Chapter 2

My head hit the concrete. I knew that because when I blinked my eyes open, a dull ache pounded at the back of my skull. For a few moments, I had no idea where I was or what I was doing there. I was helpless as a five-year old who had just fallen off her bike and scratched her knees. I stopped myself in time from calling out, “Mommy?”

The noises around me were loud, and now the sounds were different. They weren’t simply rage-filled shouts of protest. A skirmish broke out around me, but I couldn’t quite catch what anyone was saying.

I was on the ground, curled up in a fetal position with hazy vision that was only now beginning to clear. I had no idea what had happened until I felt blood trickling down my nose. Oh, yeah, someone had elbowed me directly in the face. Man down. Man down. The words rang in my head, but nobody was really paying attention to the girl on the ground. More punches were being thrown around, and I wasn’t sure who was fighting whom.

The fog cleared as my thoughts pieced together, and I could finally see what was happening. A man clutched some other man by the throat and his fist was bunched up, poised for another punch.

The hit I took must have disconnected some wires in my head, because the man holding the other one by the neck looked unrealistically gorgeous to me.

His hair was thick, neatly styled waves of sandy blond, like he was red-carpet ready, on his way to attend the opening of a film. His profile was visible to me, his nose sharp to match his chiseled jaw. His lips were thin but luscious, like they were made of some sort of velvet.

He loomed over me, holding the other man back by his neck, the muscles in his arms bulging. The spotlessly white t-shirt he wore clung to his broad chest. His shoulders were wide and strong, and his torso narrowed to where his jeans clinched loosely at his waist. What a beautiful man. I smiled, reminding myself that I was probably concussed and hallucinating.

The other man swung at him, and this Greek god ducked and avoided the thrust, punching him on his side instead. If I could, I would have cheered. What was even going on?

My body was reacting physically to this man’s presence, and he hadn’t even looked at me yet. He probably didn’t even know I was lying there on the ground staring up at him, googly-eyed.

His jaw was clenched tight as he glared and fought off the man. The other man’s attempt at a punch to his jaw only met with this Greek god ducking and taking him out with a crashing blow to the stomach. The other man flailed his arms, but the hunk twisted his arm, pinning it to his back. Someone else joined the fight and he fought this one off, too, with one quick sucker punch that made my gut soar.

I realized suddenly that it was no time to be aroused by a man. I was lying on the ground, possibly badly injured, in the middle of picketing for the habitat of an endangered bird species. But I couldn’t help but gawk at this man before me. He sent electric waves down my spine, and I couldn’t stop looking at him. Where did they manufacture the likes of him? And what was he doing at an environmental protest?

I tried to straighten myself up, hauling my body up using my elbows.

“Just stay down!” he said to me, and I collapsed back on the ground.

What the actual…?! Did he just turn to me and ask me to stay down? Or was I imagining that, too? He knew I existed. He knew where I was. Did he know that I had been staring at him, too? This was all too unreal for me. What was going on?

“You punched a girl, you idiot!” he roared.

His voice was like an elixir, smooth and deep. He could be the voiceover for a documentary on kitchen sinks, and I’d watch it, just to hear him speak. Surprisingly, his tone of voice didn’t match his actions. Even though he was fending off punches and teaching bad guys a lesson right in front of my eyes, he sounded calm and professional.

Goose bumps rose on my flesh as I stared at him. My mouth literally just fell open. What was happening to me? How was I slowly melting there, just looking at a stranger? And why was he barking out orders to me while fighting people?

“Are you okay?” He turned to me again before shoving someone else out of his way, and I got my first real good look at him. Oh, my God! His face was perfection; nature had achieved the perfect symmetry of features. He had cool blue eyes, or they could have been gray, with perfect eyebrows. His cheekbones were high to match his nose and jaw, and his neck was long and muscular.

My eyes slowly charted the rest of his body. A distinct bulge in his jeans did the trick, and my nipples hardened. This couldn’t actually be happening! I suddenly wanted to cry out, and he shook his head.

“Don’t move, Miss!” he said, and turned to some other guy he was trying to hold back.

“Stop pushing, asshole. There’s a lady on the ground,” he yelled in someone’s face. Oh, I finally realized what was going on. He wasn’t just sucker punching people left, right, and center. He was trying to push the crowd back from around me, to make some space, and to make sure that I didn’t get trampled on by the throngs of protestors.

Every time he turned to say something to me, every time I heard his voice, I felt myself break a little. Nobody had ever had this magical, physical reaction on me before. This was unheard of. I still couldn’t be sure if I was imagining it or if it was real. Was he really that attractive? I could almost taste his breath in my mouth. I imagined an intense, luxurious chocolate flavor to match his refined good looks.

I suddenly felt silly. This man was trying to do a good deed. As if protesting the wind farm wasn’t enough, he was also trying to keep a fellow protestor out of harm’s way. And here I was fantasizing about how his tongue would taste in my mouth and the bulge in his pants.

I tried to straighten myself up again, this time actually managing to sit up. My head felt instantly dizzy.

“Just lie back down, Miss,” he said, but I was trying not to look at him, so that I wasn’t distracted from my mission. I had to get back up and start protesting again. My fall should have been only a small impediment in my path, and this guy was just making a big deal out of nothing.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled and rubbed the back of my arm over my face. I was still bleeding from my nose. The ache at the back of my skull wasn’t dull anymore, more like someone pounding my head with a sledgehammer. I had to get back up, and I managed to wobble upright, barely standing on shaky legs.

“You’re going to be hurt again if I don’t keep this crowd back,” he said as I took an unsteady step toward him.

“Miss!” he shouted, starting to lose his calm.

People were shouting and screaming around me, pushing against my body. I was being engulfed again, and my breath constricted. I could barely move through the thrust and tug of the crowd. The handsome Samaritan probably couldn’t single-handedly keep the crowd away from me anymore. My eyelids were closing. I couldn’t breathe.

“Come here!” he said, his hand tightly gripping one of my arms. He was pulling me in a different direction from the rest of the crowd. Just the touch of his fingers on my skin made my eyes yank open. It was like I had never been touched before, like he had breathed life into my soul. He was taking me somewhere, and I didn’t have the energy or will to protest.