matter how terrified she was. With wobbling resolve, she rummaged in her purse, and her fingers closed around the smooth handle of her metal nail file. Hopefully it would give her a few precious seconds to escape. Or at least scream her fool head off.
Footsteps grew louder, the uneven tread scraping across the wooden floor. She clenched the file in her right fist, the pointy end aimed toward the door.
Hit a soft spot. Hit a soft spot. Over and over she chanted the litany.
Silence. She tightened her grip. Unseen fingers fumbled at the catch. A mild curse. Sweat trickled along the corner of her eye and she blinked it away. Another bead rolled down the small of her back. Sucking in a breath, she waited, crouched to attack.
Hit a soft spot. Hit a soft spot.
A shaft of light stabbed through the darkness. Hit a soft spot. Hit a soft spot. Muscles clenched. Her heart raced. A face blotted the light.
She lunged.
“Whoa!”
He moved. The file merely kissed his chin. A hand wrapped around her wrist and jerked her from the confines of the counter. The file clattered to the floor. She swung blindly. Strong arms closed around her and hauled her against a powerful chest. With her hands locked at her sides, she was reduced to kicking and trying to smack her captor with the back of her head.
She drummed her heels against his shins, while her head cracked against sinew and bone. He swore and dropped her. Her legs went from under her, but she scrambled to her feet, snatching the file as she went. Again she was yanked off her feet and this time shaken.
“Goddammit woman. Be still! I’m not gonna hurt you!”
The warm timbre of his voice washed over her, calming her efforts as nothing else could. Inhaling, her senses collided with spiced cloves and warm masculinity. She sagged against him. Muscles rippled beneath the blue cotton stretched across his chest as his strong arms tightened around her. Heat wiggled its way into the chill invading her limbs. Slowly she lifted her gaze, momentarily resting them on the exposed hollow of his throat. Would he run away if she pressed her lips to the temptation of his pale buttery skin? Dragging her gaze upward she stared into a handsome, but scowling face. A trickle of blood marred the corner of his mouth. He had such a great mouth, with full, sexy lips meant for kissing. Longing crept through her veins. She could spend hours learning the taste and texture of his mouth, and sliding her tongue against his skin. He was branded on every cell of her memory.
A droplet of blood snatched her attention from his lips to the scratch shadowing his square jaw. Still, the momentary imperfections only enhanced the strength of his face. He came. She leaned into him.
“Rue,” she gasped.
He smoothed her hair from her face. “Yeah, it’s me.”
She tossed her arms around his neck and dissolved into tears.
Tension ebbed from her body as his arms cinched her quivering form tighter. If it hadn’t been him, she doubt she’d have survived. Now she struggled to corral her errant emotions.
“You’re okay.” Street stroked the length of her spine. He’d uttered those same words to her outside of Hack House. The heat of his hand was reassuring. He’d held her then, too.
She shook her head, dislodging her unkempt ponytail and spilling her dark hair about her shoulders. “No. No. I’m not. They’re going to look for me. Ohmigosh. They—they just started hitting him and hitting him. Then...then...”
He swept dampness away with his thumb while holding her gaze. “Listen to me Na’arah. You did good.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, before cradling her face in his large hands. “Take a deep breath.”
She struggled to follow his instructions, but her stomach was jumping and Auggie was dead and what if they came back? A whimper stuck in her throat. They would find her and then...then…. She glanced toward the counter.
“Look at me.”
Quiet authority infused his voice and she snapped
Footsteps grew louder, the uneven tread scraping across the wooden floor. She clenched the file in her right fist, the pointy end aimed toward the door.
Hit a soft spot. Hit a soft spot. Over and over she chanted the litany.
Silence. She tightened her grip. Unseen fingers fumbled at the catch. A mild curse. Sweat trickled along the corner of her eye and she blinked it away. Another bead rolled down the small of her back. Sucking in a breath, she waited, crouched to attack.
Hit a soft spot. Hit a soft spot.
A shaft of light stabbed through the darkness. Hit a soft spot. Hit a soft spot. Muscles clenched. Her heart raced. A face blotted the light.
She lunged.
“Whoa!”
He moved. The file merely kissed his chin. A hand wrapped around her wrist and jerked her from the confines of the counter. The file clattered to the floor. She swung blindly. Strong arms closed around her and hauled her against a powerful chest. With her hands locked at her sides, she was reduced to kicking and trying to smack her captor with the back of her head.
She drummed her heels against his shins, while her head cracked against sinew and bone. He swore and dropped her. Her legs went from under her, but she scrambled to her feet, snatching the file as she went. Again she was yanked off her feet and this time shaken.
“Goddammit woman. Be still! I’m not gonna hurt you!”
The warm timbre of his voice washed over her, calming her efforts as nothing else could. Inhaling, her senses collided with spiced cloves and warm masculinity. She sagged against him. Muscles rippled beneath the blue cotton stretched across his chest as his strong arms tightened around her. Heat wiggled its way into the chill invading her limbs. Slowly she lifted her gaze, momentarily resting them on the exposed hollow of his throat. Would he run away if she pressed her lips to the temptation of his pale buttery skin? Dragging her gaze upward she stared into a handsome, but scowling face. A trickle of blood marred the corner of his mouth. He had such a great mouth, with full, sexy lips meant for kissing. Longing crept through her veins. She could spend hours learning the taste and texture of his mouth, and sliding her tongue against his skin. He was branded on every cell of her memory.
A droplet of blood snatched her attention from his lips to the scratch shadowing his square jaw. Still, the momentary imperfections only enhanced the strength of his face. He came. She leaned into him.
“Rue,” she gasped.
He smoothed her hair from her face. “Yeah, it’s me.”
She tossed her arms around his neck and dissolved into tears.
Tension ebbed from her body as his arms cinched her quivering form tighter. If it hadn’t been him, she doubt she’d have survived. Now she struggled to corral her errant emotions.
“You’re okay.” Street stroked the length of her spine. He’d uttered those same words to her outside of Hack House. The heat of his hand was reassuring. He’d held her then, too.
She shook her head, dislodging her unkempt ponytail and spilling her dark hair about her shoulders. “No. No. I’m not. They’re going to look for me. Ohmigosh. They—they just started hitting him and hitting him. Then...then...”
He swept dampness away with his thumb while holding her gaze. “Listen to me Na’arah. You did good.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, before cradling her face in his large hands. “Take a deep breath.”
She struggled to follow his instructions, but her stomach was jumping and Auggie was dead and what if they came back? A whimper stuck in her throat. They would find her and then...then…. She glanced toward the counter.
“Look at me.”
Quiet authority infused his voice and she snapped
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