where to?” His gaze locked briefly with hers.
“Second left. Finnegan Street. Number fifty-four.”
Anna felt the touch of his gaze again; then he was all business, checking for traffic as he eased onto the road.
“If I had been going to hurt you, I would have done it back there,” he stated flatly, his voice like dark velvet.
Pitched just that way to soothe her, she thought, realising just how tightly she was wound, just how paranoid her thoughts had become. “If I thought you would hurt me, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”
And it was the truth, she realised, startled at how bone-deep that trust had gone. Mysterious though he was to her, she couldn’t shake the extraordinary compulsion to trust him.
Seconds later, he pulled over outside her block of flats.
“Thank you.” She aimed a grateful look in his general direction, fumbled her door open, then almost cried with frustration when her briefcase caught under the dash, slowing her escape.
He was already swinging out, striding around to help her down. He gripped her elbow, steadying her when she almost fell—and another of those quivering shocks travelled up her arm. It was too much. She jerked free, stumbling back, almost oblivious to the cold, steady rain streaming down her face, penetrating the collar of her raincoat and trickling down her neck.
He was talking to her, that smoky, soothing rumble again, as if he were trying to gentle a wild animal. She stared at him blankly for long seconds, not comprehending a word he was saying.
He held both hands up, palms out, in a gesture that cut through her confusion and suddenly made her feel foolish. He had only been trying to help her.
Mortified heat warmed her cheeks. He’d sheltered and protected her, driven her home—his actions those of a man used to caring for women, used to handling them. If he hadn’t grabbed her just then, she would have fallen.
“I’m sorry, I’m not…” She stopped, feeling even more clumsy, more inept. Not what? she thought bleakly. Not used to kindness? Not used to men touching her?
“You’re shaken. You’ve got a head injury. All I want to do is see you safely inside.” His mouth quirked at one corner. “Out of the rain.”
The rain. God, the rain. They were both getting soaked. She drew a breath. “Okay.” With a nod that she instantly regretted, she started up the cracked concrete path.
Anna paused at the door to her apartment, which was little more than a one-room bedsit. She turned to thank him, but he forestalled her.
“I know you don’t trust me, but I’m not leaving until you’ve either called a doctor or you let me take a look at that bump on your head.”
Once again, Anna was struck with confusion. The mere thought that anyone wanted to help her, take care of her, was so alien that for a moment she couldn’t take it in. She fingered the swelling, flinching at the hot bite of pain. Her fingers came away streaked with blood. “You’re a doctor?” She didn’t try to hide her disbelief.
Blade curbed the desire to reach out and try to soothe her with touch. It wouldn’t work, he decided dispassionately. She was as jumpy as a cat with its paw caught in a trap, and just as likely to lash out at him. It wouldn’t take much for her to kick him out on his ass, and he couldn’t allow that to happen. Not until he’d found out the answers to some questions. “I’ve had medical training. I was in the military until a couple of months ago. ‘Combat’ medicine.”
For a moment, Blade thought she wasn’t going to go for it, and he was knocked off balance by another emotion entirely—one he wasn’t pleased to admit to. Something about his ghost caught at his gut, grabbed him deep and hard. He felt…proprietary, protective. He had found her, and he was responsible for her. He wasn’t willing to let her go just yet.
When she put her case down and began digging for her key in her raincoat pocket, relief and satisfaction uncurled inside him. She didn’t want to, but she was going to trust him.
His
