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Arsen felt his legs wobble and realized that he had messed up his ankle, which seemed badly twisted.
“Can I come inside and make a phone call?” He showed the woman his dead cell phone. No reply. She just stood there, silently judging him, looking visibly uncomfortable. She stared at the wrecked car and looked around to see if anyone was watching. In the quietest part of quaint Montcove, no heads had poked out.
“I’ll just call someone who can come and help me out with this.” He was still trying to figure out if she knew who he was.
“Shouldn’t we just call 911?” She crossed her arms and seemed unsure about letting him in.
“I’d much rather we not. I’ve had a wee bit to drink.” He decided to come clean. “I’d appreciate your help. I promise you that this will be sorted out in no time at all.” Arsen hated to beg anyone for anything, but he had no choice. As a man who had spent his whole life fighting for scraps, he didn’t like resorting to it now that he was successful.
“Okay.” That was all she said as she turned around and walked back to the house.
Strangers in the night…
Arsen took one last look at the wrecked piece of machinery, took out the keys, and hobbled on behind her. He hoped she wouldn’t notice that he was checking out her ass on the way.
Chapter 4
The stranger was sitting silently for the last fifteen minutes and seemed lost in his own thoughts. Rory had shown him the phone in the living room and had hastily gone inside to get her own cell in case he did anything weird. She hated this disruption in the night and was very suspicious of the reluctance of this man to call 911, but she couldn’t possibly let him sit out there in the rain, cold and injured.
She stared at him from the hallway window that looked onto the outer living room and tried to judge what kind of a man he was. He didn’t look like a criminal or anything, not that they had all that many in Montcove. He seemed to be wearing expensive clothes, although he had an odd sense of style about him. A black leather jacket, worn over a white tee. A scarf sat loose around his neck, and he wore tight black jeans paired with black boots.
In the lamp light of the living room, she noticed the slight reflections of his rings and the big cross that he wore around his neck. Doesn’t seem to be a religious guy at all, but who am I to know? She could barely make out his facial features, but even then she could tell that he had a strong, chiseled jawline under the close beard, and his thick, neck-length hair sat handsomely on his tall frame.
For a moment she even felt bad for him as she sensed the torment in his expression. But he had disturbed her nightly routine, wrecked the back wall of the house, and had acted like a raging lunatic.
As she thought of him landing on top of her earlier, Rory realized that it was the most exciting thing that had happened to her in all of her time at Montcove. The heat between them was unmistakable, colored by the scent of his aftershave, wet leather, and the intimate fragrance of pure man.
The desire that had crept into her core had terrified her as his broad shoulders hovered over her frame. His masculinity overwhelmed her. She was reminded of what it felt like to be attracted to a man, even for a fleeting moment. Although this attraction was stronger than anything she’d felt. He was a man who needed no comforting, and yet she had somehow felt inclined to do just that for him. To her, he seemed like a man with weight on his heart.
He raised his head as she walked back into the living room. The table lamp lit the hard set to his jaw, tendons flexing in his neck.
“I’m… I can’t seem to recall the number that I want to dial.” He had a low urgency in his voice.
“You’re not from around here, I guess.”
“No, I’m not. Just visiting. But I know someone who can help. Except I can’t recall his number.”
Rory figured the man was still in shock and was trying to come to terms with the fact that he was still alive. She was surprised at that too. The outer wall of the house was sturdy, and yet the car had rammed a hole in it, almost all the way through. Barely anything was left of the front part of that Ferrari. It was a miracle that this guy had simply walked away from the wreckage.
It then occurred to Rory that she didn’t even know his name.
“I’m Rory.” She expected a response, but he just stared at her, as if pausing the thoughts in his mind to examine her. Rory steadied herself by putting a hand on the couch, her pulse suddenly speeding up. The phrase Greek god came into her mind.
“I’m Arsen.” His eyes met hers and for the first time, she realized how dark they were. To say that Arsen was handsome wouldn’t be right. He was attractive, in a rugged, manly way. She felt her body respond as her eyes went over the close beard that shadowed his jaw, giving him a hard look.
He squinted under his angular eyebrows when he spoke, completely oblivious to the lust that he sparked.
“Is there a cab service that I can call?”
“In Montcove? Are you kidding me?” she replied nervously, immediately feeling self-conscious at being so jumpy.
Arsen was silent again. Contemplating things in his head it seemed.
“I’ll compensate you for the damage to your wall. Here…” He got up to his feet, but then grunted and sat back down on the sofa with a thump and held his ankle with a grimace on his face.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a twisted ankle.”
