Ariel

It’s all wrong! He should not be in my apartment. Everything I’ve worked so hard to hide feels like it’s now in plain view, splayed open for everyone to see. And there’s a spotlight shining on my past.

“Get out!” I say in a frantic voice. He needs to leave. I need to leave, run before someone drags me back home.

Or worse . . . Oh, God!

He grabs my shoulders, pulling me back from a panic attack. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Please . . .” It’s a plea as I almost crumple to the floor. I just need him to leave.

Wrapping his strong arms around me, he pulls me close. The trembling almost subsides as I gulp big calming breaths, trying to regain my composure. After a few minutes, Luca says, “I’m not leaving you like this.”

I don’t know what to do. What to say. Him being here is the reason I’m like this. Everything would be fine if he left. Except he knows where I live. Where I work. It’s all ruined. Everything I’ve worked for is ruined.

Stepping out of his arms, I’m a little embarrassed for losing it so bad in front of him. I head to the kitchen, which takes me all of seven steps. Looking over my shoulder, I ask, “Wanna glass of wine?” No need to speak proper English, and I need a drink. Or twelve.

“Yes, thank you.”

I grab two glasses from the cabinet and fill them with the wine I bought the other day. It’s probably too cheap for his taste, but it’s all I have. And I like it just fine.

As I pour one glass, and then the other, I remember the feel of his lips on mine. My first kiss. My all-consuming, fire-igniting first kiss. Even now, as I cork the wine, I can feel my lips tingle.

Turning, I see he’s made himself comfortable on my couch. I hand him the glass, but before I can sit somewhere else, he grabs my hand and pulls me down next to him. Some of my wine spills on his expensive white shirt.

“Shit! I’m sorry.” I try to push up, get something to clean his shirt with, but he pulls me back down and wraps one arm around my shoulders.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

I gulp my drink, nothing ladylike about it. He’s made it inside my barrier and I’m lost, just trying to keep my balance on shaky ground.

He gently takes my glass out of my hand and puts it on the table, then wraps both arms around me and looks deeply into my eyes. “Tell me what’s going on.”

I feel like an animal trapped with no way of escaping. He’s in my home. My breathing hitches, and I want to run away. I need to run away!

“Ariel!” He shakes my shoulders, knocking me from my mini panic attack . . . again.

I swallow hard and ask what I desperately need to know. “Did Frank or Davie send you here?”

“Who?” He shakes his head. “I don’t know who or what you’re talking about. No one sent me.”

I search his eyes and see he’s telling the truth. A sliver of hope that he’s being honest creeps into me. He hugs me to his chest, and I feel . . . safe. It’s a strange feeling. Something I haven’t felt for years. It takes me a few minutes, but eventually I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him back. This sexy, arrogant, domineering man has made me feel safe for the first time in years. It doesn’t make sense. I only just met him.

With his chin resting on top of my head, he says, “Tell me what’s going on. Why are you so afraid?”

Shaking my head, I say, “I can’t tell you. I can’t put you or anyone else in danger.”

He laughs. Actually laughs at me and I try to squirm out of his arms. He won’t let me. Instead, he tightens his grip and hugs me closer. “Ariel, I am not anyone else. I’m constantly in danger, but I have the means to protect myself. Protect you.”

I blurt, “I need a shower.” I always shower when I first get home. I move off his lap, grab my glass from the table, and drain the last drop. “I’m getting another glass and heading to the shower. Help yourself if you want more.”

Hot water running over my head and down my back always makes me feel better. I just stand there, my mind racing with questions and answers before I grab the shampoo, letting my fingers work their magic and wash away the grime.

My mind constantly drifts back to that searing kiss. I hope I didn’t embarrass myself because he definitely knew what he was doing. No question.

I dress in my favorite boy shorts and T-shirt, and towel-dry my damp hair before combing out the tangles. I would dress, but it’s almost four a.m., and I’m exhausted, mentally and physically.

I try to ignore the way Luca’s eyes roam the length of me as I refill my glass one more time. I know it’s a bad idea, and the more I drink, the more I talk. But dammit, this situation has pushed me past any barrier, any comfort zone I’d erected.

I drop down on the coach next to him and stretch my legs out, resting my heels on the coffee table.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice thick and low.

My core clenches tight. No matter how much I drink, he still elicits that reaction from my body and it pisses me off a little. “Just peachy,” I say as I take a sip.

“Good. Now tell me what’s going on. Who are you running from?”

I cock my head to the side, a nostalgic mood taking over. Living utterly alone sucks, and I’m tired of it. Tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of keeping myself at arm’s length from everyone I know. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes. And I promise to keep your secret to myself.”

