FicWad

CHAPTER FOUR


I had to take my rent down to the office. So, I listened for Him upstairs. When I heard nothing and his motorcycle didn’t move, I made a break for it.


Halfway back down the length of the parking lot, I saw him descend the stairs. His head turned and I felt the weight of his gaze at once. He broke into the relaxed, effortless type of run only the extremely physically fit can manage. “Annabella!”


I suppressed the urge to attempt hiding and propelled myself toward the safety of home. Refusing to make eye contact, I gave my wheels a hard turn, making him hop back out of my path. “Excuse me, “I whispered.


“Goddamn it.”


I cried out when I felt his hands settle on the push bars of my chair and I shot forward. “What are you doing?”


“We are going to have a fucking civilized, adult fucking conversation.” He wheeled me to my door. “Open it,” he barked.


I did, shaking all the while. Inside, he parked me mid-floor and shut the door behind us. I jumped as he slid the bolt closed. Hands shaking, I performed a turn about. Off balance and unclear what transpired between us, I swallowed hard. “What do you want to talk about?”


A tower of determined wrath, he returned, “Your damn contrary resistance to a mutual attraction.”


He might as well have slapped me. My shock could not have proven more complete. “A what?”


Stalking forward, he put his hands on the arms of my chair and leaned down quite close. An aura of intensity radiated from him and he smelled so good my mouth watered. His deep voice seemed to vibrate in my pelvis. “Mutual. Attraction.”


Mutual?


Mutual.


Mutual.


That meant both of us.


Before I could halt the words, a confession sprang from me. “Men have liked me before, thought they could handle the handicapped thing. A few dates and it becomes too much.”


He stood straight, reinforcing that impression of godhood. “I strike you as the indecisive type?”


Boldness sprang from an unknown source. “Ever dated a crippled woman,” I shot back.


“Not looking to now.”


His smooth response hung in the air between us. Angered, I gestured down at my legs and chair. “Then what’s this?”


“A pair of long legs attached to a woman who doesn’t know her own value.”


Unreasonable, wild rage filled me. “You need to leave!” Sweat beaded on my upper lip.


He gazed down at me from his considerable height. “You need to get the hell over yourself, Annabella, and tell me to take you to dinner.” He turned, opened the door. In an oddly cool tone, he queried, “Did you know ‘bella’ means ‘beautiful’ in Italian?”


The quiet closing of the portal echoed nonetheless and I fumed, uncertain at who or exactly why.