THOR (12 page)

The dining room was quiet and they were seated in a corner. Jack had only discussed his visit with the manager, telling him he was staying for a few days, and a few details he wanted while he was there, but beyond that no special treatment.

They ordered a bottle of wine and dinner. They talked about the hotel and causal topics while they ate. He could see she was nervous. Her movements were jerky, she barely touched her food and watched him warily like he might pounce on her if she didn’t keep an eye on him.

The waiter served coffee and when neither wanted dessert, departed wordlessly.

Jack leaned forward and smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back.

She gestured with her hand to the elegant, dining room, “All this is because you’re going to fire me, right?”

He stared at her waiting for more. How could she know? Her lips thinned and she folded her hands in front of her, waiting for him to reply.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Because of that man last week who said a bunch of nasty things to me.”

He leaned back in his chair. This was not part of the talk he rehearsed.

Last week some drunk had made a scene, said some pretty nasty things to her. He’d heard about it just before landing and couldn’t address it then, but when he’d set the plane down he sure as hell addressed it first thing, telling the man he was never welcome on his airline again. He wanted to teach the fucker some manners but there were children on the plane, families. He’d learned some restraint in the Corps. Good thing, or he would bloodied the guy right there on the tarmac.

“You think I invited his attention don’t you?” she asked.

“I do?”

She shook her head. “I know there have been a lot instances of men saying stuff, but I swear I’m getting better and seeing it coming.”

He stared at her in disbelief. She thought this was her fault. “You think their bad behavior is because you’re inviting it?”

“So you can’t fire me. I just ordered new shirts. Plus you haven’t even written me up, so firing me would be
premature and unwarranted
according to labor law. I know because I googled it.”

“I’m not firing you because of that, Savannah,” he said quietly. “I’m firing you because I want you to go back to school. I don’t want men saying shit to you and I want you to get your degree.”

She gasped. “You
are
firing me! I knew it!”

A nearby couple, an elderly man and woman, turned in surprise and Savannah colored.

“You can’t fire me,” she said, her voice lower. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’m not firing you because of that. I’m firing you because we’re getting married this weekend.”

“Would you stop with that marriage joke?”

“I’m not joking. I’m serious. Wyoming has no waiting period. We could marry and you could register for classes when we get home.”

“Why do you do this? Step in and rescue me like this? What are we going to do? Marry and then divorce when I graduate?”

He shrugged. “You might find you can’t live without me. You won’t want to divorce me.”

“Or you might be falling over yourself to divorce me. And then what? You kick me to the curb too?”

Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. “Savannah,” he said. “I will always make sure you are taken care of. When we’re married, I will take care of everything, your expenses, your tuition, your every need. Whatever you want I want. And that goes even if we aren’t together. If you decide I’m too much to be around and you convince me to let you go, I’ll still take care of everything.” He narrowed his eyes. “Everything.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying this is some sort of marriage in name only with a but-let’s-see-what-happens clause?”

“Something like that.”

Deer in the headlights. That was the look she had on her face. Which was the perfect time to move in to close the deal. Her mind was spinning and when that happened the best thing was to ask for a commitment and put a ticking clock on the whole transaction.

“I have a judge ready to do the deal but he’s leaving in twenty minutes and he’s heading to Laramie. It’s now or never.”

Which was actually a lie. It was now or whenever she felt like it but with a girl like Savannah it was best to keep tension on the line.

“This helps me too. I’m going to have partners with this hotel gambit. Not like with the airline. Everyone thinks I’m some playboy for some reason. If I walk into meetings wearing a wedding band or go to dinners with a woman on my arm, it inspires a different level of confidence. I want people to think I’m a family man.”

She was staring at him, her jaw slack. “You want me on your arm?”

“I do.”

“You’re not going to give me grief about what I study?”

“Nope.”

“And you’re going to pay for everything?”

“Yes.”

“Can I pay you back when all is said and done?”

Well that was something he hadn’t expected. She wanted to pay him back? On a teacher’s salary? Lurid images of what his
preferred
payback might entail drifted into his mind. Savannah sitting on his lap in a negligee, asking how she might pay him back. Savannah sinking to her knees in front of him or Savannah first thing in the morning, stepping into the shower.

“Yes you can pay me back,” he managed. “If you insist.”

“I would
totally
insist.”

He coughed and took a swallow of his coffee. “Okay. I’ll keep a tab for you.”

A smile spread across her lips. Her eyes sparked with mischief. She leaned forward and whispered. “This is crazy.”

“It’s not crazy. You’re helping me and I’m helping you.”

“We’re going to do this tonight?”

He reached across the table and wrapped his hand around hers. She flinched and tried to tug it free at first. The look of caution returned to her eyes. He took the ring from his pocket and slipped it on her finger.

She looked down, her blue eyes wide with shock. “Jack,” she breathed. “That’s beautiful.”

The elderly couple at the next table murmured some words of surprise. He glanced over to find them watching and smiling.

