That Man 2 (2 page)

“Stop it. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I should have gone to the taping, not you.” He paused, his lips pressed tight with remorse.

I placed the palm of my bee-stung hand over his hand clutching the shift. “You came to my rescue,” I said softly. “Thank you.”

He twitched a small but appreciative smile. “Do you want to press charges?”

I wearily shook my head. “I just want to move on and forget it happened.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Well, I’m going to make sure that prick never works in this town again.”

We shared another stretch of silence and then I inhaled. On the exhale: “Blake, I don’t think I’m cut out for this job.”

He turned to look at me. “Bullshit. You’re doing a great job. You made a tough decision tonight, but the right one. And everyone’s excited about the programming you’re developing for the daytime.”

“Really?” It was the first time he’d ever given me a compliment. Well, at least about my work.

He winked at me and shot me a sexy lopsided smile. “Yeah, really.” He turned his eyes back onto the road.

A tingly warmth radiated through me. It stemmed from more than the compliment because I knew from our lunch with Jaime Zander that my boss still wasn’t in my corner when it came to my idea for a block of erotic romances targeted at women. It was more the way he looked at me. Those sexy blue eyes, that cocky smile, those cute little dimples. My eyes stayed on him as he turned onto my street. He knew where I lived, having driven me home from the beach over the weekend. My house with its rooster mailbox was the last one on the block sandwiched between an empty foreclosure and a deserted parking lot.

He pulled up in front of it and parked the car. “Let me walk you to the door.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt. “I’m fine. The lights are on. My roommate’s home.”

“No, I insist.” My gallant hero hopped out of the Porsche. He circled around it and opened my door before I could crank the handle. I stepped out of the car as gracefully as I could, and together, we walked side by side to my front door.

I dug my hand into my purse and fumbled for my house keys. I suppose I could have knocked and had Libby open the door for me, but I didn’t want her to see me with Blake.

I found the keys and found myself facing Blake. He was so close I could feel his breath heat my cheeks.

“Here’s your jacket back,” I murmured, awkwardly trying to shuck it off.

Placing his strong hands on my shoulders, he stopped me. “Don’t worry about it. You can give it back to me tomorrow.”

“All right,” I conceded softly. The truth was, I didn’t want to take it off. I wanted to stay blanketed in it as long as I could.

Leaving one hand on my shoulder, he tilted up my chin with the other. Little sparks coursed through my body as my eyes met his. I felt my heartbeat accelerate. My lips involuntarily parted as if they were begging for a kiss.

“Do you need a lift tomorrow morning? I can pick you up.”

In my mind’s eye, I fantasized running out of my house, jumping into his Porsche, the top down, and cruising down La Cienega to our office as the wind ruffled his dark silky hair.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I forced myself to say. “My roommate works at Conquest Broadcasting too. She can give me a ride.”

His brows lifted. “Who’s your roommate?”

“Libby Clearfield”

“Ah, the researcher.”

“Yeah.” The inevitability of being interrogated by Libby shortly was nothing to look forward to.

A resigned expression fell onto his face. “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With a flick of my chin, he jogged back to his Porsche. Once inside, he put the top down. As I was about to unlock my front door, he called out to me.

“Don’t get into any more trouble, Jennifer. I need you around.” As he peeled off the curb, I let out a sigh.

Jennifer

“W
hat the fuck happened to you? And whose jacket is that?”

Bad luck. I hadn’t managed to sneak into the house without avoiding Libby. That was hard to do when you stepped immediately into the living room—our hangout—as soon as you opened the front door. 1920s California cottages didn’t come with grand entryways.

My redheaded roommate was curled up on the couch she’d scored at a flea market, drinking a glass of red wine. Her computer was on the coffee table next to the bottle and several scattered files. She must have been catching up on some work.

I slogged over to her, unsure of what I was going to say. I sunk into the couch and took a glug of the wine right out of the bottle.

“Did anyone call?” I asked wearily, eschewing her inquiry.

“Just Bradley to let you know that he was working late.”

I sighed. Lately, my fiancé was always working long hours.

“Okay, now spill the beans.”

Reluctantly, I launched into tonight’s events. Of how Don Springer had physically attacked me on the set of
Wheel of Pain
. Reliving every horrific moment, I told her how Blake Burns had come to my rescue. Saying his name made my heart flutter.

Libby was wide-eyed. “Oh my God! That prick could have raped you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Libby was one of the two people in my life who knew what had happened my sophomore year at USC. The other was Bradley. I never told my overprotective parents because I knew they would freak out and make me come home. Libby had encouraged me to seek counseling. That had helped me a lot with moving on and entering into a relationship with Bradley. Yet, as much as I had healed, the pain and fear that came with being an almost rape victim never fully went away. I was not the first on campus to be attacked by this sicko. Just one of the few lucky ones who’d managed to escape his vicious assault. Thanks to my pepper spray (which my parents insisted I carry in my purse), I’d fended him off. But now the memories of his assault were as vivid as if they’d happened yesterday. The stench of his breath. The weight of his body. The wool ski mask over his face. One word repeated over and over . . . cunt. And his horrifying signature—knifing off a lock of my hair. I trembled at the terrifying memory. Libby’s voice cut into it. “You’re so lucky Blake showed up when he did.”

I nodded after taking another swig from the wine bottle. The Chianti seeped through my veins and had a warm, comforting effect.

“What made him come?”

Despite my distraught state, the word “come” made me choke. I swallowed hard. It was just simple, straight out question I was loading with sexual innuendo. What was wrong with me? It must be been the wine.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I never got the chance to ask him.”

I mulled over her question. Why did he show up at the set? He never said he was going to be there. Was he just checking up on me to see if I was doing my job? Or was there something more?

