"Thank you again," she said, her voice more breathless than before.
"I'll see you soon," he promised. "Remember, I live just next door. Come on now; let me see you inside so I can be sure you're going to be okay. Like your father, I'll worry."
"You have children?" Was he married? Oh, Lord, was she lusting after a married man who was going to move in next door with a wife and children?
His expression stilled, though. Something hard and brutal flashed in those icy blue eyes.
"I did once," he finally said before giving his head a hard shake and pulling the latch to the door and stepping out quickly.
He didn't want to talk about it; that was obvious.
He was a father once, he said. His child was dead or somehow lost to him then?
She held her questions, her curiosities. Some subjects were too sensitive, especially between two people who didn't know each other.
Her door opened; then he reached inside and gently helped her from the Jeep.
"Nik, I'm sorry." She laid her hand on his arm.
"For what?" His eyes narrowed in the dim light.
"For whatever hurts you," she said softly before stepping aside and moving gingerly along the sidewalk, aware of him behind her.
Her door was still locked. Inserting the key, she unlocked it, stepped inside, and pushed in the code for the alarm system. Everything was still secure. Her lamps were still on; her cat, Biskus, meowed from the arched doorway into the kitchen just as he did every time she returned.
"Everything's fine." She turned back to Nik, aware of him staring down at her, tall and broad. Protective. "Thank you again."
"Thank you." He reached out, touched her unbruised cheek, then turned and left.
A car pulled up at the curb and as Mikayla watched the door open she saw the redhead inside. Tall, of course, and pretty.
And then they were gone.
Closing the door behind her, Mikayla reset the locks and the security system before staring down at the rather large black and white long-haired cat that had adopted her.
"Well, it's just you and me again, Biskus."
He meowed again, then turned and loped back to the kitchen.
A clear indication he felt he deserved a treat for being left at home alone.
She felt perhaps she deserved a treat herself. For the bruise on her face, the one she felt forming on her ribs, the fear she had experienced that night, and the man she had been forced to walk away from.
Her father would have been horrified.
She could hear him raging even as a smile tipped her lips.
Her brothers would go crazy.
And that still wasn't enough to dim her interest.
Or her arousal.
Chapter 4
"Oh, my God!" Deirdre's voice was horrified, her expression slackening into lines of complete disbelief as Mikayla walked into the shop early the next morning.
She had timed her arrival to coincide with Deirdre's and to ensure she could take care of customers while Mikayla hid for the day.
"It's not as bad as it looks," Mikayla assured her assistant.
Mikayla knew her face looked damned bad. The bruise spread across her cheek to her jaw and then to the side of her lip. Her lower lip was split and, though not grotesquely swollen, incredibly uncomfortable.
"It's not as bad as it looks?" Deirdre's eyes were wide, her hands moving from her silk-clad h*ps as she rushed across the plush carpet to Mikayla.
"Mikayla, what in the world happened to you?" Her friend's green eyes, the color of a summer leaf, filled with threatening tears as her hands lifted to Mikayla's shoulders and turned her more fully to the light. "My God. Who hit you? Do I need to start collecting bail for your brothers?"
"They don't know, and you're not going to tell them." Mikayla suppressed a shiver; she was doing everything she could to keep her family from finding out.
"You think you can keep this from them?" Deirdre propped her hands on her h*ps again, the cream silk of her skirt stretching over her h*ps as her shoulders straightened beneath the light blue sleeveless blouse she wore.
"I'd better keep it from them," Mikayla muttered. "They'll make my life hell otherwise."
"So what happened?" Deirdre demanded again, following Mikayla as she gave a brief shake of her head and moved to her office at the back of the shop.
"I was attacked in the parking lot of the club," she told the other woman as they entered her office. "Maybe it was a mugger."
"And maybe it was a Nelson fanatic," Deirdre snapped, anger filling her tone now. "That's who it was, wasn't it?"
"I really don't know, Deirdre." Mikayla plopped her purse on the less-than-tidy desk and sat down gingerly in the softly padded chair behind it.
"What else is wrong?" Deirdre would have to notice the careful way Mikayla took her seat.
It never failed. Her family and friends were like overprotective bears at times.
"Look, I was just knocked around a little bit," Mikayla assured Deirdre. "A white knight showed up, rescued me, and delivered me home safe and sound."
And that was enough to distract Deirdre.
"White knight?" Deirdre plopped her rear on the corner of Mikayla's desk, the open door giving her clear sight of the front door, and gave Mikayla a demanding look. "Give deets, girlfriend."
Mikayla laughed. "Deets, huh? What makes you think there are any details?"
Details such as height, hair, eyes, pure male sex appeal. Oh, Mikayla had deets.
"Well, duh." Deirdre laughed. " 'White knight' is the key word here. Tell me all about him."
Mikayla's lips parted as the light tinkle of the bell at the door sounded. She started to laugh at the pout that formed on Deirdre's lips, until she saw a look of complete awe fill her face.
Mikayla leaned forward tentatively and restrained a sigh at the sight of the man walking across the carpet. In black leather pants, biker boots, and a T-shirt that stretched across his hard, broad chest, Nik Steele walked into the dress shop.
"The white knight," she murmured in amusement as Deirdre seemed locked in amazement.
"Mikayla?" He stepped into the office, looking between her and Deirdre.
Ice blue eyes. Mikayla wondered if there was actually any emotion behind that gaze. The night before, she hadn't seen the ice there, the hard, almost cynical light; instead, she had felt something, sensed it, in the way he acted, the tone of his voice.