Chapter 12

12

D AVID

Rain flutters around her like a flimsy shroud as she sprints across the street, not glancing back.

Slamming my fist on the horn, I watch her run for her life.

"It's not because of me… Right," I mutter, backing away and heading to the intersection.

I keep my eyes on her, waiting for the lights to turn green, another car in front of me.She turns right at the first stop sign and vanishes in a quaint residential area with small houses.

Her place can't be that far from here.

By the time the car in front of me clears the intersection and I steer right, furious rain pummels the ground.

"What the hell was she thinking?" I murmur, rolling past several houses and checking the driveways.

She's gone. Disappeared. But where?

The road loops, and I end up where I started, which makes me grind my teeth.

Rarely does someone get under my skin.

I wanted to drop her off without touching her to avoid problems, but things didn't go my way, did they?

I knew she wanted more.

I knew I wanted more.

And then we got into this friendly bullshit banter shit that led us nowhere.

Sure, it was genuine. And sure, she wanted to know more about me.

The thing was… There wasn't much more to know about me.

Whatever else there was, it wasn't supposed to come to life and mess with me.

Live and learn. Age gaps are age gaps for a reason. And they should come with warnings.

I indulged her because it was hard not to.

All I thought about when she probed me was how good she'd feel when I rammed into her.

With that wonder in her eyes? She'd feel pleasure like never before.

Sadly, now she hates me.

I've been the target of women's hate several times. My ex was one of those women, but there were others.

Whenever I stepped away from the realm of convenience, meaning paying for sex, I ran into trouble.

I thought a fair warning would help the parts involved, and that has worked for a while.

I tried not to lead them on.

I didn't want headaches as much as they didn't want pain. But no system is perfect. Everybody knows that.

And Elizabeth Fox just screwed with my system.

And here I am, stubbornly looking for her, wanting to make sure she's all right.

I slam the steering wheel in frustration, following the road again, and scanning the secondary streets this time.

It takes a while before I notice a silhouette under a tree.

A hand propped on the tree, she takes off her shoe.

I flash the headlights.

She ignores me.

I stop my car, swing the door open, leave the engine running, and head in her direction, ready to chase her if she runs away from me again.

LIZ

Ugh.

My left shoe is completely ruined. Water trickles from my chin as I try to salvage what's left of it.Sadly, it can't be fixed.

The heel is detached from the sole.

As if I don't have enough problems, beams of light cut into the veil of rain.

I can't look in that direction since I'm busy with my shoes.

We rarely get rain like this.

We have such great weather in these parts of Colorado, but something must have happened tonight.

My fucking luck.

I slipped, fell, and scraped my knees. As if that wasn't enough, I ruined my shoes.

The second one is not much better.Disappointed, I take it off and notice the blood streaks on my knees.

At least I'm home.

Shoes dangling from my hand, I lift my gaze and straighten my back when a dark silhouette approaches me swiftly.

David closes the distance between us, his suit jacket damp from the rain.

"What happened?" he asks, his face tipped down so that rain doesn't fall into his eyes.

He notices the damage.

"Did you fall or something?"

"Yes," I mutter, annoyed that I'm covered in blood.

"Why did you run away from me?"

"I didn't run away from you," I say, the sidewalk cold beneath my bare feet, my blouse glued to my chest, my hard nipples poking out.

I look at him, expressionless.

"You are so fucking stubborn," he says. "Does it do you any good?"

"Mm-hmm. It usually does," I reply, unfazed.

He looks at the house next to me.

"Is this where you live?"

I tilt my chin, pointing over my shoulder.

"The small dark one."

"Good to know."

He tears my shoes away from my hand, and before I realize what he intends to do, he lowers himself, tucks his shoulder beneath my stomach, wraps his arm around my rear, and lifts me off the ground, making me dangle upside down.

"What are you doing?" I protest, my palms hovering over his butt.

"I can't listen to another word you say. You make no sense."

"Oh. I don't? What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know… But never run away from me. It annoys the shit out of me."

