Waking to Black Read online

  “No, of course not. I… I can walk.”

  I pull away from his arms, needing the distance to function. Steadying myself, I scan the room. The police have arrived and are everywhere, inspecting the area.

  Mr. Black talks to his man though his eyes are pinned on me. “I’m going to have to speak with the authorities. It’ll take some time. Take this young lady outside. The fresh air will do her good.”

  I don’t move until Mr. Black’s guard grips my arm, and as I am led out of the bank I can’t help looking back at the man who is literally my hero. The thought once again brings me to irrational giggles.

  Chapter Two

  HOURS LATER, I’M sitting with my back against a cold ambulance, retelling the events to a stocky, bottle-blonde policewoman who has yawned five times in the last ten minutes. Her disinterest in the entire ordeal is upsetting. Well, excuse me, lady, but from my seat the experience was disturbing. Officer Garcia, as her nametag declares, jots a few notes down as I speak, when we’re interrupted by another cop.

  “Do you know who that is, the guy who stood up to the perpetrator?”

  His voice is casual, as if I wasn’t standing there. Hello. I was assaulted and nearly killed. Maybe we can spare the gossip until the donut break.

  “Someone important?” Officer Garcia’s eyes perk up with interest.

  The unknown officer, who has decided against wearing a nametag, scoffs.

  “That’s an understatement. Adam Black.”

  “Really?” responds Officer Garcia. “The guy from that Forbes article?”

  My skin pricks at the mention of his name, because even I have read about him. At thirty-four, Adam Black is the owner of one of the most lucrative real-estate businesses on the East Coast. I vividly remember Tina obsessing about him at lunch a few weeks back. She was dead set on arranging a chance encounter with Mr. Eligible.

  Officer Garcia coughs, jarring me back to reality. “Thank you for your statement. I believe we’re done here. If we have any further questions we’ll contact you.”

  The EMT has already given me a clean bill of health, so I get up to leave. My phone buzzes against my hip pocket. It’s Tina.

  “What the hell happened to you? It’s been hours!”

  “It’s not my fault this time. The bank was robbed.”

  “What?” Tina squeals. “Like, no bullshit? Robbed? With guns?”

  “Yes. Anyway, I’m still a little shaken. I promise I’ll call you later and tell you everything.”

  “Do you want me to come get you?”

  “No,” I blurt out.

  Tina has always done her best to protect me. She loves me like a sister, and while the sentiment is mutual, I feel like a burden.

  “I’m leaving now. Trust me, I’m fine. I’ll call you in like an hour.”

  “One hour, Snowe.”

  Tina only uses my last name when she’s trying to make a point.

  “I mean it. If you don’t call me in one hour I’m driving to your house.”

  Hoping to sound casual, I force a chuckle. “If I don’t call you in one hour I give you permission for a home invasion.” I shake my head because I know I’m failing to reassure her.

  “Evie,” she whispers. “If you’re not okay—”

  “I’m f-fine,” I say while swallowing the hiccup of my voice. “Stop worrying about me, okay.”

  I hang up, not bothering to hear her response. It may seem like a dismissal, but I’m far from indifferent to her feelings; I’m bound by them. I have been since that night years ago. A lurching sensation tugs at my stomach as I recollect the memory, so I suppress it, opting instead to focus my gaze toward the bank. I can’t believe I survived that; I was held by a crazy man, on the verge of being killed, and I walked out. Maybe it’s time I accept my mother’s invitation to attend church. Too exhausted to keep contemplating, I shrug and turn toward the sidewalk.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  His voice is stern, confident, and I imagine this is the tone he uses regularly, since it rolls off his tongue with precision.

  Turning around with a frown framed between my brows, my gaze is again pinned by Mr. Black’s startling sapphire eyes. I’m struck speechless. It’s as if I’m staring into the depths and there’s a rip current between us pulling me under.

  “I…um…I’m going home.” I want to sound assertive, but the slow heat sliding across my cheeks makes it impossible for me to think. I don’t know if I’m coming or going.

  He tilts his head to the side, sizing me up.

  “I don’t think you’re in any condition to drive.”

  He’s so arrogant, speaking as if there’s no possible way anyone could disagree, and it’s the shove I need to start talking.

  “Well, luckily, I don’t drive.”

  He glares at me, not amused, and my newfound poise disintegrates. I fiddle with my fingers, gathering my thoughts and then add, “I live nearby. It’s not far.”

  “You live in Miami and you don’t drive?”

  Yes! I surprised Mr. Black Suit. Finally, one point to Evelyn.

  He tightens his lips in a thin, hard line, and it’s as if he bore a hole through me, leaving me exposed, with nothing more than a casual glance.

  Stop staring at me! My thoughts are obviously more vocal than my actions, so I shift my shoulders in a meek shrug.

  “I guess I’ve never found the need to drive…” I stop dead. This man rescued me from someone with a gun and I haven’t shown him an ounce of gratitude. Yes, he’s pushy, and from our brief conversation I gather he’s demanding as well, but that doesn’t excuse my behavior.

