Part 3 - Beware of Men Bearing Gifts

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Stormee trudged through her apartment door at six-thirty, smelling the same as a twenty-minute lube and oil garage. Why did one of her tires decide to go flat tonight? A tire she'd struggled to change herself before a scruffy-looking middle-aged man on a motorcycle stopped to help.

"What's for dinner, I'm starving?" Josh posed the question as he descended the stairs, spanning three steps with each forward movement.

"You'll break your neck if you don't stop loping down the stairs." She flashed him a look of sisterly censure.

He took the last four steps in one leap, proof that her warning slipped through one of his ears and out the other without the least pause in between. The thought struck her that he was a prime example of an Alpha Male in the making. She exhaled in disgust. "I've got an interview to conduct this evening. You can make a sandwich or something."

"Again? Man! You never cook anymore. I'm freaking sick of sandwiches." He slouched against the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Some things can't be helped. This came up at the last minute. Besides, if you want something different, you're sixteen, old enough to prepare your own food."

"Cooking is your job, not mine." His lips pulled into a sour grimace. "Nana never let a man starve. If we'd stayed in Chicago, I'd still be eating regular meals and Nana wouldn't be locked up in an old people's jail."

"Josh!" She took a deep breath. "I don't have time for this tonight. Find something to eat or go hungry. It's your decision."

She waited as he grumbled his way toward the kitchen. Then, she scurried up the stairs, taking two at a time. After a three-minute shower, she dried her cinnamon-colored hair, thankful for the short pixie cut that kept styling simple.

"Now for my Picasso technique—splash, feather, and blend. What do you know—a masterpiece." Her mouth quirked with humor. The smidgeon of makeup she used hardly transformed her into a work-of-art, but it did cover up the sunburned nose she'd managed to get while playing tire mechanic. Should I add eye shadow and mascara? Another look at her emerald green eyes and dark brown lashes and she was convinced they were colorful enough. If she had her way, she'd throw all her makeup out the door. She hated the fussy, time-consuming process of applying even the simplest amount. But since providence had given her a petite frame and little girl face, she used cosmetics to appear older, at least her actual twenty-three years.

The bigger problem, what to wear? She rifled through her closet. The outfit she'd bought for the Caribbean cruise she'd won in a charity raffle caught her eye, the tags still attached. Because of a severe case of flu, she hadn't sailed on schedule, losing her dream vacation. She examined the tapered slacks with a matching top in aquamarine silk. Just what the occasion required, not too flashy, but not backwater-clueless either.

She dressed quickly then checked her appearance in the full-length mirror hanging on the closet door. Just as she'd hoped, the trendy outfit gave her a much-needed air of maturity. The doorbell's shrill chime sent a jolt of jitters up her spine, freezing her in place for the second time that day.

Another point from the research on her computer came to mind with the brightness of neon. Don't keep an Alpha Male waiting. He'll likely leave without you. And don't even hope to get a second chance.

Dare I test the theory? Not a good idea, she concluded, since Mrs. Stanton expected the interview on her desk in less than two days. She managed a tentative smile and hurried to open the door.

Dressed in black and back-lit by the yellow-tinted street light, Dirk bore a resemblance to her favorite dessert, double-rich brownies. Goosebumps created a little mogul run down her arm.

"Good evening, Stormee."

His smooth voice reminded her of warm caramel drizzled over those brownies. "Hi. I'll grab a sweater and be right back."

The realization hit as she paused on the top stair landing to catch her breath. Had she rudely left him standing in the open doorway? Mortified, she turned to descend the stairs when Josh's voice reached her ears.

"Hey, man. Who are you?"

"Depends on who's asking."

Stormee grinned. Dirk hadn't bothered to mask the patronizing tone of his reply. That ought to give Josh a moment's discomfort.

She pulled a white sweater from the plastic bag stored under her bed and returned to the stairs. Hoping to impress him with a perfect display of control, Stormee glided down the steps in classic Hollywood style. "I'm sorry to have left you standing in the doorway." Despite her best effort to show a mature calmness, she knew her voice sounded timid.

"Are you?" He leaned casually against the door frame, his gaze studying the contours of her mouth. "Later, perhaps you'll find a suitable way to make it up to me."

"Um—I mean—ah..." Stepping back, she cleared her throat. "I heard Josh's voice, did my brother introduce himself?"

"Yes, somewhat," he replied, straightening his stance and stepping forward.

"I hope he wasn't rude." She resisted the urge to retreat and tilted her head to better see his expression.

