VERITY

Darkness and pouring rain greet me as I leave work. Not surprising for an English autumn, but as I drive the ferocity blurs my windscreen and the sound drowns out the music playing. The screen mists too, and I crank up the air-con to blast heat at the window. Maybe I should stop until the weather clears a little?

I squint through the misted window, relieved I'm almost home, and take a right turn into the narrow street leading to the parking area behind the building. A dark shape looms in the road before me, and I have milliseconds to register the tall figure's a person before slamming on my brakes. The tyres skid on the wet road as I attempt to switch the car's trajectory. Instead of remaining still, the figure steps in the same direction, and straight in front of the car.

The next noise sickens my stomach and launches me into full-blown panic mode. A bang, and the figure falling from view. I'm stunned for a second, frozen in indecision. Uh, you hit somebody, and you're sitting in the car still? With trembling fingers, I dig around in my purse and pull out my phone, opening the car door with my other hand.

Heart pounding at what I might see on the road, I rush around to the front of the car as I fumble to dial emergency services.

A man sits on the tarmac, hand on the side of his head. Noticing me, he jumps to his feet and sways.

"Shit," he mutters.

In the dark, all I can see is he's tall, wearing jeans and a combat style jacket. His hair, longer at the sides, falls into his face as steadies himself on the car.

And that he stands beside an impressive dent.

I blink away the rain falling onto my eyelashes and soaking my hair. "I'm so sorry; I didn't see you. Are you okay?"

"Who are you calling?" He speaks in a low voice with a cultured English accent, with no hint of anger—or pain.

"An ambulance."

"I don't need an ambulance."

"I just hit you with my car, at a speed road safety experts suggest would kill a small child."

"Do I look like a small child?" He moves away from the car and straightens, wiping at his damp jeans and jacket sleeves.

"No, but you dented my car." I gesture at the front.

The guy coughs a laugh. "I apologise for the damage."

"No, no. I mean, look at the dent. Why aren't you hurt?"

"The car didn't hit me that hard. Your bodywork must be shit."

"You made a bang. A loud one."

"I made a bang?" The amusement tinges his voice.

The rain pours over us as if someone's standing above hosing icy water on our heads. My car headlights shine through the downpour, the only light, as we stand in the dark entrance to the car park. Nobody else is around; a couple of cars are in their resident bays, and others pass along the town street a few hundred metres away.

"I think you need checking out by a doctor. You might have a concussion." I hold the now damp phone against my ear and recoil when the guy steps forward.

He curls a hand around mine to pull the phone away. His face is undamaged; mouth pursed, large eyes fixed on mine. My already panicked heart rate picks up again at his touch, how his fingers are warm against my cold ones. Those lips... exactly the kind a girl could tug into her mouth and bite.

I allow him to take my phone, unable to keep up with the situation. The rain continues to pelt down, soaking our clothes.

I know this man.

Well, his ass anyway.

"Are you the new guy from work?" I blurt.

"New guy?" He peers at me. "Oh. You work at Alphanet too. Don't you?"

He recognises me? "Yes.”

“I'm Heath. Nice to meet you. Kind of." He nods at me, rain dripping from his long fringe and along his cheek. I lick my lips as I watch the raindrops cross his. "You should go home and lie down for the shock," he says in a soft voice.

"I am home," I stammer and point at the building. "Almost."

I step backwards to shelter beneath the building's overhanging eaves; my work shirt sticks to my body, water running down my legs and into my sneakers.

How is he okay? I just bloody slammed my car into him.

"Are you telling me I'm the one who needs medical help here?" I ask.

"Well, I don't." He dips his head and joins me in my sheltered place.

My panicked mind speeds up with stories about people who pretend to be injured, who abduct people and rob them, or worse. Men who charm themselves into women's homes. What if he knows I live alone? Is planning to...

I flinch away from him. "Right. Thanks. If you really are okay, maybe I should go inside. Could I have my phone, please?"

"Seriously, Verity, I'm not about to hurt you." He drops the phone into my palm.

Whoa. I step sideways and eye my car, planning an escape. "First, Mr. Ironman, how do you know my name when you've never spoken to me? And secondly, how do I know you won't hurt me?"

He crosses his arms. "Firstly, Miss Bad Driver, I work with you. And secondly, you have a keen sense for bullshit. Am I lying?"

He's correct. I'd detect in a heartbeat if he lied. I wipe water from my face with cold hands and attempt to make out his features. “How would you know...?” I trail off.

“I’ll prove it.” He pulls a lanyard from his pocket. "I've worked at Alphanet for three weeks. I thought you'd seen me around?"

The tug at the corner of his mouth confirms it. He knows who I am, caught me staring at his ass the other day, so why pretend otherwise?

Keeping my eyes on his, I take the lanyard from his hands and study the card. Heath Landon. His employer number. A criminally attractive photo. The “serial killer” look is standard for everybody, on any photo taken for ID, not his. Seriously, you should see my passport. I look like a freaking zombie.

"Then why are you lurking near my house? Are you stalking me?" I demand.

"Near your house? I was crossing the street on my way to the pub, and you mowed into me!"

Again, Heath isn't lying; my strange sixth sense tells me that. Plus, I do live on a street in the centre of town, not far from pubs and shops.

"Right. Sorry," I mumble and hand back the lanyard. "And you're sure you're okay?" The bizarreness of the situation bites. "Really, I feel responsible. Like you might have internal injuries or something. People don't stand and walk away when cars hit them."

"Evidently they do." He drags a phone from his jacket and frowns down at the screen. "You broke my phone though."

"Sorry. I can pay to replace it?" I wrinkle my nose, my wet clothes becoming more uncomfortable as the moments pass. "I need to go inside. Do you want to uh...? I can get you a coffee or... I can take you to Emergency to get checked out by a doctor?"

Heath chews on his lip and stares behind me, losing all interest in our conversation. I shiver as if somebody standing behind ran fingers along my spine, then dug their fingers into my hair.

I turn my head. A tall figure crosses the car park on the other side of the small space, head bowed against the rain. Heath steps closer to me, and I move away when his hand touches my arm. Personal space, much?

Heath continues to watch the male figure until he rounds the corner and into the street, out of view.

Blinking, he rubs a hand across his damp hair. "Listen, I need to go. I'm meeting friends, and I'm late. How about I find you tomorrow when we're at work and prove that I'm okay? Buy me a coffee, then?" He lifts up one arm, coat torn, revealing a chequered shirt beneath. "Maybe compensation for ruining my clothes."

His taciturn face lights as his mouth pulls into a teasing grin, sharpening his cheekbones.

My head spins at the situation. What am I supposed to do? I can't force Heath to stay with me or into my home, or bundle him into my car and drive him to the hospital. I doubt I could physically move a guy that solid anywhere; it's a good thing he isn't still lying on the ground injured. I attempt to find words relevant to the situation, but speech fails me.

"I'll be with my friends. If I collapse with internal bleeding, they can help."

Shit. "Do you think you might?”

"No. I don't. Park your car, go home, and warm up. See you tomorrow."

I open my mouth to protest, but before I can utter a word, Heath hunches his shoulders and walks away through the rain. I watch for a limp, or in case he crumples to the ground. I've heard of male bravado, but this is ridiculous. Yet the whole time I spoke to Heath, he didn't wince once and was completely lucid.

Completely bloody weird.

If he's meeting up with friends, I guess he'll be okay if something does happen. I walk around to inspect my car again. I can't judge exactly how much damage there is, but there's definitely a dent.

A dent to match the one in my confused mind.