Warren snorted. “You’re an idiot if you think you can take me. I got at least fifty pounds on you and more muscles than you’ll ever have.”
“That you do. But muscles aren’t everything.”
“Yeah, right. Like I’m scared. What can a skinny dude like you do to me?”
“This,” the stranger said in a low, menacing tone.
Then he whipped out a knife, snapping open a blade that flashed blood-red in the dim light, and lunged to stab Warren.
12
I screamed, scrambling away, suddenly more afraid of the stranger than Warren.
“You’re crazy, man!” Warren moved quickly, dodging the sharp knife. “You could have killed me.”
“I still might.”
“What’s your problem? I didn’t do nothing to you.”
The stranger rubbed the dark-gold stubble on his chin with the blunt end of his knife, seeming to consider the question before answering. “I can’t stand idiots who speak in double negatives — and hurt girls.”
“Double what?” Warren backed into a stack of bikes. “And I didn’t hurt her.”
“Not from my prospective,” he said as he thrust his knife out again, advancing on Warren.
“Hey, cut it out! I don’t mean cut — I mean, lay off!” Warren sputtered, his bravado swept away in the whoosh of a blade. “Can’t we talk this over? I wasn’t hurting anyone. Rayah and I were just having fun.”
“You have a warped definition of fun. I have my own definition — would you like to see how fun this feels?” The knife flashed, whipping past Warren’s arm.
“Okay, okay!” Warren scrambled out of the way. “Put that down and I’ll do whatever you say.”
“You will?”
“Yeah, yeah, just cool it. I won’t mess with Rayah again.”
“I don’t believe you,” the stranger said, his knife hand still sweeping toward Warren. “Convince me.”
“How am I supposed to do that? I give my word I’m telling the truth! I don’t want trouble.” Warren lifted his hands in surrender, brushing against the wheel of an upside-down bike and setting it spinning. “Put away the knife! You’re sick, dude!”
Before the stranger could come after him again, Warren swore and bolted for the door, fiercely yanking it open and then running away with surprising speed, a shadowy blur disappearing into the twilight.
And I was alone with the knife-wielding stranger.
Um … should I thank my rescuer or run out of the room, too?
Huddling in my jacket, heart racing, I stared up at him, scared yet intrigued. He folded the blade of the knife and tucked it into a pocket. The wind from the half-open door whipped his unbuttoned denim jacket around his lean body. His skin glowed with the deep, bronzed tan of someone who spends long hours outside. A surfer, I guessed, as I admired how his sun-drenched skin complemented his hazel eyes and the chestnut waves in his sandy-blond hair. His hands were calloused and strong, like he spent a lot of time doing physical labor.
Glancing down at the floor, I noticed his navy blue cap. I picked it up and held it out to him. “Is this yours?”
“Right. I didn’t realize it had fallen off,” he said as he reached out, not actually touching me but brushing so close that the hairs on my skin seemed electric. “This cap has traveled a long way with me — it was a gift from the captain of the first ship I ever sailed. I would hate to lose it. Thanks for noticing.”
“I’m the one who’s grateful,” I said. “What you just did … um … I hardly know how to thank you enough.”
“You don’t need to. Like Cicero says—” He paused with a distant look, and then quoted: “
Literary quotes? From a guy who looked like a surfer but used his knife like an action hero? Now I really didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know anything about him. Not even his name.
As if reading my mind, he smiled. “By the way, I’m Dyce.”
“I’m Amb … Sharayah. My friends call me Rayah and you can call me that, if you want, or whatever you like.”
“I prefer Sharayah … sounds like the sigh of a soft sea wind.
“That’s beautiful. Poetry?” I guessed.
“Right. Lord Byron.”
“Cool. The only poems I know are silly ones my grandmother taught me when I was little. How can you remember so much? You must have an amazing memory.”
“Not so amazing.” He fit the cap on his head at a crooked angle, so the anchor design tilted over his right ear. “I just read a lot of old books.”
“I do, too. Well, except not old ones, usually self-help books. Unfortunately there wasn’t one about how not to be tricked into going into a deserted warehouse with a lying jerk.” I glanced around at the shadowy bicycles and shuddered. “This place is creepy. Let’s get out of here.”
I started for the door but Dyce moved faster. “After you,” he said politely as he held open the door — in a gesture right out of one of those old books he liked to read.
When the door shut behind us, it was a relief to inhale the cool, salty evening air. I was feeling other emotions, too, but I was afraid to analyze them.
“Sorry about roughing up your friend,” Dyce told me, the gold strands in his hair shining under an overhead light as he leaned against the side of the building. “I can’t stand guys who push girls around. But just so you know, I had no intention of cutting him — only scaring him.”
“You succeeded. Warren looked scared enough to pee his pants.”
Dyce laughed — a low, sexy laugh that made my heart jump. Sexy, smart and chivalrous. Wow, what a combo. Most guys wouldn’t even know what chivalrous meant — but Dyce could probably spell it
“Just so you know, Warren is no friend of mine,” I added, not wanting him to think I was chronically stupid.
“I guessed that,” he said.
“I only just met him today, when my roommate hooked up with his friend. I wouldn’t have come here with him if he hadn’t lied to me about meeting my roommate at a party. But no party and no roommate. I was stupid to believe him.”
“You never really know anyone.”
“That’s for sure,” I murmured with a glance down at myself.
“Be careful who you trust and you’ll do fine.”
“But I didn’t trust Warren — he made me suspicious right off. He had this rude way of staring at me. But I tried to ignore it because we were stuck together for a long drive and my friends liked him — especially Sadie.”
“Your roommate?” he guessed.
“No, that would be Mauve. Sadie — she’s the talkative one — was really into Warren and I thought he was into her, too, until this.” I gestured toward the bike rental building. “But why would he go to all the trouble to get me here when Sadie wanted him?”
“I can think of several reasons,” Dyce said, a soft cadence to his voice that would have sounded cheesy coming from anyone else, but sounded classy coming from him.
Dangerous conversation territory ahead, I told myself. So instead of asking the most obvious question, I shook my head firmly. “If you met Sadie you’d know what I mean. She’s really sweet. Warren was an idiot not to hook up with her and to go after me — especially when I made it clear I couldn’t stand him.”
“Maybe he’s looking for a challenge,” Dyce suggested.