"I got the impression he's not accustomed to men picking up his sister." He lifted a quizzical eyebrow and smiled.

Why did he appear pleased with that deduction? How did she explain that she hadn't had a real date in the last two years without sounding pitiable? She wondered if the same tactics she used on Josh would work on Dirk—evade and distract?

"I've kept you waiting too long. I—I think I'm ready to leave now." She dipped her chin and waited.

"Before we go, I have something to give you."

A small red velvet box lay in the broad expanse of his hand.

Stormee, grateful her ploy had worked, rubbed her dewy palms against the sides of her silk slacks before reaching for the box. What kind of gift was this? Please don't let it be diamond earrings, she silently begged the Powers-That-Be. She'd never muster up the moral fortitude to reject such a gift.

She mentally slapped a hand upside her head. Men of less than twenty-four-hour acquaintance didn't give women expensive jewelry. Idiot! Though diamonds and perfume were her private weaknesses, she lacked both, except for one bottle of designer perfume, which technically wasn't perfume, but a cheaper cologne.

He observed her intently, making her attempt at opening the box awkward. The lid separated to reveal an exquisite bottle of her favorite fragrance, and not just cologne, but two ounces of delectable perfume. "I—Ah. Thank you. However, this is too expensive and..."

"The gift isn't for you. It's for me. Your scent pleases me, and I don't make a habit of denying myself pleasures that are in my power to obtain. You would not deny me such a small gift, would you?" His eyebrow arched.

How could a grown man affect a perfect, little boy plea while knowing too much about the scent of a woman? Was the guy somewhat of a perfume expert? How did he know what brand she wore? The questions hung unanswered in her mind as he placed a hand in the middle of her back and nudged her in the direction of the door. Just as well, the replies bouncing in her head sounded immature. The fact that he'd taken note of how she smelled evoked a feeling of intimacy new to her experience. Butterflies took to flight in her stomach.

She came back to reality and placed the box on the foyer table, picked up her purse, and stepped through the door. The evening light cast a deep shadow across the man at her side, giving the illusion that he became one with the darkness and something more she couldn't define. When he escorted her to a sleek, black sports car of indefinable origin, something more took on solid proportions in her imagination. Every tingling cell in her body warned her against the power of his striking personality. That feeling barely registered before another followed. Dirk Savage didn't play by anyone's rules but his own. She nibbled her lower lip and stole a glance at him as he helped her to fasten the seat belt.

"Don't look so dismayed. I'm not going to ravish you, at least, not before we've had our dinner."

Still leaning over her, with nothing but a thought between their lips, his low chuckle reached to the very bottom of her toes. Embarrassed by his scrutiny, she turned her head.

Fifteen minutes passed. He'd made no small talk and she welcomed the silence. They'd cleared the congested part of town and cruised through an exclusive residential area. Expensive homes perched along the river's edge.

She'd been sure he was taking her to the trendy Stardust Restaurant until he drove through the gated entrance of one of the private residences.

He stopped the car under the home's massive front portico and vacated the vehicle, coming around to open her door. As if a stone were placed to seal the entrance, he stood in the open space.

Stormee's breath stuck in her throat as a hand slipped under her chin and raised it for his inspection. He seized her gaze with his, exposing her to an unrelenting examination. Endless seconds passed as she endured the visual bondage. She could only imagine what her face resembled since the heat in her cheeks seemed to be spreading through her whole body.

"How old are you?" His tone possessed a clipped edge of exasperation.

What does my age matter? Mortified, she fidgeted with the small purse she held in her lap.

"Twe—Twenty-three."

"You blush and fidget like a little girl."

To her astonishment, and with more force than necessary, he closed her door, circled the car, and slipped back behind the wheel. A few minutes later, he parked in front of the Stardust Restaurant. This time, when her door opened, he helped her out and led her toward the restaurant's entrance, stopping just short to maneuver her into a secluded niche in the building's exterior.

With her back against the rock wall, Stormee muttered, "What are you doing?"

"Time to make up for leaving me standing in your doorway."

Shock kept her immobile, while the sweetest pleasure she'd ever experienced sensitized her mouth beyond bearing. With unhurried, soft kisses, he explored the corners of her clenched lips. Mrs. Stanton's warning echoed in her ears. "Remember to keep it professional, Stormee. He's not the kind of man you're used to dealing with." She pushed away the annoying memory as he wet her bottom lip with his tongue.

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Here's The Question: Should she STAY OR GO...


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