Looking now at Jeremy, she felt something different.
One second spent touring those broad shoulders, and her blood heated in her veins and her mouth went dry. She wanted to talk and get to know him, even as her brain screamed at her to hide until he snuck out of town again.
He cupped her cheek and ran a thumb over her suddenly dry lips. “Do you really not understand the question?”
“I’m not into big men.”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “Do you know how tempting it is to make a tasteless joke right now?”
The laughter bubbled up from her chest. This time she didn’t try to stop it. She let the amusement flow through her and wipe out some of the horror of the day.
She gave in to the urge to trail her hand across his chest. Firm dips and bulges pressed against her palm. “You’re doing fine.”
“That’s good, because unless you tell me no, I’m going to kiss you. Long and deep, hot and a bit naughty.” He shifted his hands to her hips and pulled her close until his body pressed against hers.
“Jeremy, I—”
“I’ll stop before we go too far, because it’s been a pretty long and not-so-great day, but believe me when I say I won’t want to.”
“Still dealing with that surge of adrenalin?”
“Don’t give the credit to the danger high. It’s been an hour. The night is dark and you’re sexy, and if you wiggle like that one more time, I’m throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you into that room.” He nodded in the general direction of the door. “And I won’t care about my bad timing until tomorrow.”
Copy That
HelenKay Dimon
For Jennifer Dimon
—my fabulous niece, the college graduate. I’m so proud of you!
Chapter One
Meredith Samms heard the front door slam. Not hers. This one belonged to the bottom-floor apartment.
She rented the small one-bedroom tucked into the eaves of the blue craftsman-style housexd. Her place stretched all of 550 square feet from one end to the other. Still, she paid more per month for the tiny space than her parents paid for a mortgage on a two-story Colonial on an acre in upstate New York. That’s what happened when you wanted a piece of what many considered paradise—a home three blocks from the ocean in Coronado, the peninsula of prime real estate across the harbor from downtown San Diego.
Garrett Hill lived in the more spacious apartment downstairs. Not that he stayed there often enough to enjoy it. He traveled most days of the month and had been out of town for three solid weeks. Half the time she knew he was home only when she heard the echo of his heavy footsteps.
This trip struck her as odd, the usual blanket of secrecy lifted. A man she’d never seen before had come to the door two days ago looking for Garrett. A courier had left a package for him, saying Garrett gave her name as someone who could sign for it.
Looked as if he’d broken the whole lone-wolf thing he had going on and she had no idea why. She could ask, even though the chance of getting an answer was slim. Heck, he’d never even told her what he did for a living, and she’d sure poked around that topic several times. Good thing she believed in a healthy dose of persistence.
Slipping off the window seat, she grabbed her key and stuffed it into the back pocket of her cut-off denim shorts. The window air conditioner had lost the race against the unusual scorching July afternoon heat. So much for the theory about San Diego always having perfect seventy-something-degree weather.
Thinking maybe heading downstairs for a visit would keep her T-shirt from sticking to her back, she jogged down the steps, letting her running shoes fall heavily to warn of her impending visit. By the time she hit the small entryway at the bottom of the stairs, she expected Garrett to have his door open. Instead it stayed closed.
She knocked twice. On the second rap, the door slipped open as if the wind had pushed it. Since the air stood deadly still today and Garrett was a bit of a security freak, a ball of anxiety started spinning in her chest. With her past, she didn’t scare easily but this scene had Bad Horror Film written all over it.
If she’d lived anywhere other than low-crime, military-presence-everywhere Coronado, she might have bolted. Instead, she eased the door open. “Garrett?”
Only silence bounced back at her.
Her foot crossed the threshold and she heard a small crack. Looking down, she didn’t see anything other than sturdy wood painted a bright, shiny white.
When she looked up again, there he was. Not Garrett. Garrett was tall and muscular, but this guy, the nonGarrett, was enormous. Like, size-of-a-truck enormous. He had blond hair and wore all black to match his dark frown.
Alarm bells chimed in her head. She couldn’t breathe over the clanking and dinging.
She turned to run, and that fast he was on her. A strong arm wrapped around her waist, trapping her arms against her sides as a hand clamped over her mouth. The oversize dial on his watch dug into her stomach as he spun her around to face the family room again and her feet went airborne. Kicking out as she went, her heel hit the door and slammed it hard against the outside wall.
Despite her defensive efforts, before she could blink she was inside and out of sight of anyone who might walk by. But no way was she giving in without a fight.
She thrashed and shook her head from side to side, hoping for a second where she could ease out of his grip and scream for help. Not that his hand across her mouth stopped her from trying. She yelled until all the air left her lungs, but the sound was muffled against his palm.
Her eyes focused on the room. Her heart rate, which had already kicked to near heart-attack range, tripled its beat. The sofa cushions had long, jagged rips in them. The few photos in the apartment lay on the floor, the glass smashed and scattered among the papers and furniture stuffing.
Seeing the destruction fueled her survival instinct. She kicked, this time hitting bone near his calf and earning a grunt from her attacker. Instead of letting go as planned, his hold over her stomach tightened. Much more of this and he’d strangle her.
She moved her head and opened her mouth, letting him think she intended to scream again. When he adjusted his grip over her lips, she bit down into the meaty part of his palm and didn’t stop until she tasted blood.
One second she was standing, nearly bent over from the pressure of his arm against her middle, the next she was spinning through the air. She smacked against the back of the couch with her full weight and felt it bobble and threaten to tip over. One leg folded under her on the cushion as she landed and a shock of pain ran down her spine to her knee.
The combination of dizziness and terror had her stomach heaving. Her vision split in two then refocused just in time to see her attacker looming over her. Blood smeared his cheek and ran down his hand.
“You’ll pay for that” was all he said.
The terse phrase was enough to get her moving again, sore knee and all. She scrambled up the back of the couch, clawing her way over shredded cushions and slipping over the top toward the window. Just as one leg hit the floor, he grabbed the other. Two baseball glove–sized hands held her ankle in a viselike grip.
“You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he said as he started twisting her foot.
She shifted her hips to keep him from breaking it. “What do you want?”
“Came