"Why? Just because you're used to people doing what you want doesn't mean I owe you anything."

"It's not about you pleasing me. It's about you not hurting yourself."

"You sound so fatherly right now," I mumble, my voice strangled every time his shoes meet the concrete and my chest slams into his back.

"What can I say? There's an age difference between us. Add to that the fact that you clearly need a father figure in your life."

"I wish."

He laughs.

"You need a good spanking as well."

"Not exactly. Plus, the last time I checked, you weren't into spanking," I say.

He climbs the stairs–– a few creaky wooden steps––and lets me slide off before propping me against the doorframe like I'm a sack of potatoes.

He hands me my shoes, and I have a feeling this is it.

"You can take it from here," he says, pivoting and walking away.

I already stare at the back of his suit jacket when I open my mouth and speak.

"Thank you for your help. Do you happen to know a pharmacy open at this hour? I need some stuff for my knees."

He gives me a cold chuckle.

"You're pushing it, Elizabeth," he says without turning to me.

"Okay. All right. Drive safely…" I say loudly without getting a response from him. "Thanks for nothing," I murmur under my breath, mostly to myself.

He reaches his car, slides into the driver's seat, shuts the door, and turns his ride around before leaving my neighborhood in a loud, roaring noise.

And that's that.

At least a glimmer of conscience has come to life in him. Unfortunately, it's not enough to make a difference.

The thing is, I didn't try to fuck with him.

I don't have any bandages or antibiotic ointment in my bathroom cabinet. I didn't have the chance to put together a first aid kit.

It's okay.

Well, it's not okay, as my knees hurt right now, and I'm shivering.Wet and cold, I reach inside my purse, retrieve my key, unlock the door, and walk in.

What a night.

This man is clearly carved out of ice.

He's never ogled me.

Yes, there was some sexual tension between us that eventually morphed into irritation––as it usually happens––but none of my tricks worked on him.

I can't make him fall for my looks.

He's seen all kinds of pretty faces before.

He's seen everything, I guess.

Glancing in the mirror, I notice how my wet blouse highlights my chest. My nipples are still hard from the cold and rain.

Still, no reaction from him.

Not that I want a reaction.

Of course, I'm lying to myself.

I flirted with him all evening while claiming I didn't want his touch on me.

I. Am. So. Phony.

Even when he carried me over his shoulder, I exulted in having my body pressed against his despite my precarious position.

I need to destroy my obsession with him because nothing good will come out of this.

I leave my shoes in the hallway and set my purse on the wall table next to the entrance before I lock the door and head straight to the bathroom.

Minutes later, I step out of the shower, shrug on my bathrobe, and check my knees.

They are clean from the soap, water, and shower cloth I used but also red and tender.

I wish I had some sterile gauze to put on.

It no longer rains when a noise filters through the door.

Boom, boom, boom.

Someone raps on my door.

My heart jolts.

Who needs this shit in the middle of the night?

I know nothing about this neighborhood, and despite being optimistic about the person on the other side of the door, realistically speaking, I need to consider some grim scenarios too.

What if they're knocking on the wrong door?

What if they've watched me being picked up and brought home?

I don't know any of my neighbors.

I peek out the window but can't see the person in front of my door.

I hate this.

They knock again.

Slower this time.

"Elizabeth?"

Oh, my God.

My heart stops doing all that sprinting before swirling with enthusiasm in my chest.

This man is going to give me a heart attack.

I shift to the door, take a deep breath, and make sure my belt is tied and I'm covered before I unlock and pull it open.

David awaits with a bag of goodies. I swiftly notice the name of the pharmacy open 24 hours downtown.

That was fast.

I take it with a smile.

"Oh… I didn't expect this. How nice of you."

It's not my intention to sound phony, but I come off that way.

He lifts an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry if I ruined your plans for the evening," I add.

That sounds even less genuine, so I stop and look inside the small bag.

He brought everything I needed for my knees.

