Authors: Tara Mills
“Nine.”
Ariela’s listless reply made Jean smile. Sprinkling sugar on her flakes, she asked, “Are you going straight down after breakfast?”
“
Actually, I'm going to run to the market first and pick up something for later.”
Jean’s spoon hovered in front of her, milk dripping back into the bowl.
“But I have to bring some sample books over to Banks Brothers at eight.”
“I’ll be right back. Just go do what you have to do. I
’ve got it covered.”
“Good.”
***
As Ariela dressed for work, she thought about her appointment th
at morning. Though it was their policy to fawn over their clients, Mrs. Corley was a woman who appreciated a bit more fuss than normal. Unfortunately, that didn't mean she made it any easier on them. Her habitual indecision was maddening, but the money on the line made it worth the trouble.
Their last appointment was particularly frustrating. The knotty-pine cabinets Mrs. Corley had chosen were suddenly out. Now she wanted a radical new look for her kitchen, something sleek and modern.
Maybe in oak? Ariela had crossed off the tile countertops without blinking and listened patiently while the client asked about granite, but not necessarily granite, instead. Could she do that?
“That’s no problem,” Ariela assured her
with a tight smile, then brought out examples for Mrs. Corley to look over.
Then they moved on to wallpaper samples. That alone took well over an hour, even with Ariela steering the woman in the right direction
again and again.
If Mrs. Corley didn't commit to this kitchen plan today, there was no telling what Ariela would do. She could almost picture herself escorting the impossible woman out and giving her a boot in the ass as she waved her off. Ariela sighed. No way could she ever do anything of the sort. Still, it was an enjoyable fantasy
—hours of pleasure without the blowback and guilt.
Being Friday, Ariela would be on her own for lunch. Jean had a standing date with Ron.
Her roommate and business partner was already gone when Ariela slipped out the front door, locking it behind her. Heading down the front steps, she turned left at the sidewalk.
Gorgeous, the day was simply gorgeous—warm sunshine, clear, deep blue sky, and the lazy hum of bumblebees on the old-fashioned roses growing along the neighbor’s fence. Ariela drew the fragrance
deep and sighed at the unexpected subtle finish of freshly mown grass that followed. It was a perfect day to play hooky, or maybe enjoy a picnic.
Truth be told,
she didn’t mind the Friday routine. She had an hour, one whole hour, all to herself and she liked to stroll over to the little market at the end of the block. They usually had something good in their deli case, and a nice selection of sparkling juices and waters to go with it.
*
**
Pushing his way out the doors of the Spiffy Mart, Dylan
wolfed down the last bite of his breakfast sandwich. There were two newspapers caught tight under his left arm and a second unwrapped sandwich in his right hand. He felt a wave of relief to see Max still waiting exactly where he'd left him, tied to the bike rack.
“
Good boy.”
Dylan tore the sandwich into thirds and fed it to the dog. He had to
shove the excited animal back in order to untie the knot and free him. The instant Max felt slack in the leash he took off, nearly jerking Dylan’s arm out of its socket. He struggled frantically to keep his newspapers from raining down on the sidewalk one section at a time.
“Max, wait! I said,
wait
, damn it.”
If he lost anything, Max was going to pay. A newspaper was a treasure
. Even though he could get all the information he needed off the internet, there was something deeply satisfying about holding a paper. The pleasure of having to wash the inky residue off his fingers after he finished reading could never be replaced by a screen. Another drawback to reading online was his habit of making notes in the margins would naturally end. Harsh. Then there was the daily crossword, of course. He’d missed those the most while he was overseas.
Dylan hauled the dog back at the corner to keep him from darting into traffic. Giving up the fight for the moment, Max waited,
happily fanning the air with his tail. When the light changed, Dylan eased up on the leash and the golden retriever took the lead, this time striding as regally as a show dog. Anyone who saw them might be fooled into thinking Max was domesticated, but Dylan knew better. His dog was a disaster waiting to happen.
Crossing the
intersection, Dylan looked up from his dog and his smile evaporated when he saw a bike messenger shoot out of a dental-office parking lot and barrel into a woman on the sidewalk. The large hedge growing next to the lot must have blocked her from view. The impact threw her backwards and Dylan winced when he heard her head strike the concrete.
He broke into a run and reached the
accident scene as the stunned bicyclist fought his way back to his feet. Still straddling his bike, the man stared bug-eyed at the woman lying in front of his tire.
