Full Disclosure (No Secrets Book 1) Page 3

  I drew a shaky breath. “It’s you who has a problem with manners.”

  Even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t exactly true. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Ratting me out to the paramedics had been for my own health and safety. Why was I behaving like this? Maybe I did need to be checked out.

  “Miss, please. If you prefer we can simply check your vitals and do a quick assessment. It won’t hurt.”

  My resolve weakened, making me feel stupid. Stupid for refusing medical attention when I might need it, stupid for standing in the middle of the street arguing with a man I did not know over my care, and stupid for letting this man get to me. Tears pricked again at my eyes.

  I turned to the paramedic and gave a tiny nod. Exhausted and unable to control my emotions, I turned my back on Mr. Gorgeous. If I was going to cry, I would be damned if I would let him see.

  The paramedic led the way to the ambulance where I hoisted myself onto the back ledge, feet dangling, as I tried to look anywhere but in his direction. He probably thought he had won, and maybe he had. But what was undeniably certain was that I had lost.

  * * *

  After fifteen minutes of mostly answering questions and being praised for wearing a helmet, the paramedics determined I probably didn’t have a concussion but recommended if I noticed symptoms such as dizziness, nausea, or sleeping or memory problems, I should go to the emergency room immediately.

  During the check-up, I scanned the street for my bike. Surely someone couldn’t have stolen it. I recalled the crowd of people and was sure somebody would have saved it for me even if it were totaled. But where was it?

  My eyes darted toward Mr. Gorgeous. Would he have taken it? He stood talking to another man in a dark suit whom I recognized as the 911 caller. They were deep in conversation, far enough away that I couldn’t hear a word. Whatever they were discussing was serious judging from their expressions. Mr. Gorgeous looked like he could strangle someone, while 911 bore an equally grumpy expression and nodded sharply in agreement every few seconds.

  From this distance his shoulders appeared impossibly wide and tapered down to slim hips. He stood with arms crossed and legs spread wide, a stance that showcased powerful thighs. Light gray suit pants molded to his hips and emphasized his taut backside in an almost obscene way. Rolled up sleeves revealed muscled forearms lightly covered in dark hair. His white shirt was slightly untucked, and a surprising burst of heat spread between my legs as I imagined pulling his shirt completely free and running my hands on his bare skin.

  Whoa, Liv, get ahold of yourself.

  Surely my reaction had something to do with a bumped head. I had never, ever had such a primal reaction to a man before, especially one so infuriating. I tore my eyes away and gritted my teeth. Still, there was no harm in looking. He was very attractive, after all. It was perfectly normal to admire such a specimen of male physical beauty. And besides, he was probably already taken. I chanced another quick look, trying to see the shine of a wedding band, but his left hand was tucked away from view. I snorted and rolled my own eyes at myself, purposely studying the crack in the pavement.

  A police officer asked several questions, and I answered as well as I could. No, I did not see the driver of the vehicle that hit me. Yes, I absolutely had the right-of-way. No, I was not aware that the vehicle left the scene. No, I don’t remember the color, make or model. He gave me his card and said he would be in touch and to call if I remembered any other details.

  After examining my helmet, cracked from its apparent violent slam against the asphalt‌—‌incredibly, with my head in it‌—‌I searched through my bag which luckily was handed over to the ambulance staff by some kind Samaritan. Although the bag was a little banged up, the contents were all present and none the worse for wear.

  With phone in hand, I briefly debated calling Lucy but decided against it. There was no sense in worrying her over something that had already happened. And it wasn’t like I needed her to come get me. As soon as the paramedics were done, I would be walking the few remaining blocks home. What I needed was a couple of ibuprofen and a long soak in the tub. And to get away from him.

  Armed with a list of warning signs and hospital information, I was finally free to go. My muscles objected as I hopped down from the ambulance but, not wanting to raise any more alarms, I withheld a groan. That hot bath would feel like heaven.

