CHAPTER TWO
Jane vastly preferred Boston in the spring, and as cities went, the place was not awful. Parts of it—the harbor, the aquarium, the astonishing variety of food at Faneuil Hall—were actually kind of cool.
Thinking of the New England Aquarium—all those fish, lobsters, squid, and sharks—made her stomach growl. She'd been too annoyed to eat lunch, and when she had walked out of the reception, she had also walked out on her supper.
She turned onto a side street, taking a short-cut to Legal Sea Foods, a restaurant that did not suck. She'd have a big bowl of clam chowder, and some raw oysters, and a steak, and a lobster. And then another lobster. And maybe something for dessert. And a drink. Maybe three.
A scent caught her attention, forcing a split-second decision. She turned onto another street, one much less crowded, curious to see if the men were going to keep following her.
They were. She hadn't seen their faces, just caught their odor as they swung around to follow her on Park Street. They smelled like desperation and stale coffee grounds. She was well dressed, and probably looked prosperous to them. Prime pickings.
She turned again, this time down a deserted alley. If the two would-be robbers thought they were keeping her from supper, they were out of their teeny, tiny minds. She could easily outrun them, but that would mean kicking off her heels. The stupid pinchy shoes cost forty bucks; she was not leaving them in a Boston alley.
If push came to shove, or shove came to bite, she'd bounce her stalkers off the bricks. Possibly more than once, the mood she was in.
"Halt, gentlemen."
Jane jumped. There was a man standing at the end of the alley, and she hadn't known he was there until he spoke up. When was the last time that had happened?
He was tall—over six feet—and well built, for someone who wasn't pack. His shoulders were broad and he definitely had the look of a man used to working with his hands. He had blond hair the color of wheat, and his eyes—even from fifteen feet away she could see their vivid color—were Mediterranean blue. He was wearing all black: dress slacks, a shirt open at the throat, a dark gray duster that went almost all the way to his heels.
And—what's this now? He was squinting in the poor light of the alley, and slipping on a pair of sunglasses. Sunglasses—how weird was that, at ten-thirty at night?
"I have business with the young lady," Weirdo continued, walking toward them. His hands were open, relaxed. She knew he wasn't carrying a weapon, and if she hadn't been so fucking hungry she might have liked to watch him prance around a little. "Much kinder business, I think, than you two. So be on your way, all right?" Then, in a lower voice, "Don't be afraid, miss. I won't hurt you. Hardly at all."
"Step back, Sunglasses At Night," she snapped, and with barely a glance, she stiff-armed him into the side of the building and hurried past. She had no time for would-be muggers, and less for random weirdos lurking in alleys. Let the three of them fight it out. She had a date with a dead crustacean.
Behind her, Sunglasses yelped in surprise. There was a flat smack as he hit the wall, then slid down. She'd tossed him a little harder than she meant—oopsie—and then the other two jumped him, and she was out of the alley.
She could see the restaurant up ahead. Just a few more steps and she could order her well-deserved (she hadn’t been mean to anyone at the wedding or the reception) and delicious meal. Whatever was happening behind her was nothing beyond MYOB. Just a few more...
She stopped.
Don't you dare.
Turned.
C'mon, enough already! They're human...it's none of your business.
She started back toward the alley. Sunglasses was a weirdo, but he was vulnerable to attack because of what she had done. Yeah, they were human, but it was one thing to mind your own business, and another to turn your back on a mess you helped make.
You moron! Who knows when you'll get to eat now?
"Fuck off, inner voice," she said aloud. People thought the outer Jane was a
bitch; God forbid they should ever meet the inner Jane.
She stepped into the alley to help, and was just in time to see the second mugger crumple to the filthy, shiny (ugh) street. The first was half in and half out of the dumpster.
And Sunglasses was hurrying, hurrying toward her, licking the blood off his knuckles.
"As I was saying before you tossed me against the wall, I have business with you, miss. And where on earth do you work out?"
She was so surprised she let him put his hands on her shoulders, let him draw her close. He smiled at her and even in the poorly lit alley she could see the light gleaming on his teeth. His very long canines. His fangs, to be perfectly blunt. He had fangs, and it wasn't even close to the full moon.
Where’s a ‘da fuq?’ meme when I need one?
"What the hell are you?" She put a hand to his chest to keep him from pulling her closer. His heart beat once. Then nothing.
He blinked at her. "What? Usually the lady in question is halfway to fainting by now. To answer your question, I'm the son of a farmer. That's all."
"My ass," she said rudely. "I came back to give you a hand—"
"How sweet."
"—but you're fine—“
“Thank you.”
“—and I'm hungry."
"What a coincidence," he murmured. He tapped a sharp canine with his tongue. Beneath her palm, his heart beat again. "My, you're exceedingly beautiful. I suppose your beaux tell you that all the time."
"Bows? Like bows and arrows? And you're full of shit," she informed him. Beautiful? Shyeah. She wasn't petite and she wasn't tall—just somewhere in the middle. Average height, average weight, average hair color—not quite blonde and not quite brown—average nose, mouth, chin. She could see her average eyes reflected in his sunglasses. She wasn’t modest; she knew she was attractive. But that was a far cry from beautiful. "And you'd better let go before I hit you so hard, you'll spend the rest of the night throwing up your teeth."
He blinked again, then smiled. "Forgive the obvious question, but aren't you even a little nervous? It's dark...and you're quite alone with me. Why, I might do anything to you." He licked his lower lip thoughtfully. "Anything at all."
"This is really, really boring, fuck-o," she informed him. "Leggo."
"I decline."
She brought her foot down on his, felt his toes squish through the dress shoe. Then she knocked him away from her with a right cross. This time, when he went down, he stayed down.
Twenty minutes later, she was happily slurping the first of a dozen oysters on ice.