Chapter Three

Tessa

My cell phone chimes, I awaken with a start. Peering around the room, I can tell from the soft afternoon sunlight that I slept for hours. The clock on my phone reads four-thirty. Holy shit! It’s an hour and a half past quitting time. I jump to my feet and rush to the kitchen, grabbing my purse with one hand and quickly scrolling messages with the other. Mr. Thomas, the director of the Com Center, is super happy I can help with dinner and stay overnight.

The more the merrier…

If I weren’t panic-stricken, I might even smile at his words. It’s been the community center’s motto ever since he came to work there a few years ago. The staff there makes sure everyone feels welcome. Always. Anytime. Because of their tremendous generosity, the center gets full city funding every year. He gets plenty of support from private donors too. Every time I go, the director is schmoozing some big shot to get funds for a new program.

Grabbing my purse, I hurry to the elevator and jab the button several times.

“Why am I doing this?” I mutter to myself. “It won’t make the elevator come any faster.”

A moment later, a whoosh announces the elevator’s arrival. I hold my breath as the doors open, my heart thundering. I have no idea when Mr. Savage gets home in the afternoons.

The elevator is empty. I breathe. I step inside and press the button for the lobby. Now all I have to hope for is that Mr. Savage won’t be waiting downstairs to take the elevator up. But when the doors open, there’s no one on the other side. The lobby is busy, but with the normal afternoon crowd, no imposing six-foot-four beast of a man. With a sigh of relief, I pray that I haven’t missed the downtown bus.

With seconds to spare, I catch the bus, and take a seat near the back. On the trip downtown, I get a few texts from Chelsea, practically begging me to meet them for dinner. I don’t respond. Something about Chelsea’s tone bugs me. Like everything that happened a few nights ago is no big deal. She’s never invited me out to dinner with Brendon or any of her boyfriends. Why now?

Does Chelsea want my approval? Did Brendon really want my forgiveness that badly?

I mull things over all the way to the Com Center. When I get there, I see that a crowd has already gathered outside the doors. The facility won’t open to the public for another ten minutes. That gives me just enough time to dart inside the staff entrance and stow my purse in a locker. I go to the front desk and check in.

“Thank goodness you’re here, girl,” the receptionist says. She hands me a staff apron and a nametag. “It’s going to be a wild night. We’re expecting a foot of snow.”

I shiver. “I came straight from work. All I have is a light jacket. Tomorrow morning will be fun.”

The woman gives me a worried look. “We can’t have our volunteers getting pneumonia.”

I smile and hurry to the kitchen. I pass Mr. Thomas’s office. Sure enough, even tonight, on the eve of a snowstorm, he’s in there sweet-talking someone out of a check. One with lots of zeros probably. Mr. Thomas looks up from his messy desk and waves. He’s in formal dress, with slacks, a dress shirt and a tie, but he’s got a huge smear of red sauce on his shirt. He must have been helping make dinner.

“Glad you’re here! I worried you might not make it down.”

“Better late than never.”

“Yeah, but no time to make your famous chocolate sheet cake, huh, Contessa?”

“Ugh – please, just Tessa.” I point to my nametag.

He shakes his head. “My bad.”

I keep from rolling my eyes. Mr. Thomas has two teenagers and tries to be hip. It’s sort of amusing to see how hard he tries sometime. He loves his wife and kids. He talks about them all the time. His office might be a disaster, but the wall behind his chair is covered in family photos.

“I promise to make chocolate cake next time, Mr. T.” He pretends to pout, waves me off and goes right back to chatting up his guest. I hear him say something about getting funding to hire me full-time.

I step closer to the doorway and see the man he’s talking to.

This is the first time he’s said anything about wanting to hire me. This would be a dream job. I should be doing cartwheels down the hallway. Instead, I’m struck by the guy sitting across from him. A big, imposing man. Maybe thirty or so. For some reason, he gives me a long and intense look. I’m rooted to the spot by something I don’t understand at all.

He’s a powerful-looking man judging from the expanse of his shoulders. He’s nicely dressed and ruggedly handsome, but he’s got a small cut above his eye that makes him look thuggish. Maybe he’s not the guy with money. Maybe he’s the thug who works for the guy with money, delivering a sizeable donation.