Max, always the friendliest of dogs, chose that inopportune moment to leap on the
guy and nearly knocked him over again. Aghast, Dylan dragged Max back by his collar.
The stunned messenger clutched his he
lmet. “I didn’t see her. I swear. She was just there.” They both turned to look at her. “Is she okay? Please tell me she’s okay.”
The woman
lifted her head, her confusion palpable, and mumbled something.
Dylan
went to one knee next to her. “Hey there. Are you all right?”
Her hand went to her forehead. “I think so.”
The sun caught her directly in the eyes when she squinted to look up at him. She grimaced and closed them again, turning her face away.
Despite his concern, Dylan couldn
’t help but notice how pretty she was, how nice she smelled. Her delicate perfume invaded his head with his next breath. A little shaken by it, he rose and gave the bicyclist an uncertain shrug.
“She see
ms okay, but I’m not a doctor.”
One thing was certain—she was going to have one whopper of a goose egg on the back of her head.
The courier checked his wristwatch. “I’m so sorry, but I really have to fly. I’m on the clock here.”
Since the woman wasn’t asking for herself, Dylan spoke up.
“Do you have a business card, just in case?”
“Yes.”
Reaching down, he pulled one out of a ridiculously tight pocket and handed it to Dylan. He started to go into another apology.
Dylan raised his hand, stopping him. “It’s cool. I’ll stick around.”
“Thank you. Thanks a lot. I really appreciate it.” The messenger took off and rejoined the early traffic.
“Okay
.” Dylan turned back to the woman and a sudden chill sliced through him. She was too quiet, too still. Why wasn’t she sitting up? He dropped to his knee to take a closer look. “Hey. Still with me?”
No
pe. Or she was doing one hell of a Sleeping Beauty impersonation. The stray thought left him wondering if a kiss would actually wake her.
“Better not try it,” he said to Max. Dylan patted her soft cheek instead.
“Miss, miss? Can you hear me?”
Max nudged his way in and licked the
young woman from chin to hairline in long slobbery strokes.
“What the hell?” Dylan wrestled him back, banishing the dog to the nearby grass. If an animal could
sulk, Max was certainly doing it now. “You stay there. I mean it.” Dylan pointed sternly at the dog.
T
he woman jerked awake with a gasp. “I’m bleeding!”
Dylan whipped around
and saw her feeling her damp face, a look of outright panic in her eyes.
“You’re not bleeding,” he assured her. “That was just my dog. He
licked you. Sorry about that.”
Who could blame the animal? Dylan was having similar thoughts himself.
“I feel wet,” she said weakly.
“I know, that’s because my dog—”
“What?” Then she began to fade.
“Hey! Can you focus on me?” Dylan took her head in his hands and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs.
Her lashes fluttered open and she locked onto his eyes.
“Wow,” she whispered before going limp.
Chapter 2
Dylan cradled the woman’s head in one hand while he fumbled in his pocket for his phone. As he placed the emergency call, he gently lowered her onto his
left hand, cushioning her skull from the concrete. Within minutes, an ambulance and a squad car stopped along the curb. Apart from a soft moan, the woman had been eerily silent while he waited for help.
The EMTs moved in and took over, shunting Dylan aside. Suddenly cast adrift, he turned to find the police officer next to him. They walked over to the squad car and Dylan gave his statement
. He was distracted while answering questions and kept watch over the woman from a distance.
They had her on a stretcher
now, though that was as far as they’d made it. Obviously conscious, she fought to sit up, against the advice of the paramedics. Dylan grinned when she impatiently brushed the flashlight away from her face and demanded to know what happened. Finished with his statement, Dylan wandered over.
She spotted him. Ignoring the others, she asked him directly, “What happened?”
Before he could explain her lashes fluttered and she seemed to stare at him, though he couldn’t say if it was a vacant stare or not. He thought so at first until one of the EMTs shined his flashlight in her face again she swatted it away with an annoyed, “Do you mind?” She turned back to him.
Intrigued,
Dylan took another step forward. “You were in a battle with a bike messenger. You lost. Do you remember? I got his business card for you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut
for a moment. “Hmm, vaguely.”
When she
tried to sit up, the EMT stopped her. “Please—we think you have a concussion. You should come in for observation.”
“
I can’t. I have to work. I’m sure I’m fine.” She shook her head and let out a groan. “Whoa, woozy.”
“We can make a call for you,” the EMT
offered, giving her the hard sell.
“I don’t know.” She
sought Dylan again.
H
e slowly nodded. “Do it.”
