Melinda Di Lorenzo - Worth The Risk

She felt her face heat up. “Of course not!”

“Oh. So this was your way of saying thank you?”

“This is my way of avoiding men with stalkerish tendencies.”

“By climbing down an entire building like some kind of deranged superhero?”

“A deranged— Ugh! If you weren’t following me, I wouldn’t have had to take the roof.”

“That. Or you’re hiding something. Did you talk to Tamara?”

“No.”

It wasn’t quite a lie. She hadn’t spoken to her sister again. He seemed to sense the deception anyway.

“If you tell me what she said, I might be able to help you,” he offered softly.

For several seconds, she considered it.

Maybe he could shed some light on what was going on.

She shoved aside the idea firmly. She wouldn’t risk it. Not unless he became her only option. What she needed to do now was to get away so she could figure out what to do next. She didn’t need a complication. Especially not a good-looking one who made her knees a little weak. Besides that, he’d made it clear that he didn’t know where Tamara was himself. He was asking questions, not giving answers.

“Will helping me help you get the job done?” Her voice was loaded with sarcasm.

“I somehow doubt it.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“That means I don’t have to feel quite so bad about this.”

And with that tiny warning, she lifted one of her Converse sneakers and slammed it onto his foot, then went running up the alley.

Chapter 3

I hope he’s okay.

Meredith had run two hard blocks without looking back when the unexpected thought popped into her head and just about made her trip over her own feet.

Why did she care if he was okay?

He’d sat outside her house, waited for her to come out, too, then jumped on her the second he could. What she needed to care about was putting some distance between herself and those eyes of his. To get to a place where she could stop and breathe.

That’s right. Because you sure can’t breathe when he’s nearby. Or stop thinking about his eyes.

This time she did trip. One sneaker caught on a rock and she toppled forward, barely managing to get her palms out in front of her body before she hit the ground. They scraped along the asphalt painfully, but Meredith pushed herself up and forced her legs to move again, this time at a slower jog.

Okay. Acknowledge the attraction before thinking about him leads to a broken arm or something. Then maybe you can get over it.

And it gave her something to consider other than the burning reminder in her lungs that she’d been neglecting her cardio.

The guy—Sam—got to her. There was no denying how her body had reacted to his, how she’d felt every pore come alive as they pressed together.

Well. He did save you from landing head-first on the pavement.

Not that Meredith would admit that to him. Or that she normally went for the hero type. She had no interest in playing the damsel in distress to some man’s misplaced sense of knighthood. So maybe the attraction was fueled by adrenaline. After all, it wasn’t every day she climbed down the side of a building to avoid a guy, then stepped on said guy’s toe and ran off into the streets like a crazy person.

But she’d been attracted to him before that, hadn’t she?

Yes, definitely.

The wide shoulders, the impressive height. The way he looked at her, assessing and intelligent, but appreciative, too. Then there was his quick wit...

“Write a song about him, why don’t you?” she grumbled.

Truthfully, it’d been a long time since she’d even noticed a man. Longer still since she’d been in one’s arms. Her unintentional, chest-to-chest, utterly heart-thumping moment with Sam had been as close as she’d come in years. Literally years. Because being the sister of the woman who created the perfect system for snagging and keeping a husband made dating problematic. Some men went running in the other direction the second they found out. A few went the other other direction and were ready to propose by the second date. Meredith had learned to be cautious.

So, yeah. Being this attracted to someone she just met—wondering what that five o’clock shadow of his would feel like pressed to her cheek or if his lips were as firm as they looked—was unusual.

And stupid.

“That, too,” she agreed out loud.

She had more important things to worry about. Like what her next move was going to be now that she’d escaped Sam and his crooked half smile.

Dammit.

His smile hadn’t even been on her radar until right that second. Now, though... Yep. Right up there with eyes.

Meredith shook her head and spoke her sister’s name aloud as a reminder of her priorities. “Tamara.”

And saying the name made her think maybe she should call her again. Meredith reached for her purse and then groaned. It wasn’t on her shoulder where it should be.

Must’ve dropped it when I tried to do that head plant.

Which meant that Sam probably had it.

“Great.”

What was the man’s deal, anyway? Something in her gut told her he wasn’t there to hurt her. But if he was so interested in Tamara, why didn’t he just go after her directly? Or contact someone who’d spoken to her recently. Her publicist or the host of tech people who helped run her internet business. Meredith’s sister didn’t exactly maintain a low public profile, and she had plenty of peripheral friends who practically qualified as an entourage. Not so long ago, her house had even been featured in some kind of home-and-garden magazine. Tamara’s life was accessible in many ways, but coming through Meredith wasn’t one of them.

Just the opposite.

Meredith swallowed, a guilty lump building in her throat. The rift between them might not be something they advertised, but anyone who took a second would see she wasn’t involved in her sister’s life. Sam’s intelligent gaze told her he should have figured all of that out. So why was he still so hell-bent on following Meredith?

Unless he tried all that other stuff and still couldn’t find her. Maybe his questions and his persistence had to do with that very fact. Tamara was missing. Meredith almost tripped again.

Missing? That’s a leap. Isn’t it?

She had no real reason to believe Tamara was anywhere but in the middle of a too-relaxed-to-answer-the-phone spa day. Except she had answered the phone, Meredith reminded herself. And she’d asked for help. Not typically needed for a pedicure.

She stopped short in her jog as a sudden, dark sense of foreboding shook her, sending a shiver up her spine. The terrible sensation grew even worse when she looked around and realized her haphazard flight had taken her from her own slightly rough neighborhood to the edge of an area that was downright seedy.

The run-down buildings that lined the street and the litter-crowded sidewalk between them made her wish she’d taken her chances with Sam and his questionable motives. Instead, she was sweaty and tired and stuck with no ID, no cash and no phone.

And no choice to do anything but go home.

She’d be lucky if the blue-eyed man turned over any of her stuff without a fight. She could easily picture him handing over each item, piece by piece, in exchange for whatever it was he felt like asking.

If he’d even bothered to stick around.

As Meredith resigned herself to the fact that she didn’t have another option and turned to head back, she spotted a navy sedan. It was on the next street over, but she could see it perfectly through the sparse trees, and something about it gave her pause. Maybe its general out-of-place-ness.

Maybe it’s Sam. And your purse.

She cut across the road to the median, then took five steps toward the car before she got a good view of the driver. It wasn’t Sam at all. It was a redheaded man with a cigarette hanging from one corner of his thin lips. And if Meredith had felt a chill before, it was nothing compared to what she experienced now. There was something deeply disturbing about the way his gaze fixed on her, and if he cared at all that she was staring back at him, he didn’t show it.