He’s wide and taller than I am, easily near seven feet. He’s wearing sneakers, long socks, shorts, and a black raincoat, making it clear he was out for a run.
I reevaluate him. Anybody who runs for fun, especially at night, is not normal.
Covering my head with my hand, I stare at the man. His hood is up, making it hard to see, but he’s soaked. My hair is drenched, plastered to my head, and I drop my hand since I’m going to be soaked anyway.
“I don’t know much about cars,” he says. “There isn’t anyone around to help either.”
His eyes drift down, and I realize my shirt is sticking to my chest, turning transparent. For a moment, I swear I see appreciation in his eyes before it disappears, but that one spark makes me shiver, and not from the cold. I don’t like his words though. Do I look that pathetic? Probably. Fuck.
“I’ll be fine,” I snap. “I don’t need anyone’s help.”
“Okay.” He holds up his hands as he looks around. “I’d be quick about it. This isn’t the place to linger in a car like that.” He turns andjogs down the road. I watch him go before pushing my soaking hair back, then I sneer at my car in frustration.
“Five mil and you break down? I’ll fucking sink you,” I mutter as I pull out my phone, but the screen is dark, and I swear. I fucking forgot to charge it after a long day of meetings. Of fucking course.
Tipping my head back, I let the rain wash over my face, cooling my anger and irritation.
I don’t know how long I stand here, growing colder and wetter, until the sound of an engine reaches me. I lower my head to see a light barreling toward me from the direction the stranger ran in.
A motorcycle. I expect them to pass, but it skids to a stop in front of me with the hooded stranger on it. “Get on.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Sure as shit looks like you do,” he scoffs. “Look, my place is just down there. You can dry off and call for help or wait for a tow truck or whatever.”
I eye him, wondering what he wants. He probably spotted the car and wants money. It’s better than my death at least.
“Hurry the fuck up. I’m getting drenched,” he barks, impatience lacing his voice.
Fuck it, wasn’t I just saying I was bored?
Locking the car, I climb on behind him, tentatively gripping the edges of his wet jacket, but he suddenly reaches back and pulls my arms around him. “Hang on,” he calls over the rain, and we shoot down the empty road.
I have no choice but to cling to him as he races through the city. We take one bend and then another before he pulls into a parking lot and drives his bike up under a metal overhang. The engine dies, and I climb off, looking around. I can’t see much in the dark, but there’s a big sign at the entrance proudly declaring Nexus Gym.
He gets off the bike and shakes like a dog, not sparing me a look as he stomps up a set of metal steps to the left and unlocks a door at the top. He leans over the railing to look at me. “Are you coming or not?”
Pursing my lips, I follow him up the steps as he pushes the door open and waves me in. I step past him, stopping a few feet inside as Iglance around at what looks to be a dark apartment above the gym. When the lights turn on, I get a view of a small but modern living room with a huge TV and an arched window with a ledge. To my left is a modern kitchen, and then there’s a hallway.
There are photos on most of the walls, but I don’t look as I turn, my hand still on my gun at the base of my spine. It wouldn’t be the first time a stranger has tried to kill me. My head would be worth a lot of money to the right people.
This stranger, however, seems oblivious as he kicks the door shut and turns to me.
I face him as he pushes his hood back, and my heart skips a beat.
I might be beautiful, but this man is fucking gorgeous, rugged, and dark. My mouth goes dry as black eyes meet mine. He has thick lips, with a small scar bisecting the top one, and perfectly symmetrical black eyebrows. His face is masculine and wide, and I have the insane urge to see his black hair styled.
“I’m Nikko. What’s your name?” he asks as we stare at each other.
“Zia, just Zia,” I rasp, not wanting him to know my family name for some reason.
He stares at me for a moment, and I swear his eyes could pierce right to my soul, like he is judging if I am worthy or not, and then he turns away, freeing me from his gaze.
What is happening?
TWO
Zia is an unusual name, but it matches the dripping man in my living room. Androgynous would be the word I would use to describe him, a mix of masculine and feminine features. He’s probably the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, even drenched. It’s obvious he doesn’t belong in a place like this, driving a car like that and covered in diamonds. He’s trouble in a pretty package, but I couldn’t seem to leave him.