To his surprise, s
he agreed, finally resigned to the idea. “Okay.”
The medics moved fast, strapping her down, not allowing her a single second to change her mind. As they rolled her to the back of the waiting ambulance, she turned her head
, fighting to find…
him
?
She gave a weak smile.
“Thanks for staying with me.”
He
closed the distance. “Wait—what’s your name?”
“Please,” she
pleaded with the medic pushing her stretcher. She stopped rolling, leaving her hanging halfway out of the vehicle. Her hand reached for Dylan’s.
“Ariela Perrine.” Then she laughed and blushed. “And who’s my champion?”
He grinned and squeezed her hand. “Dylan Bond.”
“Thank you, Dylan Bond.”
“My pleasure.”
“This is so embarrassing,” she muttered as the stretcher rolled all the way insi
de, pulling their fingers apart. One of the medics climbed up with her. The other closed them in.
Dylan returned to the sidewalk as the ambulance drove away without fanfare.
Feeling oddly and abruptly excused he looked around and finally noticed the small crowd dispersing. His talent for observation had failed him for the first time.
Suddenly r
emembering Max, he spun and saw the dog lying in the shade, patiently waiting with the remains of the newspapers torn and creased beneath him.
**
*
“A concussion?”
Jean asked as she drove Ariela home.
The call from her roommate an
hour ago had shocked her almost as much as hearing she needed a ride home from the hospital. It explained why she wasn’t running their office when Jean got back.
“A
mild
concussion.” Ariela touched her scalp with care. “It’s like a bruise on the brain. I just have to take it easy—no sudden movements, no field hockey or soccer.”
“I know what a concussion is
.”
Ariela groaned.
“Oh god, how much is this going to cost me?”
Her question made no sense. Frowning, Jean’s eyes cut to her friend
then back to the road again. “Why would it cost
you
anything? The messenger service is responsible. Their insurance should cover it.”
Ariela ran her hands up and down her thighs, squeezing them. This did not bode well. “
Um, I didn’t actually get his business card from the guy.”
“
What guy?”
“
There was this other guy there too. With his dog. They stayed with me. He’s the one who called the ambulance.”
“Did you get
his
name?”
Ariela bit her lip.
“Yes…
sort of
.”
It was Jean’s turn to groan. “Y
ou forgot his name, didn't you?”
“Hey, I have a concussion, remember? I have an excuse.”
“What’s your excuse every other time?” Jean muttered under her breath.
Ariela scowled at her and crossed her arms.
She was apparently still miffed when they pulled into the driveway. Ariela jumped out of the car and made a beeline for their back door.
Jean sighed, regretting the timing of her
dig. Scooping up the sample books from the backseat, she hurried after Ariela. Her roommate was already heading up the flight of stairs to their apartment.
“I’m sorry,” Jean called after her.
Ariela stopped, still facing forward. “Forget it. You had a point.”
“But ragging on you doesn’t exactly accomplish anything.”
“Right again.”
Jean
threw out her hand, rattling her keys at the same time. “I guess it’s not the end of the world. All we have to do is call the dental office and find out which messenger service they use. Piece of cake.”
“Yeah, that’ll work
.” Ariela turned slowly, looking relieved. “I’ll call them when I come down.”
“About that
—I was thinking maybe you should take the rest of the day off. I’ll make the call for you and handle the office myself. Take it easy, okay?” If she’d blinked she might have missed Ariela’s quick forgiving smile.
“You twisted my arm.”
Jean watched as she let herself into their apartment. “I’m right downstairs if you need anything. Don’t be afraid to call me.”
“I won’t...
and...thanks.” Ariela quietly closed the door.
Hitching up the sample books in her arm,
Jean went straight through to their business. The light on the answering machine was blinking. She let the message play while she unlocked the front door and switched on the open sign for their design studio. Hearing the carpet they’d ordered for an important job had been discontinued sent her mind scrambling for options. Damn. She dropped heavily into her desk chair and reached for the phone. Fortunately Jean was able to head off a full-blown panic attack when the third warehouse on her list told her they had one roll left. She claimed it on the spot.
Crisis averted
, she hung up the phone and glanced out the front window. There was a strange man loitering on the sidewalk, clearly confused about something. He looked at a slip of paper in his hand then back at the house. What was that all about? Curious herself now, Jean went to investigate.
She o
pened the front door and peeked out. “Can I help you?”
“Maybe, I’m looking for someone. The address I have led me here
, but I think there’s been a mistake. This is supposed to be a residence.”
