even the slightest shift of his eyes in her direction.
Unfortunately, she had terrific peripheral vision. In addition to tracking his movements, she also noticed his well-muscled physique, emphasized by a tight, faded black T-shirt, and the shaggy blond haircut beneath a backward Red Sox cap. The look was scruffy, but definitely sexy.
There was something vaguely familiar about the lazy half smile that turned his expression into something far more dangerous than she’d first recognized. Intent on mayhem or not, men with smiles like that were lethal to the quiet, studious existence she’d promised herself for the next two years. They disrupted peace of mind without even trying, to say nothing of what they managed to do to pulse rates. Women were drawn to men like that the way moths were attracted to flames. She’d always figured the deadly futility in both instances wasn’t an idle comparison. She steeled herself against becoming a victim.
“Don’t you know you should beware of strange men who’re just hanging around in dark hallways?” he inquired.
Penny’s stomach clenched, more at the patronizing tone than out of fear. Her feminist hackles rose. Of course she knew that. Did the man think she was an inexperienced idiot? There were definite ways to correct that impression. She considered several of them, then dismissed them just as quickly. Maybe he hadn’t meant to taunt her. Maybe he was like her grandfather, unable to resist any opportunity to give advice.
Penny flashed him a tentative smile. He responded by falling into step beside her. Warning signals began to flash and that prickle of unease she’d dismissed came back as a full-fledged case of panic. Just in case her grandfather knew more than she did about Boston’s lowlifes, she tried to recall something—anything from those self-defense classes. For instance, exactly how and when should she make her self-protective move? It definitely should be before the guy followed her inside her apartment, which she was more and more certain was his destination.
She spent ten nerve-racking seconds considering her strategy, debating whether it was even called for, then decided it would be sheer stupidity to take any chances. She whirled, slammed one booted foot into his shin and aimed her denim-clad knee at his groin. It didn’t exactly connect, but she was satisfied with having proven her point, anyway.
Filled with confidence and adrenaline, she reached for an arm, expecting to flip him onto his back as easily as she had her instructor. Big as he was, this guy wasn’t nearly as beefy as Karate Todd. Her hand clamped around a wrist. Not two seconds later, she had one arm pinned behind her and she was locked against a body that was all male and seemed to be shaking with indignation. Or was it laughter?
Penny listened and heard the telltale snicker. The creep was actually laughing at her. Fury replaced fear, along with the firm conviction that she could handle the situation, no matter how out of hand it seemed to have gotten. Grateful that she was wearing her Western boots, she raised a foot to crunch the daylights out of his instep, only to find herself unceremoniously tossed over his shoulder.
“Next time, don’t pick on somebody bigger than you are, short stuff,” he advised as he plucked her apartment key from her hand and headed unerringly for her door.
How the devil had he known which apartment was hers? she wondered. Had he been stalking her? She’d read about stuff like that. In Los Angeles it happened to celebrities all the time. Usually, though, the person being stalked was someone famous or at least had a passing acquaintance with the stalker. She’d never seen this idiot before in her life. She surely would have remembered anyone with a voice that reeked of smoky sensuality and unbridled amusement—a combination she found particularly irksome under the circumstances.
Of course, given her humiliating, upside-down position with all the blood rushing to her brain, it was a strain remembering her own name. She did manage to recall a prayer or two. Unfortunately, she had a hunch she was going to need more than prayers to get out of this. Even more unfortunately, every single thing she’d learned in that self-defense class had suddenly flown out of her head.
She was, however, thinking clearly enough to make one firm decision. She knew absolutely that she was not under any circumstances going into her apartment with this man, even if that meant she had to scream her head off to catch the attention of her brand-new neighbors. Which, now that she thought about it, was what she should have been doing long ago, instead of trying to convince herself that she was in no danger.
She opened her mouth and let out a bloodcurdling yell that would have done Tarzan proud. It was greeted by an equally vocal string of obscenities from her captor and the satisfying sound of doors opening up and down the corridor. She followed up with one more ear-shattering scream, just to prove that she meant business.
“You little twit,” the man muttered, jamming the key into her lock and flinging open the door.
To her astonishment, he turned around, faced down all the neighbors and said, “Just a little lovers’ quarrel. Don’t mind us.”
It didn’t take much to imagine his smile and that amused, patronizing tone charming the daylights out of all of them. “It is not—” she screeched emphatically, only to have the words cut off by the slamming of the door behind them.
It took a supreme effort, but she convinced herself that no one could possibly be fooled by his lame remark, that even now police cars were speeding to her rescue.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t kill her before they arrived, she thought just as she was dumped in a sprawling heap onto the sofa. She glanced up. Indeed, the expression in his eyes was filled with murderous intent. For the first time she stopped being mad and started to get just the teensiest bit nervous.
Maybe Brandon and everyone else had been right to worry about whether she knew what she was getting herself into by moving to Boston. She found the unfamiliar flash of self-doubt extremely irritating. No, dammit! A twenty-five-year-old woman had every right to follow her own dreams. If that meant burying herself in a stuffy laboratory at Harvard while she pursued a thesis for her Ph.D in English, she couldn’t imagine why it was anyone else’s concern.
Some women preferred to concentrate on intellectual pursuits that might one day make a difference in society. Some women just weren’t cut out for romance. Look at her Aunt Kate. Well, that was a bad example. Aunt Kate had been a strong, independent, powerful lawyer. Now she carried a diaper bag in addition to her briefcase. Talk about ruining an image! Tough talk and baby talk were incompatible, it seemed to Penny. But the way Aunt Kate used to be…now there was a role model. Why couldn’t her mother and especially her grandfather, Brandon Halloran, see that she wasn’t burying herself in a lab because she was afraid of life?
Someday, though, they’d be proud of her when she was off in Sweden or Switzerland or wherever it was that they handed out the Nobel prizes. She hadn’t quite decided yet if she wanted the award to be for curing cancer or for literature. It occurred to her that quite possibly that was why her entire family was in such an uproar.
She could just imagine their reaction when they heard about some damnable man invading her apartment during her very first week in town. That thought gave her the bravado to launch another attack on the unsuspecting man, who was staring out the window, probably to make sure that the police weren’t rolling in before he finished up whatever mayhem he intended.
Without hesitating to consider the consequences of riling him further, she bounded across the room. She leaped up, looped her legs around his waist and one arm around his neck in what she thought was a fairly effective choke hold. To her astonishment and regret, he shook her off as if she were no more than a pesky nuisance.
“Do that again and we’re going to have one serious problem on our hands,” he warned.