  “Thank you for saving my life back there. You were brave and…” I catch myself before I can finish the statement. Without thinking, I was going to say he was brave and reckless. “You were brave and I appreciate it.” I nod once, satisfied with my response.

  The corners of his mouth pinch, as if he’s holding back a smile.

  “You’re still nervous, and that’s to be expected.”

  The husky rasp of his voice rubs against my skin, forcing me to fight a shiver.

  “Not at all.” I straighten, determined to put up a strong front. “I’m fine.”

  “Your cheeks are flushed and your entire body is tense. It’s a perfectly normal reaction, you shouldn’t be ashamed. You just went through a traumatic experience. I’ll take you home.”

  “I’m not ashamed of anything.” The sharp intonation of my words surprise me more than they surprise him. “And thank you for the offer, but I’m capable of getting home—”

  He steps forward, his height daunting enough for me to lose all train of thought. “No one,” he says softly, “should be alone after being in a bank holdup. Especially someone who reacted the way you did afterwards.”

  Craning my head, so I can clearly see into his eyes, I’m left awestruck by the intimacy of his expression—I fell apart in his arms and I can’t hide from the reality, but still I try. “I…I’m fine.”

  Nodding, he takes a step back. “You’ve said as much already. And I, of course, believe you.”

  He flashes me a smile and though I’m upset by his placating words, I’m too stunned to string a sentence together. Fortunately, I don’t have to because he breaks the silence.

  “I, however, haven’t recovered from the experience and since, by your own admission, I did save your life, you can’t in good conscious abandon me in my hour of need…”

  I blink a few times at his absurdity. His hour of need?

  “The least you can do is keep me company for a while longer. So, I’m taking you home.”

  The deep timbre of his voice and his statement, which has been spoken as fact, makes resisting hard. Careful, Evie. Men are by nature, trouble, it’s the way of the world… But a clever man is downright dangerous.

  For a second, he appears as if he abruptly remembered something. “I’m Adam Black, and you are?”

  His hand extends forward.

  “Oh. Ye
s, of course. Sorry. How rude of me. I’m Evelyn Snowe.”

  How rude of me? Why am I apologizing to this man? He’s the one who started the conversation. He’s the one in charge of introductions. What the hell is going on?

  He clasps my palm for the second time that day and a spark rushes through my body, prompting my toes to curl in the flats I’m wearing. The sensation making my nerves tingle is irrational and beyond intense. I have an instinctual, purely animalistic urge to lunge forward and rake my fingers in the lush strands of his hair so I can drag him down to my lips and savor him, bite him, completely make him forget about everything else in this world but me.

  “Are you okay?”

  Shit…he’s talking again.

  “Yes.” I nod a bit too adamantly.

  He squeezes my hand. It’s the type of handshake I would expect from a businessman. Like Goldilocks’s porridge, it’s just right, firm yet not painful.

  “It’s unfortunate we’ve met under these circumstances.”

  Rather than linger on the frightening memory, he changes course by focusing on getting me to his Escalade, all the while holding my hand. With assured grace he opens the back door and ushers me inside.

  Alone in the Escalade, I’m left wondering how I agreed to allow this stranger to take me home. Oh, right, my agreement wasn’t solicited. The thought of darting out of the car and running comes to mind, but I’ve reached my quota of adrenaline for the week.

  Out of the tinted windows I watch Mr. Black talk to his security guard. This man stood up to a gunman and he appears unruffled and utterly stunning, with his collar open and sleeves rolled to his elbows. No one should look this good after being in a bank holdup.

  A scary thought hits—how do I look? Tilting my head toward the front of the SUV, I try to see myself in the rearview mirror. As my reflection comes into view the back door opens. I try for a casual pose as I fall back into the plush leather.

  “Is everything okay?” Black’s voice is calm yet probing.

  “Yes,” I whisper, attempting to regain my composure.

  The omnipresent guard eases himself into the front of the Escalade. Mr. Black turns to me.

  “Where do you live?”

  His impassive tone makes me feel like a total idiot, because around him I’m anything but impassive. It’s like I’ve been doused with pheromones. I finger the hem of my shirt while muttering my address.

  “Parker, did you get that?”

  The driver responds with a “Yes, sir.”

  In less than five minutes, we’re at my house. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t be able to afford a home in this community. It’s a sought-after location. By pure luck, I got the home in a short sale. It’s a small two-bedroom house, but the lot is huge and I love the freedom owning my own place gives me.

  Without uttering a word, Black opens the car door and steps out.

  Is he coming in? I gulp louder than I anticipated and grasp the door handle. Before I can pull on it, the car door opens and he’s standing in front of me.

  He extends his hand and with a bemused expression I grab hold. Gingerly, he pulls me to my feet. The close proximity between me and this near-perfect specimen of masculinity is intimidating. My mouth is dry. I’m not sure why I simultaneously loathe his chivalry yet am drawn to it. Have I become such a cynic?

  “Thank you,” I breathe softly.

  In a moment of clarity I push off from his warm embrace, the situation feeling too intimate, and move toward my front porch. The heat he’s radiating makes it apparent he’s standing behind me.

  It takes me a few seconds to discover my keys in the depths of my purse. Reaching for the lock, I notice my hands are shaking. Am I nervous because of today or is it because of him?

