and now she was vulnerable.
He was naked. He was in his bathroom now, but what if he came out? Would he have on a dressing gown like the prince had worn, choosing to play the game a little while longer? Would she know he was naked beneath it like she’d known the prince was? No, she was certain Taylor would be naked, no Italian dressing gown for him, no fancy games for him, and all she was wearing was slacks and a simple sweater.
Oh, God. He looked like those men in those gun magazines. The self-defense she knew was laughable against a man like him. She’d heard him at the gym, speaking to Lin Ho, her instructor, heard the two of them discussing strategies when faced with more than one opponent and the opponents were both armed with knives. He’d said nothing to her about knowing martial arts, but he did, he had to. Just the way he’d stood when he was talking to Lin Ho. It was obvious. He was strong and he could fight. He was a man and he was big and she’d never have a chance against him.
Lindsay grabbed her purse, ran to the front door, wrenched it open, and was out in a second. She heard Taylor calling her name.
She ran down the five flights of stairs, afraid to wait for the elevator. He’d catch her if she waited. If it came, he’d be faster and be waiting for her at the lobby, ready to grab her and shove her back into the elevator and bring her back up here. She was winded, a stitch in her side, when she reached the lobby. She was bent over, clutching her purse to her middle. She ran to the corner and waved wildly for a taxi.
She had to get away.
Taylor heard the front door slam, and without a thought, he raced naked into the living room. She was gone. Jesus, could someone have come in and snatched her? No, not possible. He called after her, but, realizing he didn’t have a stitch of clothing on, he knew he couldn’t run after her.
Why had she run out?
He stood there dripping water, wondering what the problem was. It was weird. She was weird. He sighed, turned back into his bedroom, and quickly dressed. She was alone, no one to protect her, if the enforcers who hounded Demos wanted to go after her.
Lindsay told the taxi driver to drop her off at Gayle’s apartment over on the West Side, just opposite Lincoln Center. Gayle lived in a condo on the thirty-sixth floor. Lindsay dashed through the immense lobby to the bank of six elevators. She punched the buttons and collapsed back against the wall. She was safe. But, as it turned out, Gayle wasn’t home.
Lindsay leaned against the corridor wall next to her apartment door, her eyes closed. What to do?
She couldn’t very well stand here forever. The security was too good in this building. She’d soon be reported by a neighbor. Slowly, slinging her bag back onto her shoulder, she went back down to the lobby. She’d wait there. If she stayed out in the open, looking harmless, they wouldn’t kick her out. If Taylor came looking for her—Oh, no, no.
She was approached by a security guard two hours later. Their patience had run out.
She left, catching a taxi to return to her apartment. In the back of the taxi she remembered for the first time since her flight from Taylor’s apartment that she was under threat. She’d been running around like a fool, unthinking, dangerously unthinking. She realized, laughing a bit hysterically, that she had no place else to go, except maybe to an impersonal hotel. She had no other close friends. Even Demos and Glen she’d kept away from when it came to social get-togethers. She’d kept a whole bunch of folk at bay, all those people who’d tried to be nice to her over the years. They were acquaintances, nothing more, because she’d distrusted them, all of them, women included. All except Gayle because Gayle had known her before Paris.
Head down, she exited her elevator. She felt numb and very, very tired. She very nearly walked squarely into him.
His hands closed around her shoulders and her head jerked up. She nearly screamed but his hand was over her mouth.
“Shut up, damn you!”
She tried to jerk away from him. He was strong, she’d known he would be. He wasn’t going to let her go. He would drag her into her apartment and—
Taylor saw the terror in her eyes. Not terror of a possible enforcer, he realized with a shock, but terror of him. He said very calmly, “I have to urinate. I’ve been standing here like a fool for the past two hours waiting for you to bring your butt home. Would you please open the door?”
She stared up at him. He didn’t look at all interested in ripping off her clothes. What he looked was vastly annoyed. With her. “You have to urinate?”
“Yes. You’re the only game around, Eden. I couldn’t very well see myself asking your neighbor to use her bathroom. Open the door.”
“Oh.” She giggled. Her terror—God, she’d been paralyzed with terror and all he wanted was to go to the bathroom.
She opened the door and stood aside, pointing straight ahead. “Just beyond the bedroom.” Taylor gave her another long, very irritated look, then went to her bathroom.
She was standing in the same spot when he came out.
He stopped a good three feet away from her. “Talk to me.”
She stared at him instead.
“I’m also tired of standing. Come along and sit down. Talk to me.”
“I’m hungry.”
“I won’t eat another damned yogurt.”
“Chinese?”
“Are you going to duck out on me again?”
“No.”
“All right.” Taylor sighed. This was weird, the entire situation. “Let’s go to Chow Fang’s, down in Chinatown.”
“I like spicy Chinese.”
“It’s very spicy.”
To Lindsay’s surprise and relief, Taylor didn’t demand to know why she’d run out on him. She’d fully expected it, an attack, a show of anger, a man’s anger, all of it, maybe cold sarcasm like her father’s, but he didn’t say anything, not even a mention of how she’d endangered herself.
He ushered her into a Szechuan restaurant, old and needing a paint job, with dusty red lanterns hanging from a low ceiling. It was set in the midst of Chinatown and known, Taylor told her, for authentic and tasty dishes.
Lindsay ordered green-onion pancakes with peanut sauce.
“My favorite,” Taylor said, and doubled the order.
He spoke to her of the owner of the restaurant, a Mr. Chang, who’d come over in the early 1970’s from Taiwan. He spoke of Mr. Chang’s family, discussing each of the six children in great detail, until Lindsay finally said, “Stop it! You’re making that up!”
“It took you long enough. I was running out of descriptions. Another kid and he would have had to be a juvenile delinquent. Chinese Mafia maybe.”
She studied his face. No clues there. Open, kind. But as he’d said earlier, who really knew another person? She picked up a fortune cookie, vastly uncomfortable. She unfurled the narrow strip of paper and read: “You need a new environment. Wallpaper your bedroom.”
She laughed and handed it to Taylor. “Keep it,” he advised, cracked open his own fortune cookie. There were two slips of paper. The first said: “A woman who seeks to be equal with men lacks ambition.”
Taylor grinned and handed it to her. Her eyes lit up and she crowed. “Aha! You see, ancient Chinese wisdom still applies today. I see they believe you need a double dose. What’s the other one?”
He opened it and froze. “You have finally met the one love of your life. Tread carefully. You don’t want to lose her.”
He frowned. What utter nonsense. Bullshit. After the way Valerie had yelled at him, calling him a bastard and a liar? No way. He stilled. Oh, no, not this strange creature sitting opposite him, her eyes on his fortune, waiting for him to hand it to her. Her anticipation was endearing and he shied away from it. This was the woman who’d run out of his apartment with no thought to her own safety. With no reason for flight that he could see. Oh, no, that was crazy. Then he laughed. A damned silly fortune cookie. Produced in a factory in New Jersey by Italians, no
