You Called Me-ARE and Apple epub (2 page)

Kenya’s mouth fell slack at his admission. “How do you know my name?”

Jonathan stood relaxed in the doorway running a hand through thick rusty bronze hair then set his attention on her face and smiled. “You called me.”

Kenya hung her head around the doorjamb to peer out the bedroom, angling a glance down the long hallway. The soft melody of a saxophone played in the background. Jazz, this man listened to jazz. That surprised her figuring him a classic rock type of guy. She pictured him a fan of the band Chicago or maybe Boston’s music more her speed.

Kenya held still and listened for more voices in the apartment. A fork clinking over a plate and something tangy wafted through the air.

He’d left her, after setting her clothes and purse on the upholstered chair beside the door.

Digging out her phone, she displayed her call history. There, shining under the blue glow, Randall's number, her neighbor, the man she'd called, not some service. She'd never called Jonathan, so how did he wind up with the call? She held her stomach, couldn’t throw up again she hadn’t eaten anything.

“I can serve you in bed if you prefer?”

She reared back hearing his voice booming down the buff cream walls of the hallway. Smoothing a hand over her plaid skirt, she gripped her purse and made her way down the hall. The large bulldog sat eyeing her.

She liked dogs, dogs she knew. Letting him sniff her hand she stroked down his back hearing the low groan and knew she had a friend. She padded down the hallway as the full space came into view. A large dining table sat stately in the center of the room on beautiful sculpted beige on beige rug. Kenya braced a hand to the wall; the wide window across the back gave her vertigo. The big wall of windows over looked the city, lights twinkling on the water and the stainless steel elevator doors instead of a front door...penthouse.

Beautiful portraits of Ireland hung gallery-style around the space. Castle’s and old gardens carried so much history. One particular picture captured her attention made her lean in closer to run a finger over the glass surface.

A castle backed a wide lake and a family stood in front of the entrance. Tall handsome men embrace their children huddled in front of them. The men wore wool tweed blazers, dress pants and riding boots. Two of the older gentlemen wore solid color vests under the blazers with what appeared to be pocket watches. The boys wore the little blazers and shorts. She smiled seeing the little knee socks and more of the beautiful bulldogs sprawled around their feet. She tilted her head seeing something on one of the men's arm. A falcon perched on a leather glove. Aristocrat was all she could think of.

“I won’t bite Ms,”the man said, rousing Kenya from the oil painting. 

She straightened. “Where am I? And don’t say your home. We’ve already established that.”

“Come sit down,” he said, waving her into the room. “I don’t cook for every strange woman I pick up off the street, but you were clean, so my driver brought you home,” he teased.

Frowning, she pieced his words together. “Off the street…I didn't…off the street?” she repeated confused. She'd sat in her car in the parking structure at the bank and called Randall to pick her up. She distinctly remembered because he called back asking for the address. Now that she thought about it that was odd, because Randall's been there many times. She had to deal with the man before her. She shouldn't have gone to work with the flu and a fever. Kenya took a step back. Her toes snuggled by thick carpet…bare feet…What had they done? “Where are my stockings? Better yet, where’s Randall. That’s who I called from my car, no one found me on the street. How did I get here?”

“I’m not heating this up. Sit down and eat before this food gets cold. I only make three things, and this, I must say, is my best beef stroganoff yet,” he urged, standing to pull the chair out for her. “Your stockings could not be salvaged.”

At the table, Jonathan held her chair out, his tie draped around his neck, held creases in the silk where it had been tied. Either he's a businessman or, and this was what bothered her, he was, conducting private business up here. Blinking, she stopped herself from staring and eyed the delicious looking food on the table. The tangy scent of sour cream made her mouth water, but her stomach threatened to revolt and tightened. Kenya focused on the shiny wood table, trying not to throw up again.

“Jonathan is it?”

“Sit!” His voice a searing command crashed over her, making her drop down on the plush dining chair. A better look at her host caused a rolling tingle through her nipples and her silky blouse his nothing. The red hair reflected gold under the crystal chandelier. His starched white dress shirt, professionally laundered, said certainly custom made.

“I’m not certain who Randall is, but you called my service,” he told her, coming around beside her after easing her chair up to the table.

“What service is that?”

“Let’s just say I’m a friend of the court.”

Kenya blanched and pushed away from the table, looking around for her shoes. “I’ll call a cab and thank you for…”Vision blurring, she clutched the back of the chair, wobbled, and Jonathan lurched for her as the floor rose up to meet her face. This time she didn’t object to his arms cradling her, smoothing down her skirt flipped over her thighs. His gentle touch held a complete contrast to his bark earlier. His fingers held a hidden strength while he gently caressed her skin, consolingly. 

“You’re sick,” he observed, stroking his palm lovingly over her cheek. “This hurt?”

Great, she’s going to have a big purple bruise on her cheek. Weakly, she touched her face, accidentally brushing his fingers and quickly moved them away higher up her face.

“A little,” touching the tender spot she dropped her hand and added, “I’m getting over the flu, don’t worry.”

“You’re on fire, it’s making you dizzy.” He held the back of his hand over her forehead, trying to gage her temperature. She kept her attention on this walking controversy. “Is this Randall going to care for you if I take you home?”

“I’ll be okay once I get there.” Muscled biceps flexed under her, scooping her against a hard chest. Crossing the room, he settled her on a soft rug in front of a crackling fireplace. Heat blanketed her face, warming the chill that had settled over her. 

“Don’t roll into the fireplace,” he teased. “We’ll eat down here.” The dog strutted off into the alcove off the hallway and stretched out on the floor as if Kenya's presence posed no threat to his owner. She brought her attention back to Jonathan speaking. “I prefer a cool house and Judge gets uncomfortable if it’s too hot.”