  Shaking hands and smiling thanks, I ducked around the side of the ambulance and set off down the street. My bike was MIA and strangely I didn’t care. I felt like Dorothy; I just needed to go home. Now.

  “Just where do you think you’re going?”

  His deep voice resonated through me, and I couldn’t suppress a shiver. I must have been nuts when I thought I could disappear without him noticing. It was clear the man missed nothing.

  He gently grasped my shoulder, and a jolt of awareness prickled through where he touched. Turning toward him, my mind scrambled. I would say anything to get away from him. Even lie.

  I smiled brightly. “Thank you for your help. I’m just going home now. Thank you again.”

  To my horror, I was babbling. I clamped my lips shut and broadened my pretend smile.

  Running a hand through his tousled deep brown hair, he sighed. And then he smiled. It was the first time I had seen anything other than worry or anger on his beautiful face. And it took my breath away. Straight teeth stood out in contrast to his sun-kissed skin. His green eyes softened, and I wanted to melt in their depths. The fake smile slid from my face, tucking its tail between its legs.

  “Do you have a ride home?”

  “Yes.” My foot tapped a fast beat.

  He glanced at my foot, and I stilled it immediately. “You do?” He raised both dark brows.

  “Um, I mean, it’s really not necessary. I live just a few blocks away.”

  “I disagree.” Still smiling, he simply stared at me.

  “I…‌um…‌really, I’ve been given the all clear. You need not concern yourself any‌—‌”

  “My driver can drop you off,” he interrupted smoothly. “I insist.”

  A black SUV rolled up to the curb. At the wheel was 911. This guy just didn’t quit.

  “This way,” he motioned and reached out, opening the back door. “Please.” His gaze entranced me. Like a moth to the flame.

  Why was I considering this? I didn’t even know this man.

  On traitorous legs, I climbed into the backseat and he closed the door. The sound of the city became muted by the soft black leather and new car smell.

  Within seconds he was beside me. Without a word, 911 pulled out into traffic. The sun had long since set, and I searched the dark interior blindly for my seat belt, finally locating it and snapping it in place.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  I turned to him quizzically, and he gestured toward my lap. “For buckling up. And for wearing a helmet.”

  “It seems odd that I would take such precautions and yet here I am, in a car with a perfect stranger. Don’t you think?”

  His eyes glittered in the dark. His stare laid me bare, and yet I could not look away.

  “Is that what we are? Strangers?” He smiled slyly, and again I was floored by his stunning looks. Is this what they called animal magnetism? His large hands rested lightly on his thighs. The interior of the car started to feel cramped, though I knew it was roomy. I turned my head and stared out the window, willing myself to focus on anything other than his closeness.

  “How are you feeling now?” he asked softly.

  “Fine, thank you. I live off Meriwether Place. You can turn left after the next block,” I said to my reflection and then got a good look at the girl in the glass. My long dark hair had come loose from its ponytail and hung tangled around my face. Even in the gloom I appeared lost and confused, my face streaked with sweat and too pale. I looked like a ghost.

  “You must be thirsty. Water?” As he spoke, 911 reached into the passenger seat
and handed back a bottle, which Mr. Gorgeous then opened and offered to me.

  “Thanks.” My mouth was dry as the desert. I lifted the bottle and chugged, draining it and aware of him watching. The water was cool and refreshing, but I felt uncomfortably warm under his hot gaze.

  “It’s just up here. The blue house with the large porch and built-in carport.”

  “Ah, yes, technically known as a porte-cochere. Craftsman bungalow. Nineteen-twenties. The Shadow Lawn, I think?”

  I blinked and turned to him. “Yes, actually.” I stared in wonder. Most people were not familiar with the names of hundred-year-old home styles.

  The car glided to a stop. There were no lights on inside my house and it looked empty.

