Chapter 2
Mira
I have never been so thankful to reach the end of a work day as I was after my session with Blaine Steel.
I was still muttering to myself while I sorted out the last bit of paperwork so I could leave for the day. I could still feel the ghost of his hand against my backside, as if his touch had left a tingling sensation of awareness behind.
Which was partly why I was still angry. Not only had he made me completely lose my professional façade, but he’d also broken through all the walls surrounding my personal space and touched me. This arrogant prick, whom I’d loathed from the first moment I met, had put his hand on me.
And part of me had liked it.
I paused by the door and clutched at the knob as an echo of the shocking sensation of his hand against my arse made me shiver again. It shouldn’t have felt good, at all, and I was furious at myself for having any sort of positive reaction to that… that twat, even if it was purely physical.
With a huff I turned the knob and yanked open the door. Clearly, it had been too long since I’d had a man in my life.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d gone to university to learn all about the human psyche, yet was unable to get past my own childhood trauma to let anyone properly into my life.
At least I acknowledged it. I locked my office door and put my keys into my purse with a sigh. Perhaps it was time to face my demons soon, so I could start looking for a good man without scaring him off like I had my last semi-serious boyfriend. If nothing else, then because it might stop my neglected ovaries from dancing on the tables just because a man with muscles and a wicked smile groped me.
It was dark when I stepped out of the run-down building and onto the street, as it always was this time of day in late October. Dim streetlights illuminated the pothole-rich road, but so many of them were busted that most of the light came from neon signs above closed shops, as well as the windows of the few restaurants and chippies lining the road. This part of East London wasn’t exactly the poshest of places, but it was the only place I had been able to afford to set up my small office. I was situated just above a Thai restaurant. The thing about getting a new identity is that it makes it awfully hard to go to a bank and ask for a business loan.
“Hey, babe!”
I glanced up at a wolf-whistle, and then quickly looked straight ahead again at the sight of a small group of young men loitering by the corner shop. I’d seen them hang around the area before, but had always managed to cross the road before they spotted me. Too late now. The only thing worse than crossing the road after they’d seen me would be to turn around and run. I gritted my teeth and prepared myself for some inevitable harassment.
“What’s you so uptight about, babe?” one of them shouted as I walked past without looking to their side.
“Bitch needs a good shag, mate,” another said, which was followed by rough laughter. “Hey, come here, princess, and I’ll show you what you need.”
I ignored their shouts and rushed forward while clinging on to my purse, but suddenly, I found my way blocked.
One of the men had stepped out in front of me and was leering at me. “Calm down, babe. We just want to talk.”
I tried to sidestep, but he followed and put a hand on my shoulder. “Not so fast.”
My heart leapt into my throat at the contact. Catcalling and street harassment was one thing—a typical nuisance of being a single female out on her own—but he was stopping me from leaving now, and I was having a hard time pushing back the first sliver of panic.
“Let go of me!”
“Aw, don’t be like that,” one of them purred behind me. “We just want to show you a good time.”
“You should pay us for our kindness.” A sharp tug on my purse’s shoulder strap made me cling on harder to my bag.
“Get off me!”
“Oi! Leave the lady alone.” It wasn’t a full-on shout, but the new voice mixing in with the whoops and laughs of the group had a distinct no-nonsense tone. The guy grabbing on to my bag was shoved out of the way, and suddenly I was no longer alone in the circle of youths.
“Hey, who the fuck—” The protesting voice behind me died as the newcomer next to me spun around.
“Piss off. And if I see you harassing birds on the street again, you’re going to regret the day you slid out of your mother’s cunt, got it?”
Someone muttered “Sorry,” and then, to my utter astonishment, they all took off down the street and around the corner.
I blinked and readjusted my purse, taking just a moment to gather myself before I looked up at my savior. “Thank you, that—” The words died in my throat when he turned around and his gray eyes met mine.
“You all right?”
“Yeah.” I stared up at Blaine for a couple of seconds—long enough for that trademark smirk to reappear—before I managed to pull myself together. “Why did they run from you like that?”
He shrugged and put both hands in his jean pockets. “My family’s pretty well-known in some parts of the city. You headed for the station?”
I nodded and gave him a long side-look as he fell into step alongside me. In any big city, only a few families could make low-level thugs scarper just on sight. I’d made it a point to stay far, far away from those sorts of people since I left Belfast years ago, but there was no way Blaine knew anything about where I came from. If he had, I’d likely be in the back of a van by now, not casually strolling down the street beside him.
And, honestly, I was a bit curious as to what had made him come to my rescue.
“I didn’t take you for the kind of guy who would lurk around, waiting for an opportunity to save damsels in distress.”
Blaine laughed. “Haven’t diagnosed me with a hero complex, then, little dove?”
“No—no, Mr. Steel, that I haven’t. You are about as far from a hero as it gets.”
“How rude,” he hummed. “And after I swooped in and saved you from those big, bad bullies. Aren’t therapists supposed to build up their patients’ self-esteem?”
“Not when that patient’s ego is already way overblown. But it’s not like you’ll be my patient going forward, so we’re good regardless.” Savior or not, being back in Blaine’s presence and feeling my body instinctively lean toward him reminded me of how much of a jerk he’d been during our session. I scowled at his handsome profile for good measure.
“Does that mean you’ve changed your mind about shagging me?” He didn’t even look at me, just grabbed my arm and stepped off the pavement so he could lead me across the road.