He turned back to Savannah. “Whenever you’re ready. Judge Walton is waiting in the presidential suite with his assistant.”

“Okay,” she said softly. “I’m ready.”

End of the preview.
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SEXY Little Thing
, by Sasha Gold

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Chapter 1

The Italian train lurched, jolting Cora Bishop awake. To her surprise the compartment was dark. Someone must have turned off the lights while she slept and now, caution told her to lie still. She listened but heard nothing aside from the rumble of the train. She’d chosen the compartment because all six seats were empty, and she could rest on the trip from Venice to Florence without the small talk that was obligatory amongst Italians. Looking out the window she remained still, resting against the upholstery. A deep, aching exhaustion weighed upon her. Perhaps Italian conductors turned off lights on overnight trips. Her imagination told her that someone might have come in without her knowing, but she closed her eyes and pushed the thought from her mind.

The train was certainly no express as she’d hoped. This one seemed to be the opposite of an Express, stopping at every sleepy village to let passengers off, and taking on new ones. Along the way someone must have come in and turned off the lights. She’d just been too tired to notice, and she tried to imagine the stranger as a kindly Italian grandmother instead of someone like the leering creep who’d followed her through half of Venice.

After a little more sleep she would arrive in Florence, where she would stay for three days. Fun and adventure awaited, she told herself, trying to summon enthusiasm.

A shadow of movement startled her. In the next instant, a hand clamped down on her mouth. A heavy bulk pushed her down in her seat. A blade dug against her stomach.

“
Your money
,” a man demanded in thickly accented English.

Panic clawed her mind. Should she fight? Who would hear her above the din of the train? Her delay angered him and he snarled, pressed the blade harder, the pain making her cry out.

Despite his grip on her she managed to nod, a decision from the haze of her panic.
Give him what he wants and he’ll leave
. Her thoughts were simple. An elemental need to get away from him took over. She ignored his smell, his bulk pinning her to the seat. The blade’s cold steel pressing into her was all she sensed. The man said little. The blade said enough. She reached for her money belt and unsnapped it.

He snatched it from her and Cora hoped he would then leave her alone. The cabin door could open at any moment and the conductor would see everything. All the warnings she’d been given about traveling alone in Italy spun in her brain.

Cora wished he would take his nasty hand from her mouth. Then she could reason, bargain, or plead with him. But the only movement she felt was the tug on her bra as he cut the material. The blade sliced the skin beneath her breast. “So beautiful. I watched you in Venice.
Bellissima.
”

Shock hit her like a punch to the gut. It was inconceivable that a person would follow her onto a train, and across Italy. She felt tears run down her face, as fear and outrage gripped her.

The man laughed and a blast of rank breath hit her. His amusement made her snap. A primitive reflex surged and she rammed her palm up, connecting with his chin. He roared and let loose a volley of Italian curses, the knife falling and clattering on the floor. He stood looming over her. Cora screamed. He snatched her bag from the rack above her, then drew back his hand and struck her hard on the side of her head.

Then he was gone.

Cora lay slumped on the chair, her head ringing. She rose, gripped the luggage rack to steady herself as she gaped at the open door, wondering if she’d imagined it all. What had just happened? The time it took for the man to rob her was no more than thirty seconds. She felt along the wall until she reached a switch and flipped the light on. It was then that she saw red seeping through her t-shirt. No, it hadn't been a nightmare. The cuts were real; one by her right hip and the other between her breasts. Her bra was cut in two, but the wound there was not deep. The gash near her waistband was deeper. Blood seeped into the denim, a crimson bloom on the faded jeans.

The door opened. A conductor stood in the doorway, frowning at her. Something told her not to tell anyone anything, to simply get off the train and figure out a plan. Cora yanked her jacket close to conceal her injuries.

“Do you speak English?” Cora asked the man. What she'd learned in her single semester of Italian was shaky under the best of circumstances and suddenly it seemed she could scarcely recall a single word.

“Yes.” He peered at her for a moment, squinting. “You are all right? Somebodies hear a scream.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” she whispered. “I was sleeping.” She pointed to the chair where she’d just fought off her attacker. “I was sleeping right there.”

The conductor shrugged and left, snapping the door shut. He moved down the aisle to the next compartment, disappearing from view.

Cora sat and rubbed the side of her head where the man struck her. She felt a lump behind her ear but no blood flowed. She slammed her fist against the armrest and let out a string of soft curses. This was supposed to be a trip to mark the end of her grieving. A pilgrimage across Italy to honor her parents’ death eleven and a half months before. It was to be the trip they’d always spoken of – one of many they never took time to enjoy. Her anger turned to misery and Cora’s insides felt raw, painful as the grief tightened around her. The man had taken more than her money. He’d brought back all her bottled up grief. It only took a few seconds to strip the veneer of wellbeing she’d worked so hard to construct.

Bad things always happen fast she thought; robberies on foreign trains, twin engine planes skidding off runways.