  “I’ll make a few phone calls now, sir,” 911 said to the rearview mirror, getting a sharp nod of approval from Mr. Gorgeous. He got out of the car and moved to the front, facing away from us, phone to his ear. He didn’t come around to open my door and, as I debated what to do, Mr. Gorgeous shifted in his seat, his face illuminated by the lights of the dashboard. His scent wafted over me, earthy and musky and nearly irresistible. He draped his arm along the seat back. The gesture was a little too familiar, and a frisson of electricity sparked between us again.

  “How long have you lived here?” He looked thoughtful.

  “I grew up in this house.”

  “And do you still live with your parents?”

  “I live here with my sister.”

  “No boyfriend, then?”

  What? “Not that it’s any of your business, but no.” You should have said YES, you idiot!

  “And your parents. Where are they?”

  “You are very nosy, you know.” I tried to act annoyed but, as the corners of his mouth twitched, it was impossible not to smile back. God, the man could smile. I swallowed and my heart raced. Oh, I was in trouble.

  “Just trying to rectify our perfect stranger status.” He raised his eyebrows and his lips twitched again. “Although the part about perfect, I couldn’t agree with more.”

  Was he flirting with me? I was aware of 911 standing off to the side, his arm raised as he talked on his cell. He was very Secret Service-ish. What must he be thinking? My hands dampened and I squirmed in my seat.

  “Are you some sort of diplomat?” I threw my eyes toward the dark-suited 911.

  He looked confused for a moment, then his lips stretched into a wide, close-lipped grin. “That depends. Are diplomats your thing?”

  Okay, so he was definitely flirting.

  “A lawyer, then. You answer every question with another question.”

  Still grinning, he snorted and shook his head slightly. “I did do that, didn’t I?” He raised his brows. “Nope, not a lawyer. Just a lowly businessman.”

  “And you’re familiar with early twentieth century American architecture?”

  His lips curled in that way of his, sort of like the cat who ate the canary. Sly, secretive and oh-so-sexy.

  “It’s sort of a hobby of mine.”

  “I see. And rescuing people. Is that a hobby of yours too?”

  A cloud crossed his face, and he moved back in his seat, into the shadows. “No.” His face was obscured, but I could feel his penetrating gaze. His fingers stroked the back of my seat. Having him so close unnerved me. What would I do if he touched me again?

  “Well, I can’t say I’ve ever needed rescuing before.” As soon as I spoke, I wanted take back the words. Of all things, why did I say that?

  A soft exhalation followed by a pause escaped as his clear eyes searched and then gazed at me. It was disconcerting and made me feel exposed as if he knew everything about me. “I should hope not,” he said. “Let’s not make this a habit. Promise?”

  What did that mean? Promise not to make him rescue me again? Had I read him all wrong? He doesn’t want anything to do with you. Look at you, leaving sweaty handprints on his leather seats and smelling like you’ve just run a marathon.

  “I promise,” I said because it was the only thing I could say and for some reason thought it would please him.

  He learned toward me and I saw his face again. “Good girl.” His voice was husky, and it was all I could do not to reach out and touch him in order to put his mind at ease. And then he moved away to open his door and slid out. I sat befuddled at the sudden change before the door opened and he held out his hand. If I grabbed it, I knew what I would feel.

  Without hesitation, I grasped his warm hand, and he helped me from the car. As that delicious current sparked between us, he turned toward the house. I had no choice but to follow or be pulled along awkwardly. We walked up the steps without a word, my mind racing as to his intention. Did he think I would invite him in?

  He stopped to release my hand and try the door, finding it locked. From his pocket he pulled out his cell phone to switch on a flashlight app to aim the beam toward my bag, which I held without grace or care in my other hand.

  “Your keys,” he said, holding out his hand, palm up.

  This sexy, seductive stranger who smelled divine and who had just happened to hold me in his arms as I fainted in the street, held me spellbound. He had brought me safely home and stood on the front porch, asking for keys. In a trance, I fished in my bag, finally pulling them out. I still clutched the empty water bottle and it crunched in my hand, conspicuous and loud as a gunshot.