“Your bulldog’s named Judge?”

“He’s a good judge of character...laid beside you all day and didn’t bite once.”

“All day?” She winced. She had a new account to prepare for. “I have to get to work.”

“When you’re better,” he admonished.

“I’ll be better at home. Who are you?”

“There’s a doctor two floors down. He’ll look at you and give you some antibiotics. He owes me a favor.”

“No need, I have a doctor. Why are you helping me?”

“Because you’re gonna help me.”

“I don’t think so. I’m not the right woman for whatever is going on up here, legal or illegal,” she said, waving a hand through the air. The opulent home said drugs or pimp. He looked like he could be the pretty boy in an Irish Mafia. She could disappear and no one would know he'd taken her. Great, stereotyping now. What did Irish Mafia look like anyway? Kenya caught the cold stare of her host as something dark crossed the man’s face, something she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of. What had she said? She fought not to bolt from the icy chill moving along her spine.

“In the pouring rain, I found you slumped over your steering wheel in a running car. Bring you into my home. You throw up on my imported leather shoes and your stockings. I clean your clothes, let you sleep in my bed, and this is the thanks you show me. Get your things, you can go now.”

She reared back at his indignation. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do. I didn’t ask you to bring me up here,” she bit out wanting to throw the lamp at his arrogant behind.  

He sneered at her shoving a hand in his pocket, stalking off down the hall toward another room—presumably the kitchen the way the bright light spilled over the floor from a ceiling fixture. 

She drew in a breath and propped up on her elbow, slowly getting to her feet. Nobody told him to bring her here. He had her ID, he could’ve taken her home. Looking around for her coat, she weakly made her way toward a door at the front of the living room, grabbing her purse from the floor where he'd set her down. Her shoes thankfully sat by the closet. Hand braced along the wall, wiggling her feet in the four-inch heels, Kenya stared at her bare legs. A lurid rush moved through her picturing Jonathan's hands on her thighs rolling her stockings down her skin, skimming the tender flesh, caressing her calves. His strong fingers massaged the arch of her feet. Kenya’s vivid imagination had her desperate to get out of there before her resistance left all together. Steadying herself behind each step across the floor, her steps made a scuffing noise over the thick carpet as she tried to get away from this man and his bi-polar personality. She found the coat closet, pressed down the brass handle and Jonathan's scent enveloped her seconds before a large hand covered hers on the handle. She jerked to whirl around and the pounding in her head lanced through her mind. Bracing her shoulder to the wall, eyes closed she waited for the room to stop spinning.

She let him steady her on her heels with his hand on her waist and breathed in the sharp wine scent of his breath crossing under her nose.

“Kenya, your equilibrium is shot and you're running a fever. If I let you go, you'll just hurt yourself or someone else. Come sit down on the sofa,” he urged, tried moving her away from the stainless steel doors back into the room, but she pressed the elevator button.

“You said get out and I never asked to be brought here and as sick as I feel I'll chance leaving on my own.”

“Don’t go. You have no idea where you are and I was being rude,” he apologized. “You’re sick. I had a fucked up day and shouldn’t have barked at you.”

“Look, unless we're on a different planet, I'll take my chances on getting home. You did your good deed for the day, now back up so I can get to the elevator and call a cab.”

“Stay here until you feel better. Your car is down stairs in the garage.”

Survival instincts kicking in, Kenya let out a piercing scream. The sound banged around in her head until she wanted to pass out, bracing a hand to the wall.

“Hell!” Jonathan snapped, grabbing his ears. “That’s my ear you're screaming in, don’t do that again. Nobody’s up here but me…Stay, Kenya. Rain is turning to hail and you’re already sick,” he spoke close to her ear, and his blatant disregard for her personal space kept her on edge. 

“I’ll take my chances and leave. Judge can keep you company,” she said, closing her eyes to keep from swaying then turned to face him not wanting him at her back any longer. Kenya reached back pressed the button beside the door. She kept her attention on him as he retrieved her wool trench from the closet. Almost forgot she had one. She didn’t bother putting it on and refused when he tried to help her. She gripped the coat tight to her chest. The silk blouse left her exposed under the ridiculously sheer material. 

Jonathan raised a hand, threading his fingers through his hair while slipping the other in his front pocket. Hearing the whisper of the elevator arriving, she lifted her gaze and found his stare carried the weight of something sad. She could almost feel the pressure against her skin and it slowed her movements. What was wrong with him? 

The heavy stainless steel doors slid open. Reaching behind her, she held the door in the track, stepped over the level change and kept her attention on Jonathan. A quick glance around the plush elevator, with more jazz floating around the space, told her he had it decorated as an extension of his home. Jonathan followed her into the little box.

Grabbing onto the bar on the wall, she moved out of his reach. What good would screaming again do when they were on the penthouse floor? Insulated elevators invited men like Jonathan to put on a show for the security cameras and she refused to be his next conquest.

Jonathan hit the stop button eliciting a piercing scream from her mouth. Kicking off the heels, Kenya instinctively braced to protect herself fists in the air ready to fight. Bouncing on her heels, she could have slapped him just for the smile pushing at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re gonna pass out screaming like that. Nobody will hear you until were ach the main floor and that’s fourteen more floors before we get to the lobby. Kenya, I’m trying to apologize. Honest. I need your help.” Closing her mouth, Kenya couldn’t believe his audacity. She pressed her purse to her skirt, stepping into her heels. Grabbing her keys would take too long and he’d have her spread eagle on the floor by then.

“You trap me in an elevator and I’m supposed to trust you?”

“Fuck it. Go ahead and scream so you can pass out and I can carry you back up stairs. Go ahead. I’ll wait.”