Authors: Liz Crowe
God damn fucking asshole, he's done it to me again. Sara, you are a fool.
The face in the mirror mocked her as she brushed her teeth and pulled her hair back. Jack blocked her way out of the bedroom and for a brief moment, she thought he was going to reach out for her, but merely stepped aside and followed her out into the living room. She grabbed purse and keys and stomped out the front door, not watching to see if he followed. They screeched out of her parking lot, silence gathering force between them.
Jack gave her his address and said nothing else. Sara gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, willing him to speak. She'd be damned if she would first. She pulled up in front of his bungalow in the affluent neighborhood near the central campus, and kept her eyes straight ahead. Jack sat, unmoving, one hand on the door handle. He put the other on her shoulder.
"Sara," he said, quietly. "I, you, I mean, we. . . shit," he muttered. "I'm late, I really have got to go. But I remember what I said last night, okay?" He put a finger under her chin and turned her face to his before giving her a kiss of such tenderness and feeling that she nearly wept with relief. "We have to talk more, and we will," he said as he brushed her nose and forehead with his lips. "I'll call you this afternoon." He ran a weary hand over his eyes and through his thick hair, making it stand up in spikes. "I've got a stupid golf outing tomorrow, but if this day doesn't go too long let's have dinner." He jumped out of the car and ran towards his house, disappearing into the side door as her nerve endings humming with unmet need. The anticipation of conversations with her brother that had "Jack" and "boyfriend" in the same sentence made her a little dizzy. She sighed, put the car in gear and headed home.
"This is Sara Thornton, how can I help you," she chirped into the phone the next morning as she took a floor call. It had been a late night, and not an entirely satisfying one. Jack had called at nine o'clock after keeping her posted via text during his tour. He sounded exhausted after an entire day of shuttling a top-level executive around with his high-maintenance spouse and two annoying children -- all with a raging hangover. He'd been apologetic and contrite but begged off anything more than falling straight into bed.
"I owe you one baby," he'd muttered into her ear. "And you know I will make good on it." Sara had bit the inside of her cheek so hard to keep from filling the silence she tasted blood. "I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow night. Dress up." he insisted before signing off.
She'd set her phone down on the coffee table, called for her favorite pizza and ordered a movie on demand. She had woken up in a sweating, hyperventilating heap on the floor beside the couch, the movie playing in an endless loop. She couldn't recall the nightmare that had caused her such panic but took a hot shower to calm down and then fallen face first into bed, not moving until the alarm went off at six a.m. for her morning run.
She felt re-energized afterwards, had showered and headed into the office. No word from Jack yet, but that wasn't unusual. He'd said he had a golf outing, wouldn't be able to talk all day, so she mentally inventoried her closet for something great to wear on their date tonight.
Their Date…Sara flushed with anticipation and relief. He'd finally done it. Feeling liberated, strong and utterly terrified in equal measure, she waded through emails, chatted with the secretary about various bits of company gossip, listening carefully for any tidbits about Jack the girl might share. By the time she got the first floor call the clock read noon, the end of her shift. The buyer on the other end of the phone wanted to see a listing today, in an hour, out in the township.
Sara sighed, picturing her afternoon spent on a most likely useless trek out to meet a less-than-qualified buyer. She set the meeting, printed out a few more listings in the price range and general vicinity to take with her and finished off the work on transactions she had in the pipeline. Next month would be her most lucrative one yet. Her phone buzzed with a text and she smiled anticipating Jack's missive. She frowned at the unfamiliar number.
"Hey. It's Craig. Can you cover me for about thirty minutes? I'm supposed to be there at noon, but am gonna be late."
"Sure, but I got a last minute showing at one so don't be much later." She hit "save contact" and entered his name, the image of his tanned face and long blond hair wavering in her vision. He had proven to be a very quick study, and had picked up the real estate lingo and processes with little apparent effort. Their one close encounter had made for some awkwardness but he'd effectively ignored her since then, so she let it drop.
His lazy smile and easy-going manner, not to mention absolutely adorable southern accent and smoking hot body had quickly made him a favorite among the women. Sara thought she'd heard he had already gone out with an admin flunkie at their corporate office.
At the rumble of his motorcycle outside, Sara grabbed her phone and keys and headed for the back door. The vision that greeted her as she exited made her stumble over the sidewalk. Craig had dismounted his bike, taken his helmet off, shaken his dark blond hair out and pulled off his Ray bans. Sara took in the rumpled khakis hugging his ass and the sinfully tight black t-shirt emphasizing the smooth strength of his arms. He wasn't bulked up but was deliciously toned. He grabbed a button down shirt out of the compartment behind his seat and was shoving his arms in it when he turned and stopped as he saw Sara standing there staring at him. He grinned and she nearly melted.
Good Lord, he is like a fucking Greek God or something
. She stopped herself and smiled back at him, her heart beating faster.
"About time, cutie," she called out, covering her discomfort.
"Sorry, late night, had a gig over in Grosse Pointe," he said, indicating one of the farthest Northeast Detroit suburbs.
Jesus, he probably has amazing hands.
Sara shook her head to rid herself of the image of them on his guitar. "No problem. Had a last minute floor call is all. Some guy wanting to see some stupid house way out on Willis Road"
Craig narrowed his eyes at her. "You're going? Alone? Is that safe?"
"Oh it'll be fine. But thanks for asking," she waved her hand as she turned to her car. "Hope you get more calls than I did!" Within a minute, she got another text from him.
"If there is a problem text me 911 and the address."
Sara smiled and made her way out to the house. The supposed buyer stood her up for nearly twenty minutes, which annoyed her but she pasted on her best smile as she held the door open for him. Within about ten seconds, every inner alarm she had started clanging. He was dressed well enough, tall, with a baseball cap, jeans and a t-shirt. But his eyes traveled over her frame in a thoroughly disconcerting and inappropriate way.