The noise of the Com Center fades from my consciousness as I stare, unable to tear my gaze from him. He’s sprawled in the chair. His posture is casual, and yet there’s an undeniable feral energy to this man. Maybe he always has that vibe, but right now he looks as if he might spring from his chair like a big predator coming after his prey, and he’s looking at me like I’m just that. Prey.

Mr. Thomas chatters on about my skills in the kitchen, but the man’s not listening. Slowly, his mouth curves with an indecent smile. His gaze travels down my body, making me shiver.

Holy hell, what is with this guy?

And what’s wrong with me. It’s like he’s holding me captive while he’s undressing me with his eyes. My breasts ache. Warmth gathers in my core and I can feel myself become slick with arousal. Out of all the men my friends have tried to set me up with, none have had any effect on me. I take a step back, overcome with an urgent sense of self-preservation.

His eyes darken with some unspoken command, warning me against trying to get away from him. But his smile tells me he’d enjoy the chase. I shake my head. I need to clear my thoughts. We have a hundred-plus people to feed tonight and I can’t start my shift frazzled and bewildered by some guy I don’t even know.

“Work to do.” I turn and I’m out of there.

My heart thunders in my chest as I stumble into the supply closet. I grab an apron. After I put it on, I lean against the wall for a long moment, trying to calm myself. That was crazy. Or I’m crazy. I’m not sure which, but I need to settle down. Once dinner is served, I’ll eat and I’m sure I’ll feel better. I take a deep breath and go back to the chaos of the kitchen.

This is my wheelhouse, I try to tell myself. I’m in control. In the summer, when the hurricane hit, I ran the kitchen like a boss and my team cranked out dinner for over three hundred clients. I won’t let some guy throw me off my game with his very dirty, very suggestive look. Not happening.

The dinner crew has a spaghetti and meatball dinner ready to go. Steam rises from the serving pans and the savory aroma makes my stomach rumble. Usually, I get here early enough to pitch in with cooking. Not today.

“Can you serve salad?” a volunteer shouts.

“Sure,” I yell back.

I nod a silent hello to a few of the other people in the kitchen, but there’s little time to chat. The girl setting out rolls is a college student. She gives me a little wave. The man washing pots owns a nursery in Westmoreland. A few others I recognize from prior evenings when I helped with dinner. You never know who you might meet. It could be a soccer mom, ex-military, or a member of the city council.

The clients start coming in. They file into the kitchen’s serving area and move through the line, filling their trays with food. Some of them joke around. One of the young men eyes the trays of pasta and promptly requests a cheeseburger, which prompts a few laughs from his companions. A few grumble about Italian food, but most smile. The crowd is a little bigger than usual. Normally we feed around seventy-five folks and tonight it’s more like a hundred.

One of the clients, an older man, returns to the food line, frowning and scanning the selection.

“Are you looking for seconds, sir?”

“No, just wondering if there’s dessert tonight.”

A pang of guilt squeezes my chest. They probably planned on me baking that chocolate cake and I let them down. I can feel my face warming with embarrassment. I still can’t believe I fell asleep on Mr. Savage’s couch.

“We have ice cream in the walk-in freezer,” one of the volunteers offers.

I suppress a groan. Ice cream? When we’re expecting the blizzard of the century sometime in the next few days? “Give me just a moment. I’ll be right back.”

I make my way through the crowded kitchen, down the hallway past the staff rooms and pull open the heavy door of the walk-in freezer. I grab the 2x4 and prop the door open, like Mr. Thomas showed me when I started. A proper repair of the door would cost thousands of dollars and Mr. Thomas said that kind of money should go to food, not repairs.

I flip the switch, but only one light comes on. The freezer is still mostly dark, but I have just enough light to read the boxes.

“Chicken nuggets, Salisbury steak, meatballs, everything but ice cream,” I mutter under my breath. After a few moments of searching, I spot a cardboard box with “Ice Cream Sandwiches – Vanilla” stamped on the outside, on the very top shelf. I step up onto a crate, get on my tiptoes, trying to reach the box. A sharp pain stabs my ribs. I cry out, grabbing my side. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wait for the pain to pass. Darn that Brendon! An image of him charging at me flashes in my memory.

“Miss?”

