A Stranger's Touch -- Wattys2015

Chapter Four

Ben swallowed away the dry feeling in his mouth, opened his eyes and stared at a ceiling, cracked with old paint. Blinking against soft darkness, he tried to lift his head, which weighed about a ton.

Fog clouded his brain as he tried to reconstruct where the hell he was. And why he was lying flat on his back on a bed smelling of lilacs. When he attempted to stand, coarse rope bit into the skin of his wrists and ankles. Jesus.

The floorboard was squeaking, the bed shook slightly, and he scrambled to get his wits together. Someone was with him in the room. Think, man, think... First the failed hit then the stroke of pure dumb luck. Fuentes' dogs hot on his heels, and then... Liz.

From all the places in this town, he had to pick her shop to hide. And he had been so good in staying away from her for the last weeks...

"Fuck," he groaned. He must have completely blacked out when he laid down on her bed. Three days and nights of no sleep could do that to a man.

"Oh, you're awake, that was rather quick after all." Her voice came from the foot of the bed. "How do you feel?"

"Like shit," he said, and groaned as his stomach cramped—no sleep, very little food.

Eyesight adjusted to the dim light, he lifted his head a couple of inches. There was a desk in one corner, a dresser in the other. A reading light on the desk lit up the room. "When I come around again, we'll have a serious discussion about not taking advantage of me when I sleep, Liz." He gave another tug at the ropes.

"Ah, now you remember me, don't you?"

He inhaled slowly, cursing himself. "Yes, of course I remember you. But, ropes, really? I'm sorry to say my first impression of you was wrong. You aren't exactly the shyly sweet girl I took you for."

"You fail to live up to my expectations too."

Fighting a stab of embarrassment at his past actions, he wished he could tell her the truth. "Believe me, I had good reasons for walking out on you that day. In fact, it was more to protect—"

"I don't need to be protected," she interrupted him. "But I don't mean that day," she said, now sounding huffy. "I mean today."

She stood, the sudden movement catching him unaware and he tensed. She was dressed in dark jeans and a proper button-down blouse, which she started to undo from the bottom up. "I really need to get ready for my meeting."

She was a nuisance, but she started turning into an interesting one.

"I think," she said, and the blouse sailed away with a flick of her wrist to the top of the dresser. "We should get to know each other better."

When he first met her, he'd wanted to cuddle up with her on the couch and hear her talk, strangely drawn to her emotionally, now he wanted to push her up against a wall and fuck her senseless.

She returned to his side, sitting next to him on the bed, and the swell of her breasts underneath the bra had him swallowing hard.

"What?" she asked, her gaze running over his body. "Are you not up to it?"

Oh, he was up to it all right.

"Just kidding."

Of course.

She unclasped her bra, her breasts bouncing free.

"Liz," he said, surprised to hear that his voice had turned hoarse, "This is not cool."

"I'll take a shower," she said, "don't run away."

She laughed, breathlessly, and he watched her walk into the adjoining bathroom. She probably thought she'd made a joke by telling him not to run away.

He took another deep breath, closing his eyes. The shower started rumbling and he pictured himself joining her under the water, soaping that lush body of hers all over, taking extra care of her breasts. Damn, he'd wanted to weigh her breasts in his hands, caress each fat nipple.

Giving the ropes a harder tug, he stretched, feeling a great deal better. The power nap had done the trick. And those knots were a joke, would only take a few moments to undo.

Best not to tell her.

He would stay put until she left for whatever important meeting she had. Then he'd get his ass away from her—at least for the next couple of days—since she proved to be too much distraction. He'd go see Simon tomorrow, and once everything was in the clear, he could pay her a visit, explain and say mea culpa.

The water stopped and he imagined how she'd towel her arms, breasts, stomach, thighs dry. The thought alone made his cock twitch.

Light filtered from the bathroom and he glanced up when she stepped into the bedroom again. She'd wrapped herself in a white towel. He watched her as best he could from his limited viewpoint.

"I'll be back in an hour or so, I think," she said, and started to get dressed.

"I guess you want me to wait for your safe return?"

He adjusted his posture on the bed to keep an eye on her. She dressed as efficiently as she had undressed herself. A pair of black panties hugged her bottom and a black bra held her breasts. He itched to undo the knots, to get up and throw her onto the bed just for the fun of seeing her reaction.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll tell you if you tell me why you were running? No? Thought so."

He leaned back deeper into the mattress, enjoying the show while it lasted. Even watching her get dressed was a turn-on. When she was done, she looked like a prim and proper bank clerk, wearing a sensible skirt and blouse combo.

She threw stuff into a shoulder bag and then turned to face him.

Her eyes had a haunted glaze he didn't like—as if something tormented her—and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and hold her tight.

"Liz, whatever happens, I want to see you again, wanted to see you again for the last three weeks." He held her gaze, willing her to trust him. "But there are some things I have to deal with first and in order to protect you—"

"I don't need to be protected." She shouldered her bag and the door swung shut.

He waited another five minutes to be on the safe side then flexed his muscles and jerked on the ropes. The flimsy wooden headboard gave way as did the footboard. Wood splinters littered the bed and floor as he untied himself. His skin was chafed raw, but nothing a few days wouldn't heal. He had at least an hour until she came back, enough time to take a quick shower.

After he climbed out of the shower, taking a sniff at her shampoo, he dressed and made a turn around the small bedroom, opening her dresser, looking in her wardrobe.

The printer was flashing red and he tugged at the stuck paper, heard it tear. It was an invitation addressed to her, but the name that stood out made his blood freeze.

With two large steps, he was at his clothes, picked up his jacket.

The notebook was gone.

He kicked the wooden bedpost and sharp pain shot through his bare foot. "Shit, shit, shit."

She had taken the book and, if he wasn't mistaken, she was returning it to its owner right this minute. He should have killed that bastard when he'd had the chance. He grabbed the gun and holstered it.

Why she was doing this, he didn't know, but, hell, he'd find out.

.