A Stranger's Touch -- Wattys2015

Chapter Three

He looked utterly out of place on top of her purple bedspread. She slumped down on her desk chair, keeping her gaze on his still face, his closed eyes.

He was sleeping.

How tired exactly could a person be to just fall asleep after what just happened?

She could count on one hand what she knew about him. He was a journalist for the local paper, he had really bad manners, he carried a gun, he was on the run from people who made her blood freeze.

And even sleeping he was sexy as hell.

And, maybe, she really should call the cops.

She jumped up and gave him a nudge against his foot with her knee. "Hey, you, wake up."

He didn't do her the favor.

His breath came steady and deep. He must have been on the run from someone? Hadn't he slept in a while to fall into such a comatose sleep?

She tried hard not to notice the dark chest hair curling from the top of his shirt. Such a male thing, chest hair, she thought, flicking open a button of his shirt. Then another.

The last shirt button slid through its hole. Her hands shook when she tugged the shirt wider until he was bare-chested. Holding her breath, she placed her flat palm against his muscled flesh. His heart beat steadily, and his skin was warm to the touch.

Tearing her gaze away from his small, erect nipples playing peekaboo in his chest hair, she went to threw open a window to allow her stuffy, too warm place to cool down.

She traced the tip of her finger across his abs and along an uneven scar underneath his rib cage. It looked like someone had tried to cut out his liver.

"So male," she whispered, tracing her fingertip lightly over each rib and then his stomach.

When he'd dumped her, leaving her sitting alone in the sports bar, she'd paid for the drinks, her cheeks hot with embarrassment, and walked home to spend a sleepless night going over each word they'd exchanged.

When Jenna had given her a call the next day, she hadn't felt like sharing. For a couple of days afterward she had fooled herself into thinking there had been some kind of emergency. But he never called to apologize, even though it would have been the easy to ask Jenna for her number.

And now he was in her bed.

Her own ragged breathing sounded odd in her ears, but she couldn't deny it anymore—she was on an weird adrenaline high—and apparently it made her horny.

What if he were in her shoes?

Would he undress and touch her, if he'd found her sleeping? Wrapping her arms around her middle, she tried to suppress the violent shivers running up and down her skin. She bit her lip, thinking hard, but sexual scenes in her mind came crashing.

Fuck.

A snore from him had her snapping back to attention. She backed away from the bed and sat on the floor.

"Hey, you," she said loudly, annoyed with her own horniness and him in general. "Wake up."

He didn't.

A quick glance at her wristwatch told her she was in danger of running late for her meeting tonight.

Pacing up and down at the foot of the bed, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and stopped dead cold. Drab pale face, dull brownish hair, nervous red spots on her cheeks.

She kicked the bedpost, stubbing her toe.

"What kind of gun-slinging journalist are you?" she said, kicked the bedpost again. "Who the fuck are you?"

She paused.

After one thorough body and pocket search—two passports, spearmint gum, something that looked as if it could be attached to the gun, cell phone, gun, money, no credit cards but a black, worn-leather notebook—she had to sit down because her knees were shaking.

One internet query for his full name later—five hits—she skimmed over the black on white answers on the screen. Ben Chase, six-one, one hundred and eighty pounds, wanted by the DEA, person of interest...call Simon Parker...

And even in his photo, he managed to look friendly, innocent and sexy.

A disbelieving laugh tore from her throat. Looked like Brickwall had been speaking the truth after all... Then the full implications hit her. He was a person of interest and she'd helped him...

She should call, call the cops, call for help, and yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that this would be wrong. But, it stood to reason that she should do something to protect herself.

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