I shriek and whirl to see who has come in behind me. I lose my balance and start to fall, but he’s there immediately, catching me. I scramble like a crazy person for a second until he sets me down and moves away from me. In the shadowed light, I can’t make out his features, but he’s tall and big. Very big. He must be the guy from the office. If it’s him, I’ll scream. Or maybe I won’t. I’m not sure about any of my usual responses, not after our staring contest earlier.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. They said you might need help carrying the box.”

I didn’t hear the man speak when I saw him in the office, but I’m certain it’s him. I take a moment to catch my breath. When I’ve regained my wits, I let out a breathless laugh. The man wants to help. Why am I so jumpy?

He moves closer. My worry flares as he narrows the distance between us. My heartbeat is out of control, fear gripping me, but something else lurks in the background. A feeling I can’t put my finger on. I coax air into my lungs and try get control of the fear that comes over me. Brendon frightens me, I have to admit, but not in the way this man frightens me. He seems to sense my distress and stops a few feet away. He holds up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. I let out a small huff of relief.

“Are you hurt?” His voice sounds gentle. Concerned.

“It’s nothing. J-just bruised ribs.”

“Bruised ribs hurt a lot. Why don’t you let me get the box down?”

“Thank you.”

I press myself against the frozen shelves as he moves past. My breath catches in my throat as he brushes against me. He doesn’t brush against me in the same gross way some guys do when they want to cop a feel. He’s just so freaking huge, there’s not a lot of room for him to get past. He pulls the box down from the top shelf. Metal flashes. He wears a watch, a thick, masculine, expensive-looking watch.

“Is this it?” he asks politely.

“Yes. Thank you.”

He tugs the big box easily from the high shelf, acting like it’s nothing more than a shoebox or something that weighs almost nothing. “Lead the way.”

“Right.”

I rub my hands over my arms, trying to ward off the chill. I should probably introduce myself, but I feel awkward. He’s probably just a well-meaning supporter of the Com Center. He’s helpful, sure, but not especially friendly, and I have to assume that’s because he’s just checking out the operations. He might have flirted a little back in the office. Or not. Maybe it’s just my imagination.

I start to head for the door but then I realize something horrible. It’s shut. Locked.

“No…” I whisper.

“Now what?”

“The door. It’s locked. It doesn’t open from the inside.”

“That’s not good,” he says, his voice edged with amusement.

“You must have kicked the 2x4 when you came in.” If I sound shrill, it’s because I’m panicked. I’m locked in a soundproof chamber with a stranger, a man who is seriously messing with my mind. I have no phone. I’m not usually so skittish.

“That’s what that was…” He bends down to pick up the 2x4.

“You need to leave the door open,” I whisper.

“It’s my fault, is it?”

I don’t respond, unsure what to say. He sets the box down, steps past and moves to the door. After a few attempts to open it, he turns to face me. Leaning against the door, he folds his arms across his chest. He doesn’t look at all remorseful. If anything, he seems to think the situation is funny.

“It is your fault,” I say, feeling a little of my courage return.

“Guess we’re going to be here a while.” He peers at my nametag. “Tessa.”

“This isn’t exactly funny. We might not get discovered for a while.”

“You shouldn’t come in here by yourself. What if someone followed you?”

“Someone did follow me!”

He rubs the back of his neck and growls. Growls. Like I’m the unreasonable one here.

I draw a shivering breath, my worry fading, irritation taking its place. “Can you at least bang on the door or something?”

Shrugging, he bangs the door with his massive fist. The thud of his fist hitting his door fills the icy freezer and then fades. It’s loud, but I can’t imagine anyone in the kitchen heard a thing.

“They’ll come soon,” he says.

“I’m going to be frozen soon,” I reply more sharply than I intended. “I should have kept my phone, but it’s in my purse. I’m always cold. I don’t know why.”

I also always babble nervously when I feel uncomfortable. I have this stupid need to fill silence.

He slips off his coat. Letting it dangle from his finger, he arches a brow. “Want my coat?”

The cold seeps into my bones. My teeth will start chattering soon.

“I’d hate for you to get cold, Tessa.” He moves closer and holds out the coat, dialing my discomfort up a hundred notches. If I let him help me put the coat on, I’ll have to turn my back to him. That’s the last thing I want to do, for some reason, maybe because he’s head and shoulders taller than me. And I’m not sure he didn’t pull the door shut on purpose. Still, I don’t want to seem paranoid either.