"Thank you again," I say quietly, taming my enthusiasm this time.

I'm the only woman I know who can sound phony even when she's one hundred percent sincere.

"Do you want to come in?"

Glancing over his shoulder, I check the street.

His car is parked in front of my house, and the engine is turned off.

He no longer wears his suit jacket.

"I can't offer you a drink. Unless you want coffee."

He ponders as if he's never been invited to a woman's place in the middle of the night before.

I just think it's polite to invite him in.

Maybe I can talk to him a little to smooth things out.

"I'm good. Nothing to drink for me," he says, walking in, though.

I step back to make room for him.

"This is my new place," I say, gesturing around. "I barely moved in, so it's not completely furnished," I drone on, moving toward the kitchen. "I'll have a hot chocolate since I'm cold from the rain."

I place the bag on the kitchen island.

"I don't expect you to drink hot chocolate with me…" I murmur, waiting for him to comment.

"Do your thing. I'll take care of your knees when you're ready."

My mouth pulls slightly open.

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"Have you done that before?" I ask, a smile on my face.

"All the time."

His brand of humor is dark and dry, but I get it nonetheless.

"Okay, give me a second."

He takes everything out of the bag while I prepare a cup of hot chocolate and produce a tin of cookies from the cupboard.

"I'm ready," I say, heading to the couch.

He follows me, sets everything on the coffee table next to the steaming cup of hot chocolate and the box of cookies, and once I sit, he goes back to the kitchen and washes his hands before returning and sliding next to me.

I almost fall into a stack of pillows when he grabs my ankles and nudges my legs over his lap.

My robe pulls open to my thighs, and I conscientiously tug at it to cover my legs.

I wear nothing underneath.

Frankly, I'm so not prepared for this.

He touches me gently, barely moving his fingertips over my skin while creating swirls of pleasure down my legs.

Tingles spread across my skin every time he touches me.

He is so close to me that his scent––a mix of cold rain and fresh aftershave––tickles my nostrils, turning me on.

I blame my reaction on not being close to a man in a while.

I also blame it on him not being any man.

I blame it for sure on how handsome he is.He is so handsome that he could use a scalpel on me, and I wouldn't feel a thing.

My blood would probably not even gush.

Leaning back, I try to remember if there was a moment when I breathed in the proximity of such a calm man.

Most men I met hadn't had the chance to grow into themselves.

They were unpredictable in the worst kind of way, not the 'let's have some fun together' sort of way.

They brimmed with insecurities, and it showed.

I never knew what they wanted because they never knew what they wanted.

I couldn't do anything with them.

Other than going back and forth before eventually calling it quits, there was not much to explore with them.

His fingers brush over my skin while I watch him getting surrounded by my inquisitive silence.

"Have you done this before?" I ask seriously this time, his hands moving with knowledge, showing great care for my wounds.

"I was in the military," he tosses at me without shifting his focus from my knees.

Oh… Knock me over with a feather.

My lips part in awe.

"For real?"

He gives me a soft smile, indulging in my reaction.

"Yeah, for real."

I have a hard time imagining the man in front of me doing anything other than wearing expensive suits, ruining a barista's day because of some stupid cup of coffee, and picking up women who are already willing to say yes to him when he invites them to his place.

I look at him with different eyes while he finishes my right knee and brings the other one next to it.

I lie down, my back pressed into the pillows, my legs draped over his lap.

He keeps doing what he's doing while I try to picture him in the army.

It's not like he lacks the physical ability.

His biceps push against his perfectly pressed shirt, his clothes setting off his muscular frame.

And all this time, I thought he was one of those pampered dudes who hit the gym five times a week, eat kale for breakfast, and finish their day with a massage and an exfoliating body scrub.

I could have never imagined him being more than some rich guy who lucked out and had everything handed to him before getting bored and turning into a hard–to–please eccentric ass.

Even the fact that he never needed a serious connection to a woman felt like a testament to this idea that he was a shallow, spoiled brat.