“Actually, it’s both. Who are you looking for?”
“Ariela Perrine.”
Ah ha.
Now she understood. “Were you the one who helped her today?”
He
gave her a modest smile and nodded. “The same.”
“Come in. Ariela’s my business partner and roommate.”
Jean stood back so he could pass and closed the door after him. She examined him with interest; nice height, good build, great face, filled out a pair of jeans like a god, and his aftershave was doing its job. Noting the damp hair, she suspected he’d showered just before coming here. Ooh, this was getting even more interesting. Delightfully amused now, she offered her hand. “I’m Jean Myers.”
“Dylan Bond,” he said, shaking it. “I brought th
e messenger’s card for her.”
“Ariela’s
upstairs taking it easy for the rest of the day. Why don’t I show you the way and you can give it to her yourself?”
She led him through the back and showed him the staircase leading to their apartment. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, she watched him climb, thoroughly appreciating h
ow his worn and faded jeans moved with him. Only when she heard Ariela’s surprised, “Hi,” did Jean turn and go back to work with a happy little spring in her step.
**
*
“Please, come in
.” Ariela grabbed her sweater off the hook on the wall and slipped it on, feeling a little underdressed in her pajamas.
What on earth was
he
doing here, and how had he found her? Not that she was complaining. Oh no, far from it. He’d made a startling impression on her earlier today. When he’d smiled at her, she could have sworn his brilliant blue eyes were dancing like fairies at a midsummer frolic. Odder still, when he spoke she’d imagined butterflies circling her head. She’d heard tinkling bells. At the time, she hoped it was because of the knock on her head. Now she wasn’t so sure. Just looking at him again was doing crazy things to her mental and physical circuitry.
The guy
entered the apartment and gaped at the furniture right out of the sixties. Very familiar with this reaction, Ariela laughed.
“Yeah,
I get it. The Jetsons meet Beetlejuice, right? Probably not the décor you’d expect two interior designers to have.”
He shook his head, still
blinking as he took it all in.
Overlapping the
edges of her unbuttoned sweater, she hugged herself, painfully aware she wasn’t wearing a bra. “Well, there’s a simple explanation. When you’re cash poor and starting a business with next to nothing, you can’t exactly go wild in your own apartment right off the bat. We’re still living with the furniture we had during college, courtesy of Uncle Henry and Aunt Rose—with a few freebies thrown in to make it really eclectic.”
She gestured to their space-age teal sofa. “Please, have a seat. Appearances aside, it’s actually quite comfortable. Can I get you something to drink—juice, tea, coffee maybe?”
Anything, anything at all?
Turning, he
flashed a little dimple. “No thanks. I’m fine.”
He’d get no argument from her.
They sat down and he looked pained when she settled into the bright tangerine-colored armchair. Understandable. It did clash jarringly with her pajamas—pastel balloons floating across a soft pink background. The poor guy blinked several times, seemingly trying to handle the color overload. Biting her lip so she didn’t break out laughing, Ariela tucked her feet up and gave him a slow, curious smile.
He sat up
straight, recognizing his cue. “Right. Sorry. I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”
“It crossed my mind,” she admitted.
“I didn’t get a chance to give you that business card before they carted you away.”
“Oh, and you brought it to me? That
’s so nice of you. Thanks.”
He peered at her intently, more serious now. “How are you?”
Even though she didn’t know him, there was something in his expression that made her believe he could be trusted, and more importantly, he wouldn’t have asked about her if he didn’t honestly want to know. The naked concern radiating out of his deep blue eyes transformed his handsome face into something miles beyond devastating.
“
I have a mild concussion.” Why was she blushing?
The corner of his mouth curled up a smidgen.
“Headache?”
She felt her warm cheeks flare hotter. What was wrong with her?
“Not anymore.”
“Good.”
He broke into a full-blown smile and settled back on the sofa, apparently satisfied.
Still reeling from the power of
his smile, Ariela shifted uneasily in her chair. “I have a confession— I can’t remember your name. It’s really bugging me.”
H
is head dropped back and he laughed. “Dylan Bond.”
She brightened.
“Like in Bond, Dylan Bond?” She’d remember it now.
His eyebrows flicked up in amusement. “Something
like that.”
“Dabbles in international intrigue?”
She was toying with him, but it was fun.
He flashed a sexy-assed smile. How many kinds did the guy have? “I’m comfortable being in the middle of the action, but I’m back to working domestically again.”