Okay, yes, I’m tired of all that stuff, but I’m not stupid. I still have to hide or face the consequences of Frank’s wrath. Or worse, Davie’s.

“You can’t tell Jimmy.”

He scoffs. “In case you haven’t noticed, Jimmy doesn’t like me very much.”

I shake my head. “Family grudges. I remember.” I take another sip and stare at the switched-off TV. “I thought we were a happy family. I was happy. My mom would take me to the movies.” I smile at Luca. “I love movies. She would buy me gossip magazines and I would keep up with who’s getting married, divorced, and who’s having a baby.”

“I can’t believe you read that trash.”

My face splits wide and I defend my actions. “I was twelve.” I take another drink, still smiling at the memories of Mom. Everything we did together that last year. “I knew that she and my stepfather argued a lot, but soon it became all the time.” I slowly let out a long breath. “One night, I overheard her arguing with him. She wanted to move, get me away from the life we lived. And two days later, I never saw her again.”

“How old were you then?”

“Thirteen.” I don’t look at Luca. I don’t want to see the pity on his face.

“Then what happened?”

“My stepfather changed. He started drinking more and more. He told the principal I moved away with Mom and wouldn’t let me go to school . . .” I inhale sharply as I remember how hard things were in the beginning.

“He beat you.”

It wasn’t a question, but I answer anyway. “He did. But I soon learned to keep my mouth shut, the house spotless, and to stay out of his sight.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

I scoff then shake my head. “I was never allowed outside the house again.” I glance his way. “Still want to know the rest?”

I can see his jaw clench tightly before he nods.

“Very well.” I shrug and take another drink. He’s already pushed me into unknown territory. “We lived down near the Mexico border. My stepfather is a drug mule, unless they’ve killed him by now.” My lips twitch at the thought. “He smuggles drugs one way, cash the other.”

“That’s why you were worried about how I made my money?” Understanding shines in his eyes.

I nod, even though I’m lost in thoughts. “One night, I stole the drug money and made my escape. And here I am.”

“Nooo . . . ” he shakes his head slowly, studying me. “You’re leaving out some things. There is no Ariel Hancock. It took my guys some time to figure it out, and your documents are good, almost too good.”

Now it’s my time to study him. The answer to my next question will decide if I see him again or kick him to the curb. “Why did you have them check out my background?”

“You really don’t have a clue?”

“Why would I?”

Smiling, he says, “Fine. There are women who seek me out, but they’re only after wealthy men. And then I must consider my business competitors who send in plants. You can’t be too careful here. It’s a city where you must protect yourself at all times.”

“But I didn’t seek you out.”

He laughs. “No, you didn’t. And even now you resist me every chance you get. It’s very attractive.” He reaches over and tugs on the end of my damp hair.

Surprisingly, I’m comfortable with him sitting here beside me. His legs stretched out beside mine, our feet touching. Playfully, I say, “Does that mean you’ll leave me alone once you have me?”

He wraps his arm around my shoulders and his lips skim my ear. “No.” His breath brushes my earlobe and just like that, my insides ignite once again. “Now tell me the rest of the story.”

Sighing, I settle back against his arm, resting my head on his shoulder. “The only thing my stepfather kept in the house was a computer. Mom taught me to use it at a young age, and I’d research everything about my favorite actors or actresses. We had a small TV, but I wasn’t allowed to watch it. So, Mom bought me a Roku streaming stick, paid the subscription, and when my stepfather was gone, I’d watch endless movies on the computer.” I smile at the memory, take another sip, and continue. “I’m getting off track.” I shake my head and stifle a yawn. I can feel the effects of the wine.

“I knew a lot about computers. I basically lived in chat rooms and discussion forums. So, before I escaped, I had a plan ready to go. The only problem was stealing the key to unlock the front door.” I feel him stiffen beside me, but I ignore it. It was my life, but not anymore. “I bought a bus ticket for New York at the kiosk, found someone to make fake IDs and documents so I could get a job, and,” I shrug, “that’s it.”

His voice sounds off when he asks, “How old were you, Ariel?”

“When I left?” He nods. “Almost seventeen.”

“How old are you now?”

I sit up and look at him. “Does it matter?”

Shaking his head, he says, “Yes, if you’re under age . . .”

I grin and sit back, nestling against his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Everything I have says I’m over twenty-one.”

“And how old are you?”

“Twenty,” I lie. I’ll be twenty in a couple of weeks, so it’s close enough. “Why? How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-six.”

“That’s young to be so successful.” I relax my head on his shoulder.

“I had a head start, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. Inheritance.” I like him here with me, his arm around my shoulders. It makes me feel safe, at ease now that I’ve got over him walking through the door, knowing where I live. My eyes are heavy and I can’t hold them open any longer.