Get a grip Sara. It's nothing, show the house and be done.
But her nerves kept buzzing and she automatically took the precautions that had been drummed into them -- made him lead the way into each room, standing in the hall, feigning a couple of phone calls, remaining in the kitchen while he traversed the large overgrown yard. She immediately tried to call Jack as soon as he walked out the door. His voicemail picked up so she sent him a text: "911 2793 Willis Rd." and then sent the same message to Craig.
The guy wandered back into the house after about ten minutes. He took a step too close to her and she eased away. She blew out a breath as he continued past her down to the basement. She started towards the front door after he'd spent nearly ten more minutes down there.
"Hey, um Sara, could you come here and show me what this leak is," the creep called from the basement.
Yeah, as if. I'm out of here.
Sara focused on getting to the front door and down the porch steps towards her car when she felt a rough hand grip her arm. She pulled out of his grasp and he grinned at her.
"You aren't being a very good realtor now are you," he grabbed for her again. An adrenaline rush kicked in as she rushed down the steps when he caught the tail of her silk shirt. The ripping sound sent a bolt of terror through her brain. Her yell cut through the country road's quiet when he turned and shoved her up against her car, so hard her head ricocheted against the metal, bringing instant stars to her vision.
Channeling Blake's self-defense class she slammed her knee up between his legs but he sidestepped her and put a hand over her mouth. He yelped when she bit down on the palm covering her mouth, wrenched her arm behind her back and turned her to face the car.
"Bad realtor," he muttered into her ear. He yanked her arm up so far she screamed in pain. "Shut up goddamn it." The guy had his lips so near her ear she could smell the rank odor of cigarettes and unwashed skin. His hand mashed against her ear. The car's hot metal seared her cheek. She could smell her own sour, sweaty fear. The unmistakable sensation of an erection pressed into her body. The guy's breath permeated her nostrils. Her brain was on overdrive but he had her completely immobile, pinned against her car door.
She opened her mouth to talk, beg. She felt a rough hand on her leg, shoving her skirt up. Her flight instinct kicked in. She would not stand here and be abused by this asshole. He yanked her away from the car, the air a relief to her scorched skin, quickly replaced by a sting of pain when he backhanded her so forcefully her neck jerked back, one hand still gripping her arm so hard it almost hurt worse than the blow.
"Bitch. Now be still." He whipped her back around, shoved her against the car door again and put a large hand around her neck. "Yell again, and I'll squeeze." Sara's fuddled brain registered him fumbling around with his zipper.
Tears leaked from her eyes as her mind slowly processed that her own desire for a sale might cost her life. She sobbed and tried to relax so whatever he did wouldn't hurt as much.
The roar of a motorcycle engine tore through the quiet, gravel flew from under Craig's wheels as he spun up to where the attacker had Sara pinned. He squeezed her throat so hard the world started to go black from the outside in. Then he grunted and was suddenly gone.
Sara landed on her hands and knees sucking in deep drafts of air, heard, rather than saw, flesh hitting flesh. Once she managed to unfreeze her limbs and turn around, she took in the sight of the guy on the ground face down, blood darkening the area around his head. Craig was crouched on his back, had his arms pinned. When he looked at her, the edges of her vision went black. She could hear the sounds of a police siren somewhere from a long way away as she crumpled to the gravel.
The first thing she saw was his deep brown eyes full of concern. Strong hands lifted her up and she let herself be pulled into Craig's embrace. Strange scents assaulted her; a combination of sweat, starch and something like bleach surrounded her as she clutched at his shirt, sobbing with residual terror. He held her close and ran a hand over her hair.
"It's okay Sara, I'm here. He's gone. It's gonna be fine." His soft, melodious voice soothed her. She took a shuddering breath and let go of him to rub at her eyes but nearly fell down again as her knees shook too violently to hold her up. Craig led her to the porch steps. Her head throbbed with pain and she trembled uncontrollably as the adrenaline whooshed out of her body. He sat and put an arm around her shoulders.
"Relax, it's over," he muttered into her ear. She nodded but burst into tears, and leaned into him noting the bleachy smell again coming from his soft blond hair. Craig stood up and blocked her view when the cops marched the would-be rapist to the patrol car. While she laid her head on her knees and tried not to throw up, they shoved him into the back, conferred with another set of uniforms that had arrived in the meantime and made way for the paramedics. Sara waved the medic away. "I'm fine, just scared," she declared, not wanting anyone in her space but Craig.
He sat beside her again and tipped her face up to look at him. His dark eyes blazed with intensity.
"Sara, you took a hit, remember, let them check it out," he insisted running a finger over her stinging cheek. She clutched at his sleeve.
"Okay, but stay here with me." He nodded at the paramedic and kept an arm around her while they did their concussion check. They declared her fine, if severely shaken up. After rubbing some ointment on her sore cheek, they gave her orders to get to the ER if she got really nauseous. As the man walked towards the ambulance, Jack's corvette wheeled into the driveway with a roar. Sara gasped with alarm and Craig kept a tight arm around her. Jack leapt out of the car and ran over to them clad in full golf outing gear, complete with spiked shoes.
"What the hell happened," he glared around at the police cars and ambulance. Sara stood on shaky legs and he crushed her to him. "I'm sorry. I didn't get your message. I was out on the course," he ran a hand down her hair and her back. Sara's body convulsed with tremors again. He pushed her away, touched the crumpled skirt, pulled her shirt together. "Dear God, did he hurt you?" He gripped her arms, eyes wild with fury. He looked around at the cop car. "Hey, where is this asshole," he yelled to them. "Sit, here, I'll be right back." Craig hadn't moved so she sat back next to him, soothed by the warmth of his body.