I did my best to ignore the shiver of awareness his touch drove through my skin, even through my wooly coat. Damn him and whatever all-male pheromones he seemingly bathed in before going out! And damn my traitorous ovaries.
“No offense, but I would rather slit my wrists.” I yanked my elbow out of his grasp the moment we were on the pavement again. “Does this usually work for you? Do women really drop their knickers when you make your interest in their fun bits known?”
“Generally, they do, yes. In fact, your continued refusal might end up doing permanent damage to my fragile self-image. Isn’t it in your ethical code that you must do what you can to help those who come to you seeking help? You really want to risk your professional reputation over the welfare of a patient?”
I really should have learned my lesson from our encounter in my office, but every word out of his mouth grated against my nerves—partly because of my frustration at my body’s reactions, and partly because he served them with the most obscene smirk I’d ever seen. So instead of biting my tongue, I dug my heels in and rounded on him.
“I realize that your crippling self-hatred is so tied to your masculinity that you constantly try to undermine strong women with crude attempts at sexual dominance, but maybe you should try to see us as more than something to bury your cock in, hmm? Whatever it is you’re so desperately trying to hide from yourself, it isn’t going to go away by sexually harassing anyone who thinks to challenge you.”
Blaine’s deviant lips twitched, most likely at making me lose my temper—again. “Ah, but I have nothing against strong women, Miss Holler. I’ll even let you be on top.”
I took a deep—deep—breath and counted to ten. “Sometimes, Blaine, we don’t get what we want. It’s part of our emotional development. Clearly, you’ve missed out, so see this as an opportunity to better yourself. If I had gotten the pony I desperately wanted for my sixth birthday, I would probably have ended up a horrible human being who thought she could get anything and anyone she pointed at, as well.” Yeah, I was subtle. “But I didn’t, and look at me now, all capable of acting like a normal person.”
My righteous fury had done nothing to dim the devilish gleam in Blaine’s eyes. “You say I’m the one who’s scared, but you should see yourself—you look positively terrified that a night in the sack with me will make that prim and proper façade of yours come tumbling down.”
Well, ouch. That hit a tad too close to home. I took a step back and shook my head, disengaging as I should have done from the start. “I truly hope you learn to drop the bad boy act one day so you can get rid of your demons. Goodbye, Blaine.”
* * *
I spent the train ride home doing my best to forget I’d ever met Blaine Steel, but it was hard to ignore how completely he’d gotten under my skin.
I knew it wasn’t just because he’d made my panties damp. No, it was also because he reminded me so strongly of all the things I’d run away from, and all the things I still woke up from nightmares of. He was dangerous; there was no doubt in my mind about that after having looked into his eyes. He was the type of man who could and would crush a person if it suited him, and yet… I hadn’t done everything I could to fly under the radar. I’d argued with him and shoved his flaws in his face, like some moron with a death wish.
Perhaps it meant that I was finally starting to heal? Maybe, if I could face a man like Blaine and not immediately turn around and run in the other direction, then my childhood had finally lost its petrifying grip on me.
I felt marginally better when I got off the train, but I was still too emotionally squashed to consider cooking.
I stopped by my local chippy on my way home, giving my current diet a remorseful thought as the bell jingled merrily upon my entry.
“Chicken Kung Pao, Mira?” Mr. Chang sent me a friendly smile when the smell of fried food and soy sauce enveloped me.
Okay, so maybe there was a reason I never really completed a diet, leaving me in an eternal cycle of restrictive eating, binging, and then guilt. When your local chippy knew both your name and your regular order, there weren’t all that many excuses left.
“Yeah, thanks, Chang,” I said, sending him a pale smile. “With extra sauce, please.”
Oh well, the guilt would have to wait until tomorrow. Right now, all I wanted out of life was my Kung Pao, my sofa, and a date with Doctor Who.
I was already considering maybe slapping on an episode of Coronation Street after the good doctor when I let myself into my apartment ten minutes later, balancing my bag and the food while pulling the keys out of the lock as the door slammed shut behind me. But my musings were cut short when I reached for the light switch and nothing happened.
Dammit. Was the fuse blown? I fumbled my way through the hallway in the darkness toward my kitchen, praying it could be fixed by flipping random switches in the fuse box. Getting an electrician out after hours in London was about as likely as seeing a rainbow-colored unicorn strutting down the street wearing a tutu.
It wasn’t until I got to the kitchen that I realized I wasn’t alone in the flat.
Something scraped against the floor in my living room, but even before I’d managed to convince myself it must have been something outside making a weird noise, I heard the unmistakable sound of boots against the wooden floors, making their way toward the hallway. Cutting off my only escape route.
My pulse surged as I spun around, mindlessly groping for a weapon from my kitchen counter. I grabbed a wooden handle and ripped my weapon to me, dropping the Kung Pao on the floor.
“I know you’re there!” I hissed, my voice sounding somewhat more steady than I felt.
The steps stopped right in the doorway to the kitchen, and then a cone of light momentarily blinded me as someone switched on a flashlight.
I squinted against it, not wanting to lose track of my would-be assailant—and realized my weapon of choice was a wooden spoon.
“Hello, Aignéis,” a cold, dreadfully familiar voice said from beyond the glare. “Or Mira, I suppose you go by these days.”
A small whimper made its way through my throat, but I don’t know how, because every single muscle in my body spasmed and then froze as the man shone the flashlight onto his own face, casting it in an eerie glow.
They had found me.
* * * *