  He smiled in the dark, but I had finally caught hold of my senses. Ignoring his open palm, I reached across him and unlocked the door. My hand shook and I was sure he noticed, but before I had time to sink further into embarrassment he stepped back to give me space. Awkwardly shouldering my bag, I smiled brightly and raised my eyes to his.

  “Thank you again,” I said.

  He slowly lifted his hand and, with his index finger, smoothed a strand of my wayward hair behind my ear. The contact sizzled and I held my breath, mesmerized by his eyes, his touch. Surprisingly, I experienced a soothing calm.

  “It has been my pleasure, Olivia.” His dazzling gaze pierced me, laying me wide open. Without another word, he turned on his heel and returned to the car. As I stood there in shock, the black SUV–a Porsche, of course‌—‌pulled away, and I could only watch as the taillights grew fainter before it finally turned and disappeared from view.

  * * *

  I entered the dark house and locked the door behind me, deliberately trying the knob to ensure it was locked tight. Turning on lights as I went, I made it into the kitchen and dumped the contents of my bag on the island.

  I checked my phone and noted text messages from Justine, Lucy and James. Plus my phone’s lock code feature still worked properly, ensuring nobody could access its information without my pass code. My wallet. Opening the clasp, a single business card fell out.

  Damien Stone.

  A shiver rolled through me as I read the gray card made of thick textured cardboard with white lettering. I had never seen it before. An e-mail address, a phone number and the name of a building downtown were printed on it. It must have been his, and the only way it got in my wallet was for him to put it there. He had been through my bag! That was how he knew my name.

  Nothing else looked amiss. My mind raced as I considered the ramifications of this invasion of privacy. Did he rifle through my personal things while I had lain unconscious on the pavement? He must have looked at my driver’s license and therefore knew all along where I lived. I could only assume he knew where I worked as well, since my business cards were also in a slot in my wallet. Basically, all my personal information and credit card numbers were now in his possession. The hairs on the nape of my neck stood up. I felt naked and exposed. And alone in my house.

  I picked up his card again. Damien Stone, Stone Technologies Group. Turning it over in my hand, I noticed a number written in a masculine, block script. It was different than the numbers on the front. His cell number? Did he want me to call? For the second time in a day, I cursed Lucy for not being here. I n
eeded help to process all of the day’s crazy events.

  My smartphone rang, startling me. I lunged for it, part of me hoping like hell it wasn’t his number and another, more needy part hoping it was. The harsh ring split the silence of the house, and the screen showed the number as James. I still hadn’t checked his text message, but Lucy must have told him about my Jeep.

  My Jeep. I signed, prodding my attention to the real problem at hand.

  “Hey James.” I answered brightly, even though my head was full to bursting with the day’s events and especially of a certain nosy rescuer.

  “Liv, you home yet? Lucy says your car needs a man’s touch. Want me to swing by?”

  I grinned. He had set me up beautifully. “Sure, come on over, and bring a man with you, please.”

  He chuckled. “There’s nothing these ten fingers can’t fix. Just ask your sister.”

  “Eww. TMI, James.” He laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile. I had known James since forever, it seemed. He and Lucy were high school sweethearts when I was still in middle school. I couldn’t pick a better brother-in-law, if only Lucy would say yes to one of his biannual marriage proposals.

  “Be there in a few. Put the beers on ice.”

  I ended the call and groaned. I loved James but he tended to linger, especially when yeasty, hoppy beverages were involved. I wanted nothing more than to sink into a hot bath and then slide between the cool sheets of my bed. This had been the longest day and now veered on never-ending.

  I turned on the front porch light, checking again to make sure the door was locked. Moving back into the kitchen, I gathered my things back into my bag and placed my phone on the charging dock, clicking on the Pandora app. Death Cab for Cutie crooned about possessing my heart.

  I opened the fridge, searching for something quick and easy. It had been hours and hours since lunch. My stomach was so empty it was about to digest itself. Pulling out a carton of leftover chicken with broccoli from last night’s Chinese takeout, I leaned against the counter and ate it cold from the carton with a fork. It tasted so good I could have cried.