  I have little time to consider the random thought, because to my surprise, Black places his hand over mine, guiding me to the keyhole. In unison, we turn our hands and the door clicks open.

  “Would you like to come in?”

  I’m not even certain why I ask him to enter. Part of me finds him exasperating, yet I don’t want him to leave.

  He eyes his watch and nods. “Only for a few minutes. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

  As I step into the house I cringe. Magazines I’ve read and discarded are strewn across the floor. Not only have I been a damsel in distress, but I apparently live in squalor. Can this be any more embarrassing? I survey the living room for a brief second and then start to grab the magazines. I pile them on the coffee table and give him a sheepish smile.

  “Something to drink?”

  He has a small frown perched between his brows as he stares at me. He runs one of his hands over his head until it falls at the nape of his neck, flexing, as if that small action is relieving pent up stress. After a beat he speaks.

  “Water would be great.”

  I nod and drag my gaze away from him.

  “I’ll be just a moment. Please feel free to sit down.”

  I scurry toward the kitchen, happy I have a task, a distraction.

  “You have a charming home,” he calls out from the living room.

  I smile to myself, because that’s exactly what I think, although I wonder if his words have been prompted by his need to be polite.

  “Thanks. Been here for about a year now. I’m fond of the area.”

  I finish pouring the water and head back to the living room. He’s gone.

  I blink a few times and shake my head in disbelief. As I scan the area I notice light emanating from my art studio. Placing the glass on the coffee table, I go to investigate.

  Black is standing in the center of the room, his hands in his pockets as he studies one of my paintings.

  How rude! What an intrusive son of a—

  My thoughts are cut short by his deep voice.

  “These are lovely.”

  He points to a set of rose paintings I’ve been working on, each of them identical, except for the color patterns. They look contemporary, or at least what would have been considered contemporary fifty years ago—very Andy Warhol. My cheeks burn and the muscles of my throat tighten. It’s not that I have issues receiving compliments. It’s that less than a second ago I was angry at him for intruding, and now he’s pulled the rug out from under me.

  “Um… Thank you.” I mutter.

  A small smile dances across his lips and I get the impression he knows I find the situation irritating.

  “What happened here?” He points to the painting I was working on earlier in the day.

  What a personal question. It’s obvious I took out my frustration on the canvas. I shrug, trying to hide my discomfort.

  “It didn’t live up to my expectations.”

  He chuckles, and the action makes him appear less imposing.

  “So when you’re not being held at gunpoint you’re an artist?”

  “Not exactly…”

  I lean against the doorframe, relaxed for the first time in his presence.

  “I’m an art teacher, at the school behind South Bay Boulevard.”

  He opens his mouth to respond but is cut short by the buzzing of his cell phone. After muttering a quick excuse me, he answers the call.

  “Black.” He speaks his name with a severe tenor. “No. The property isn’t worth that much…he’s trying to put our backs against the wall. It’s been on the market for over a year and the only offer he’s received is ours. Send the contract with the price we discussed. He’ll accept the deal.”

  Black is quiet for a moment as he listens to the person on the other end. His eyes dart toward me for a blink as he moves to pace around the room.

  “I don’t care, just make sure it gets done. I’ll be in the office in less than an hour. Have comps and recent appraisals for both properties.”

  He ends the call, slips the phone into his pocket and turns to face me. “Sorry about that.” Though his statement is contrite, his voice is not.

  Once again he runs his hand over his hair to the nape of his neck.


  “Is there a problem?”

  He turns toward the painting I deformed in the morning hours.

  “Not one that concerns you.”

  I’m appalled. Adam Black is standing in my house, in my art studio, my happy place, and he has the audacity to be short with me. I glare at him for a long minute, my mouth parted in astonishment.

  “I only came in to make sure you were okay. I need to go.” He looks at me and it is the first time since the bank I see softness in his eyes. “I don’t mean to be short with you. Just having a bad day. I’m sure this isn’t what you envisioned for a Friday evening.”

  I nod, because that’s the best response I can come up with, and because he’s right. It has been a long day and I suppose I could offer him some latitude. He did save my life.

  “You live alone?”

  The sudden shift in conversation makes me frown.

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  He shrugs and the action appears foreign on this man who is used to getting his way.

  “Because I was curious.”

  He’s amused again. The shifts of his emotions leave me confused. How can he be so coarse one moment and calm the next? Black moves past me toward the front door. I follow him, still reeling from the last few hours. He extends his hand toward me, and I extend my own.

  The rush of energy pulses through my fingers again as we touch. No longer struck dumb by adrenaline I have the sense to pull away, but as I tug, his strong grip constricts, preventing my retreat. My gaze shoots up to his, and I can’t gauge the expression he’s wearing. Does he feel this pull between us? Is he fighting against it, like me?

  “It’s been my pleasure,” he utters, his eyes locked on mine.

  “Thank you for today, for everything. I…I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there.”

  It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to open up to this man, not because I find him inviting and warm, but because all the barriers I’ve built are crumbling under his penetrating gaze, his unsettling touch.

  He squeezes my hand and I can’t help it, I reciprocate the action.