But I’m freezing, too, so I decide I should be more worried about the cold than Mr. Important Who Has Me Trapped in the Freezer.

Slowly I turn. His boots scrape the concrete and he sets the coat on my shoulders.

“There you go,” he says quietly.

The lining of the coat holds his warmth. Shivering, I pull it around me like a blanket. A hint of his scent wafts from the coat, leather and spice along with a familiar smell I can’t place.

“Thank you. I’m always cold.” I laugh awkwardly. “I’m repeating myself.”

“Let me warm you up.”

My breath catches as I turn to face him. His words are pure sin and his tone is worse, but his expression is gently mocking.

“With my coat,” he adds like he’s clarifying.

I’m about to ask Mr. Important Who Has Me Trapped in the Freezer his name but he speaks before I have a chance.

“How did you bruise your ribs?”

His words and his voice and his proximity undo a little more of my caution. Or maybe it’s the feeling of being wrapped in his coat. Without another thought, the words tumble out from my mouth. “I got into an argument with someone. My roommate’s boyfriend. He got mad and shoved me.”

I figured that would make an impression, but I was in no way prepared for his response. His jaw clenches. His mouth twists with outright fury. His shoulders tense, and a pulse ticks on his throat.

I try to walk things back a little. “I know it’s bad.” I give a breathless laugh. “But you should see the other guy.”

He’s not laughing at all. The silence stretches between us. I don’t get a sense that he’s going to let this go. He still looks pissed. In an attempt to shield myself from his anger, I pull the coat more tightly around myself.

“Maybe you need a new roommate.” His tone is hard, like he’s talking between gritted teeth.

“I do. She promised to break up with him after that, but they got back together today. That’s why I’m working here tonight. So I could crash in the staff room.”

He nods, a slight movement that I almost miss.

“But I’m stuck with Chelsea for at least three more months.”

“Three months?”

“My name’s on the lease.”

“I see.”

“Her boyfriend has always given me the creeps.”

“The creeps?”

I wince. Why in the heck do I keep talking? Mr. Important will never fund a full-time position now. Not unless he sees me as a charity case. “Maybe I’m imagining things.”

“Imagining things?”

“It’s just a weird feeling I get from him.”

“So you’re saying that the guy who threatened his girlfriend and shoved you hard enough to bruise your ribs gives you a weird feeling, but you might be imagining things?”

He gives a humorless laugh and I can’t help feeling a little judged. I just want to get away from this guy, but his tone irritates me. He might write big checks for the Com Center, but that doesn’t mean he gets to act all smug and superior.

“Well, thanks. You make me sound sort of dumb.”

“You’re not dumb. Lots of women give men too many chances.”

“That’s true,” I admit. “I’m doing the same thing as Chelsea.”

He doesn’t reply.

“Are you a psychologist or something?”

“No.”

“A cop?”

“No.”

Okay, fine. Don’t tell me, I feel like telling him. I don’t even know your name and I just told you about my shitty roommate situation. The cold is making me overshare. “I can’t feel my toes. What if we die of hypothermia?”

He frowns. I’m sure he thinks I’m beyond dumb. He crosses the small room, stops in front of me and tugs the coat open. He’s close, invading my space big time, but I don’t move away. If anything, I’m drawn to him. Freezing to death starts with losing your inhibitions, apparently. My feet refuse to move and suddenly, I have the crazy idea that he might kiss me.

He reaches into the breast pocket of his coat and pulls out a phone.

I give a small gasp of irritation. “You forgot you had a phone or something?”

“I didn’t forget.” He scrolls through the numbers, selects one and I hear the call going through. I shake my head, trying to push away a feeling of dizziness. “I told you all that, and I don’t even know your name.”

He ignores me, speaking instead to the person who answered his call. “You need to take part of the money I just gave you and fix the freezer door.”

Spots float in my vision as I sway on my feet. I should have eaten earlier. Distantly, I hear him end the call. He steps closer. So close that I have the perfect view of his five o’clock shadow. It looks rough and shadowed. I snort with a drunken sort of laugh. I have brain freeze.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not even sure,” I mutter. “I’m cold. I should never have…”

It feels like something’s pulling me to the floor. I stagger. My knees buckle. I brace for the pain of hitting the floor, but he moves quickly, catching me. He lifts me in his arms and I hear him speak softly. “Easy, Tessa, I’ve got you.”