Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Mark wasn't sure if Amanda even realized when she dropped the butterfly knife. He scooped it up and held it out to her again, but she looked past him. Her face had paled to the color of day-old snow, making her eyes even bluer. He turned but saw nothing unusual.

"You okay?"

She blinked. "I don't… I'm not sure." Was she about to faint? He thought that only happened in the movies. He reached out, almost touched her, but the last time he'd done that, she'd jumped out of her skin.

"Let's find someplace to sit." There were no benches or chairs nearby. "When did you eat last?"

She shrugged. "Dinner, maybe?"

"Okay. Food. Should we go back to the bakery, or?—?"

"What? No! How do you…? I work there, so…"

"No problem. I don't live here. Where should we go?"

It took a moment, but she seemed to get her bearings. "This way." She turned down Weybosset, the street he'd been pacing for hours.

He stayed close, trying to think of something to say that would replace that terrified, confused look on her face. Nothing came to mind. When she stumbled on an edge of uneven pavement, he grabbed her arm and steadied her. At least she didn't pull away this time.

He didn't want to let go but forced his fingers to open, his hand to his side, and put more distance between them. That rush of protectiveness—that wasn't like him.

Following a woman out of a bar, just in case, then searching a city for her.

None of this was like him.

Amanda was just a woman who'd needed his help. She couldn't be anything more than that. Not that he wanted her to.

He'd had girlfriends, of course. One serious one, back in high school. A few in college, though nothing long-term. He wasn't looking for long-term. His parents had shown him what that looked like, and he wanted nothing to do with it. Especially now. He was on his way to Afghanistan. There was no place in his life for a woman.

And why were his thoughts even meandering in that direction? She was a stranger, a college student. He didn't even know her last name. He'd get her some food and be done with her.

She angled toward a sandwich shop, and he opened the door for her. Inside, he walked her to a table near the window.

She practically fell into a chair.

"What can I get you?"

She looked at the menu printed above the counter. "I'm not really hungry."

"Turkey, ham, pastrami, Italian. Whatever. Pick something."

"Turkey, I guess."

"I'll be right back." The place was almost empty, the lunch crowd gone. Mark ordered a turkey grinder for Amanda, meatball for himself, two bags of chips, and two drinks. The guy behind the counter gave him a couple of cups, and Mark returned to Amanda. "What do you want to drink?"

She started to stand. "I can get it."

"Just let me, okay? Coke?"

"Diet."

"Right back." He filled both cups, then grabbed their sandwiches and returned to the table.

Amanda was digging through her backpack. "Let me get you some money."

"It's on me."

"You don't have to do that." Still digging through the bag.

He touched her hand. "It's my pleasure. Besides, didn't you quit your job this morning?"

"How did you…?" She blinked. "Right. I'm sorry. I'm really… I don't know."

"You need to eat."

She unwrapped her sandwich and took a tiny bite.

Despite the muffin, he was starving. He guessed she was, too, though her hands were shaking so much that she couldn't open her bag of chips.

"Here, let me." She handed it to him, and he opened it for her.

Her lips turned up in the tiniest smile.

Wow.

That smile was…wow.

He took another bite of his sandwich and tried to ignore that rush of…whatever it was. Something dangerous, anyway.

"Thank you."

He swallowed the bite and wiped his mouth. "Sure."

"Not for the chips." She brushed a strand of blond hair behind her ear. "I mean, yes, for the chips and the sandwich. But for last night, for…all of it. Thank you."

Not sure what to say, he hoped a nod would suffice.

"Do you always run around rescuing damsels in distress?"

"It's a tough job." Mark shrugged, feeling his cheeks warming.

"Where's your cape?"

"Uh…"

"You know, your cape. Aren't superheroes supposed to wear capes?"

Yup, he was definitely blushing. So manly. "It kept getting caught in the car door."

She giggled, and the sound made his pulse quicken to machine-gun pace.

"Probably hard to keep clean too."

"Yeah." He cleared his throat, playing along. "Dragging on the ground all the time."

She smiled, then took another bite of her sandwich.

He watched people walking by outside. Was her hooded friend nearby? He ate the last of his sub and finished his drink.

"You want that?" she said, pointing at her turkey grinder. She'd eaten about a quarter of it.

"You don't mind?"

"Help yourself."

He pulled it closer and took a bite. After he swallowed, he pulled in a deep breath and prepared to ruin her day. "You're going to have to figure out what to do."

Any amusement she might've felt faded from her expression. "What is there to do?"

"You need to get escorts so you're not on the street alone. I bet campus security would walk with you if you asked."

"What would I tell them?"

"That some guy followed you the other night, and you're scared."

"I guess I could."

He pulled the knife out of his pocket and set it on the table between them.

Her gaze rested on it. "What am I supposed to do with that?"

"If he comes after you, you're supposed to use it."

She paled again. "I don't think I can."

He blew out a breath. She needed a plan to protect herself so he could move on.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" The words popped out before he realized what he was saying.

She tilted her head to the side. Her hair swept across her shoulder and rested against her forearm, and he had the strongest urge to brush it back.

He clasped his hands together.

"Why?"

"I'm having dinner tonight with a friend, but I thought maybe we could have lunch tomorrow."

She nodded slowly. "I don't even know your name. Shall I just call you Superman?"

He felt a grin spreading and figured he looked like an idiot. "Mark Johnson."

She held out her hand, which he shook. Small, warm, and soft. It fit against his palm as if it belonged there.

Sheesh, he was losing it.

"Nice to meet you, Mark. I'm Amanda Prince."

Prince. Princess. It fit.

He pulled his hand away and crossed his arms.

"Lunch sounds great." She dug in her backpack, grabbed a notebook and a pen, and wrote down her phone number.

He slipped the paper into his pocket. "I'll walk you home."

She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted.

"Amanda?"

Two people approached their table, a guy and a girl, both about her age. The guy had called her name.

"And who's this?" The girl asked, addressing Amanda but looking at Mark, eyebrows raised, a slight smile on her round face.

"Mark Johnson," she said. "Superhero."

Mark did his best to look annoyed. "Just Mark."

"Superhero?" the guy said, needing no help in looking annoyed.

Amanda giggled again. "Long story. Mark, this is Sherri and Carl."

Someone caught his eye across the street. Light hair, pale skin, black sweatshirt. Watching the sandwich shop.

"I have to go." He pushed his chair back and stood. To Carl, he said, "Can you walk her home?"

"Uh…"

Quick thinker, that one.

Amanda said, "That's not necessary. I'll be fine."

Mark ignored her. "It's important. She can explain."

"I guess."

"Thanks." Mark headed for the door, saying over his shoulder, "I'll call you later."