We chugged the wine until there was not a drop left in the bottle. “I need to take a shower and then I’m going to hit the sack. I’m exhausted.”

I’m going to watch
Bones
and then call it a night too.” My best friend loved this show, especially the quirky analytical lead character.

I wearily rose to my feet. “Oh, Lib, by the way, can you give me a lift to work tomorrow? I left my car at the studio.”

“Sure. No problemo. See you in the morning.”

Once in my small bedroom, I kicked off my shoes and shed my clothes. Before my bra, the last thing to come off was Blake’s jacket. I took it off slowly, reverently, and inhaled it against my nose before folding it on my bed. I sighed. The heavenly scent of him was still all over it. It made me feel even more lightheaded than I already was.

Slipping on my terry cloth robe, I padded over to the small bathroom down the hallway and glimpsed at myself in the mirror. I looked con­fused and vul­nerable. The memory of Don Springer fawning all over me, touching me in places he had no right to, sent a rush of nausea to my chest. I needed to take a shower. To wash the repulsive memory and touch of him off me.

After turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature, I shrugged off my robe and stepped into the checkered Art Déco tiled stall. I stood under the showerhead and let the hot water pound on me while I scrubbed myself all over with a large soapy sponge. Moving it to my center, I arched my head back with my eyes squeezed shut and pleasured myself. I managed to wash away the traces of the scumbag, but as I came in sweet waves, Blake Burns’s beautiful face filled my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had come to my rescue and held me in his arms once again.

I curled up in my bed, freshly clean and bare-naked. Wrapping Blake’s soft cashmere jacket around me, I closed my eyes. Sleep quickly claimed me.

Blake

I
arrived at my office the next morning at eight o’clock and stopped by Jennifer’s on the way to mine. She was already there. Sitting at her desk. Looking fresh and pretty. Her wavy hair hung loose and cascaded over a soft pink blouse. She looked exceptionally pretty in pink. Pussy pink.

Fuck. I had sex on my brain. I had her in my bloodstream. It was a lethal combination.

Something had changed about the way I felt about her. I’d seen her strength and I’d seen her courage. But last night, I saw her vulnerability. She was like a little kitten that needed sheltering. I wanted to be the one to take care of her. To protect her from the dangers of the world. From the predators and monsters who could harm her. I’d never felt this way about a woman. Caring about someone else was something new to me. I was the man
that
came to her rescue. I said it aloud.
“Thatman.”
Rhymes with Batman. Okay, so I had a black Porsche instead of the Batmobile. But I was her superhero.

She gazed at me for a long beat and then acted as if nothing had happened last night.

“I’ve compiled a list of the bestselling erotic romances I think we should pursue for the daytime block and started on the PowerPoint presentation for Gloria’s Secret. I also reviewed the treatments you gave me. My notes are on your desk, and your jacket’s folded over the back of your chair.”

“Thank you.” I forced my voice to sound businesslike. I could give a shit about my jacket but was impressed she’d gotten her assignments done on time given last night’s trauma.

“Is there anything else you need me to do right away?” she asked, her voice sweet and innocent.

Yes, suck my dick.
Jesus fucking Christ. She had me good. My cock strained against my slacks. Thank God, they were baggy in the crotch area because I needed the extra room. Having a big cock came with both benefits and baggage. Okay, mostly benefits.

“We’re good.” I forced the image of her luscious mouth wrapped around my dick out of my mind, and strode to my office. I slammed the door shut behind me and locked it. Once seated at my desk, I unzipped my fly and jerked off. Damn it. It was the second time I’d done that this morning. The first was in the shower. I’d woken up with a painful boner. Both times, I imagined coming inside Jennifer McCoy’s warm, delicious mouth.

Fuck. I wanted this girl. I wanted her badly. My cock ached for her. My heart ached for her. But she belonged to another. That dipshit dentist she was going to marry. I’d never been the jealous type, but suddenly I was.

Twisting around, I slid the jacket she’d returned off my chair and put it to my nose. It now smelled like her. Cherry vanilla. I replaced the jacket I was wearing with the cashmere one. Anyway I could, I wanted to be next to her. Be inside her.

As the day went on, a queasy feeling overtook me. I felt sick. Feverish, lightheaded, and achy. Balls. I was coming down with something. Probably that damn flu everyone was getting. I’d had a tinge of it over the weekend, but I thought I’d beaten it. So much for super powers. I had my secretary, Mrs. Cho, fetch me some tea and took a couple of Advil. Neither helped. By three o’clock, I felt sick as a dog.

“I have great news.”

I looked up from my computer. It was Jennifer. She was beaming. The sight of her got me briefly out of my misery.

She strode into my office and sat down in one of the armchairs facing me. My feverish eyes roamed from her head to her toes. “What’s up?”

“The focus groups are all set to go in Las Vegas this weekend.”

“Great.” My voice was listless.

Jennifer knitted her brows. “Blake, you look flushed. Are you okay?”

“I think I’m coming down with that fucking flu.”

“Oh no.” She leapt up from her chair and circled around my desk. Her soft hand touched down on my forehead. A chill ran through my heated body. The good kind.

Her face grew alarmed. “Oh my goodness, you’re burning up. Blake, you’ve got to go home and get straight into bed.”

She helped me pack up, and half an hour later, I was back at my condo. Shivering under the fluffy duvet, barely able to keep my eyes open.

*

The next few days were pure hell. I don’t think I’d ever been this sick. My body fluctuated between extreme chills during the day and raging fever at night. I was so feverish I hallucinated.

Jennifer McCoy was an angel who was sent down from the heavens to take care of me. Dressed in a cloud-white sheer robe with her long hair flowing, she floated over to me. Her beauty took my breath away.