Another shriek was abruptly cut off by a palm clapped over her mouth as she was pulled backward, farther into the darkness. The hand was covered by a ragged glove with the fingers cut out, because they were digging into her cheek.
Every horror story she’d ever heard about women being abducted and assaulted flashed through her mind, and she exploded in movement, fighting him like a wildcat. Twisting and bucking, she managed to make him lose his grip for a moment—just long enough to sink her teeth into the side of his hand as hard as she could through the glove’s material.
“Ahhh! Fuck!” Jerking his hand away, he shoved her back into the side of the nearest building, then spun her around and pushed her face-first into the bricks before she could glimpse his features or clothing. “Scream or bite me again and I’ll snap your pretty neck! Got it?”
She nodded, heart slamming against her rib cage. “Wh-what do you want? Money? It’s in my purse.”
“And where’s your purse?”
She jerked her head as much as she could in the direction they’d come. “Over there. I dropped it.”
“Hmm. Maybe I’ll go back for that,” he said in a low voice. “But I’m thinking the real prize is right here in my hands. Begging for a piece of this.” As emphasis, he ground his groin into her ass.
“Y-you don’t want to do this,” she said, breathless with fear. “Someone will come and you’ll be caught. Just take the money and go.”
“Nobody’s coming. Why can’t I have both?”
“People live here. You don’t want to risk jail.”
“As if guys like me care about getting sent to Club Fed. Three squares a day, exercise, reading, and TV. Hell, I could even study for a trade, which is more than I get on the street.”
“Please,” she begged as his hand began to creep under the hem of her blouse. “Don’t—”
Just then, the man’s weight vanished from her back. Before she could register why, she heard a vicious curse and the sounds of flesh hitting flesh. Spinning around, she spotted two men bounce off the wall and into some garbage cans, sending the receptacles flying and causing a loud clatter. In the dim light, she could barely make out a large man punching a slightly smaller man. The more slightly built one was dressed in a hoodie, the bigger one in jeans and a T-shirt.
She had to do something. Get help before her rescuer got hurt.
Just as she was about to turn and run, the attacker shoved the bigger man away from him and fled. He was fast, booking it down the alley and skidding around the corner. Gone, just like that. The bigger man stood under a sliver of moonlight, chest heaving, his tense stance suggesting that he was tempted to give chase. Instead, he faced her and took a couple of tentative steps.
“Ma’am? Are you all right?”
His voice was so familiar, but she was badly shaken. She could hardly think straight as she replied, “I feel sick.”
“Here, let me help you.” Taking her gently by the hand, he led her out of the alley, stooping to grab her purse on the way and hand it to her.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
Tears pricked her eyes, a testament to how frightened she’d been. She hadn’t cried in years, since she’d finally learned to swallow being a disappointment to her mother.
Her rescuer urged her back onto the sidewalk, under a streetlamp. Then he turned to speak but stopped, mouth hanging open. “Anna! I mean, Miss Claire,” he corrected himself. “My God, I can’t believe it’s you. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I— Mr. James,” she stammered in surprise. “Yes, I think so.”
As if to reassure himself, he stepped close and took her hands in his, rubbing them as though to ward off a chill. Then he turned her a bit and inspected her from every angle.
She gave a watery laugh. “Really, I’m fine.” Except for the nausea, which threatened to upset her dinner.
“You don’t look fine,” he replied, eyeing her with a concerned frown. “Just to be sure, I’m going to walk you the rest of the way home.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary.”
He shook his head. “I insist. Which way?”
“No, I mean it’s really not necessary because I live there.” She pointed to the building on the corner.
“You’re kidding! That’s where I live, too.” He smiled. “Then it’s definitely no trouble at all to see you safely to your door.”
“I don’t—”
“Please? For my peace of mind?”
He looked so handsome, so worried, that she had to smile back. “Fine. That would be nice. Thanks.”
“First, though, we should file a report. I should’ve thought right away of calling the police.”
She considered that, then blew out a breath. “I think that’ll be a waste of time. I’m not hurt and he didn’t take anything. I didn’t even get a look at him, so my input isn’t going to help much.”
“Are you sure? They can at least have it on record.”
“No. Really, I just want to get home.”
He hesitated, then relented. “I can understand that. Come on.”
Tucking her hand in his arm, he escorted her the rest of the way to their building and inside. As they crossed the spacious lobby, she briefly wondered how a lowly prep chef could afford to live in a neighborhood like this, where the apartments were so expensive. Then she remembered that he’d been a hotshot attorney of some kind, so that made sense. He’d probably socked away plenty before changing careers.
As they stepped into the elevator, his finger hovered over the number panel. “Which floor?”
“Six.”
He smiled again, a blinding slash of white that made her knees a little weak. “What do you know?”
“You, too?” She blinked at him.
“Yep. I’m curious, though. How is it that the boss lady missed the fact that I live in her building, on the same floor?”
She shrugged. “I make it a point to memorize names and faces because I like my employees to feel as if they matter to me—and they do. But my manager, Jeff Wilson, does all of the hiring paperwork and tax forms, and he collects the employee information sheets we keep on file. If I need to know specific information about one of you, I can look it up.”
“I met Mr. Wilson, but I don’t see him around much,” he mused. “He doesn’t take a very active role on the floor.”
“Because that’s not what I hired him to do. He does most of the paperwork, ads, and marketing.”
“So you can be among the people, which is what you enjoy most.”
“Yes.”
“And yet . . .” The elevator arrived at their floor, and they got off.
She stopped and faced him. “What?”
“I don’t know if I should say.” His gaze settled on hers, assessing.
“You can speak freely. You
He relaxed some. “It’s just that you seem very reserved most of the time. Aloof. It’s interesting to hear you say that you enjoy being around your staff and guests when you don’t really show it.”
She stared at him in surprise. “I don’t? But . . . I speak to people all day. I ask them how they’re doing, if their meals are excellent, what they’re celebrating. Things like that.”
“What about the staff?”
“What about them?” She started to feel defensive. “I ask them if they need anything, what I can do to help them. I inquire about any incidents that may have occurred, how the kitchen has been running, check on the special reservations to make sure the staff is prepared.”
“Yes, you do. You’re a good boss,” he allowed.
“Why, thank you,” she said dryly, giving him a droll look. “I’m so glad you approve.”
