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I hurry down the alley just in time to see the man slapping her with the back of his hand, sending her reeling onto the ground, and I close the distance between me and him, careful enough to be as silent as possible. Even though my boots are heavy, he never hears me coming.
Standing just two feet away from him, his back turned to me, I raise one hand up into the air and, rotating my hips, I send my knuckles into a collision trajectory with the man’s skull. Fingers meet bone in a fraction of a second, and all strength leaves the mugger’s legs, making him fall onto the ground like a discarded ragdoll.
I prod his limp body with the tip of my boot, making sure that he’s still unconscious, and then I turn to face the woman in the red dress. She’s sitting on the pavement, fingers curled around her swollen ankle, and she’s looking at me with an expression of disbelief.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, my eyes roaming up and down her body as I try to look for any bruises or blood.
“I… Yes... Yes, I am,” she says, still looking up at me as if I just stumbled out from a different dimension. One where damsels in distress are rescued at the very last minute by a knight in shining armor. Except I’m everything but a knight in a shining armor, and if there’s something I hate its jumping into action at the last minute.
“Where do you work?” I continue, doing my best not to stare at her legs. The hemline of her dress is slightly raised, showing just an hint of inner thigh, and I have to grit my teeth in order to banish all lust from my system. Which isn’t the easiest thing right now.
“R-Rockefeller Center,” she stammers, eyeing me curiously. I guess it’s not everyday you see a guy like me stepping in like I did to save the day. “Who are you?”
“Just a guy,” I reply flatly, and her eyes narrow slightly.
“Just a guy,” she repeats, the words rolling over her tongue slowly. “Okay, but who are you?” She insists, her focus shifting to the muscles bulging under my black shirt.
“No one,” I shrug, but I can tell that she won’t be happy with my answer.
“Oh, come on!” She starts, and then she falls silent, grabbing her ankle with her two hands and groaning. “Don’t you have a name at least?” She asks me between gritted teeth, the pain stemming from her ankle carving deep lines on her face.
“Sanders,” I reply and, deciding to put an end to this line of questioning, I let my name just hang in the air between us, silence settling in. She looks up at me, her unblinking eyes telling me that she expects me to go on, but then she just sighs heavily.
“Well, my name’s Stacy,” she says, a strained smile showing on her lips. She rubs her ankle harder now, her skin slowly turning purple there.
“It’s time we get out of here,” I tell her as I offer her my hand, making sure that my tone of voice leaves no doubts: this isn’t a request. “Come with me. You’ll be safe,” I continue, the words dripping out of me like ice and stone. I’ve never been one for niceties and I’m not sure if I can change that this late in life.
She looks up at me, hesitation washing over her face, but then she finally reaches for my hand. I can tell that she’s frightened but, at the same time, the expression on her face tells me that she prefers coming with me than remain sitting in the dirty alley next to an unconscious mugger. I squeeze her small delicate fingers in mine, pulling her up to her feet, but a groan of pain makes me stop.
“Crap, I think my ankle is --” Before she even has the time to finish her sentence, I bend over and slide one arm behind the back of her knees, the other going around her waist. I pull her up from the floor and then, shifting her weight, I place her over my shoulder as if she were a sack of potatoes.
She doesn’t protest and so, without a single word, I stroll back into midtown, the hottest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on slung over my shoulder.
32
Stacy
Oh my God.
What the hell just happened? What kind of movie set did this giant of a man step out from? One moment I’m mentally readying myself to feel the sharp and cold touch of a blade, and then the next he’s standing over me, ropes of coiled muscle moving under his dark shirt. Definitely, this is not how I expected my day to start. It went from good to bad, and then from bad to… Well, I don’t even know how to classify this right now.
I’m slung over his shoulder, my limp body swaying clumsily as he walks down the sidewalk, and I don’t even know what to say. I should be embarrassed - which I am - but there’s also something very exciting about how this man dispatched a mugger with a knife using just one hand and then just picked me up like an object and began to carry me over his shoulder towards Rock Center. I mean, he did it so casually, almost as if he were picking up a duffel bag.
I’m a bit frightened to be honest but, at the same time, I feel more secure than I’ve ever felt since I slid out of my bed this morning. There’s something about the way he’s holding me, firm and yet gentle, and I can’t help but feel a pleasant warm feeling crawling under my skin.
Everyone moves out of the way as he walks toward Rockefeller Center, a sea of people parting before him as if he were some kind of urban Moses. No wonder, though - if I saw a man as imposing as he is walking down the street toward me with a woman slung over his shoulder and a nonchalant look on both their faces, I’d move the fuck out of the way as well.
He strolls inside the Rockefeller Center like a man with a purpose, and I can feel everyone in the building’s hall looking at us as if we just stepped out from another dimension. Not wanting to be carried into work like a sack of flour, I push against his shoulder with both hands and, noticing it, he allows my body to slide down from his shoulder and he grabs me with his two arms, carrying me close to his chest.
“Which floor?” He asks me with his deep rumbling voice, making his way toward one of the elevators.
“Uh, thirty,” I mumble, looking up at him and feeling my insides clench. He’s built like a god, a veritable Apollo that stepped out from legend; but more than having a ripped physique, he has a face that must be the envy of all other men. The lines on his jaw are angular and wide, making him look almost like a superhero. And, despite his cold presence, his smart eyes betray a hint of kindness hiding somewhere deep inside of him.
I wait as he summons the elevator - there isn’t much else I can do anyway - and I take a few deep breaths as I realize that my thong is starting to feel damp, the fabric sticking to my skin. I just can’t help myself; the touch of his hard muscles on my body, his skin on my skin… I’m only human, you know?
He steps inside the elevator as the doors slide open and, thankfully, it’s empty. Pressing the round button with the number 30 on the control panel, he waits in silence as the doors close, and then we’re on our way, making the climb toward the studio.
Still looking up at him, I notice that he’s flushing slightly and, reacting by instinct, my heart starts racing and I feel warm blood making its way toward my face. Has he noticed that I’m wet? Oh, God, I hope not - I’d die of embarrassment.
