Chapter 4
Darcy's heart thundered in her chest. Her breath formed little white puffs in the cold, dimly lit night of the alleyway.
She flung her head sideways to see how close he was.
Her pulse beat in her ears when she realized Logan was almost on her, his black cape billowing in the wind behind him like a vampire chasing prey.
“I’ll catch you, you little witch. You’re in so much trouble, but I’ll straighten you out.”
The demonic pounding began in her head as she ran for her life down that dark alleyway with the Hell spawn behind her. The fetid air began to grow hazy, and it hurt to think. Wasn’t she supposed to be riding a broomstick? Out of nowhere, a voice sounded in her ear.
“Darcy, wake up. There’s some guy here who wants to talk to you.”
Something grabbed her shoulder, and she moaned in fear. “Let me go. Let me go.”
“What’s the matter with you, Darcy? Did you get high last night or what?”
The misty alleyway faded, and consciousness stole in. There was no mistaking Pamela’s nasal voice in her ear, and she screwed her eyelids open as her roommate’s petulant face swung into view.
“What do you want?” she complained, trying to figure out if Pamela had four eyes or if her vision was just skewed. She yawned so wide her jaws cracked. “And what time is it?”
“It’s 2:00 in the afternoon,” Pamela replied, staring down at her with unusual admiration. “This guy asking for you is pretty hot. Where did you find him?” Her eyes were gleaming. “He’s a big improvement over Doug, that’s for sure.”
Darcy shot straight up in bed. “What guy?” Her stomach started to flutter as her mind finally woke up. No small feat for a lazy Sunday, especially after the night she’d had. Apprehension tiptoed across her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Surely it couldn’t be Logan at her door.
Pamela huffed impatiently. “I told you already—the guy at the door. He says he wants to talk to you.”
“What’s his name?”
“Logan Thompson.”
“Tell...tell him I don’t take clients in my home,” Darcy improvised, springing out of bed and heading for the only bathroom—which was in the hallway—in a panic.
Pamela’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “He’s a client?”
“Yes—no—just get rid of him, for heaven’s sake.”
Pamela’s lips split in a wide grin. “If you don’t want him, I’ll take him.”
Darcy stared. “Just get rid of him,” she hissed over her shoulder as she shut the bathroom door. Luckily, the front door wasn’t visible from the bathroom.
Pressing her ear against the thin, cheap wood of the door, Darcy strained to hear.
“She said she doesn’t take clients at home.”
She couldn’t hear Logan’s low reply. How had he found her so quickly? And why would he want to?
Probably to strangle her.
Groaning, she sat on the toilet and dropped her head into her hands.
She wished she could afford an apartment on her own.
Pamela paid her rent, which helped her maintain her haven.
Having a place of her own was essential to Darcy because she didn’t want anyone getting any ideas that they could run her life.
Been there—done that.
It wasn’t great, but it was better than going back to her mother’s. Maxine DeAngelo could have been an interrogator for the Gestapo. As much as she loved her mom, she also valued her privacy. The sudden, sharp rapping on the door made her goosebumps dance.
“He says he’s not leaving until you come out and talk to him,” Pamela reported through the wooden panel.
Darcy rolled her eyes. Could this situation get any more ridiculous?
“I’m in the shower,” she retorted, standing up and turning the water on in the bathtub.
Shedding her pajamas, she quickly stepped under the hot spray, ignoring Pamela’s irritated grumble about not being a go-between anymore because she didn’t care anyway.
“Tell him I’ll call him tomorrow,” Darcy added.
Hopefully, he’d take the hint and leave. Men didn’t like having to wait. They were great at telling women what to do, but didn’t take direction well when it was their turn to be ordered about.
Sighing in bliss, she let the hot water soothe her rattled nerves and lower her blood pressure.
She shampooed her hair with her favorite coconut scent and shaved under her arms, taking her sweet time.
After turning the water off, she paused to listen.
No sounds were coming from the living room at all.
He must have left—thank God. She was wringing out her hair with her hands when a bath towel was thrust inside the curtain. Weird. She hadn’t heard the door open.
“Thanks, Pamela. I forgot to grab a clean towel. The one on the rack appears to have mold growing on it. You really should wash it more often.”
Darcy wasn’t particularly anal about using a fresh towel every time she showered. She was usually good for a week or so with just one, but Pamela took water conservation to a whole other level.
“Did you get rid of him?” she asked, wrapping the towel around her and then pushing the shower curtain aside. Her blood froze instantly when she looked up.
“You’re welcome for the towel, Darcy,” Logan growled, looking all predatory and authoritative at the same time.
His dark eyes slid up and down her toweled figure.
“And no, she didn’t get rid of me. I’ll be waiting in the living room for you to get dressed.
Don’t make me wait much longer, or I won’t be as patient as I’ve been so far. ”
As he turned and left the room, Darcy’s heart rate shot through the roof.
He’d been in her bathroom like a common peeper?
Her feelings alternated between sheer outrage at his audacity and relief that he hadn’t seen her naked.
She didn’t like being nude in front of anyone, and she’d thought Pamela was in the bathroom or she wouldn’t have wrapped up before she stepped out.
Wow—close call.
She eased the bathroom door open and heard voices coming from the living room.
Hurrying, Darcy slipped into her bedroom and locked the door.
She wondered if Logan was sitting on the couch or pacing the room like an impatient tiger.
She hoped it was the couch, which would be karma in her book.
The little prick of guilt that tried to rear its head was easily dismissed.
Snickering, she dressed in a pair of comfortable sweats and a long-sleeved Kansas City Chiefs t-shirt. With her towel wrapped around her head and her irritation with him still hot, she marched into the living room ready to verbally fillet him, then stopped dead in her tracks.
Logan was sitting on the loathsome couch, but the old sofa had never had it so good. Her pulse accelerated when his eyes pinned her in his smoky stare, making her squirmy inside. As good as he looked in his cream knit sweater and blue jeans, she could tell he was upset with her.
“I was just keeping your friend company,” Pamela purred, oozing even closer to Logan on the disgusting couch.
Ugh and double ugh. Darcy gritted her teeth. “I’ll just bet you were.” She wasn’t prepared for the hot thread of jealousy that flared through her like a flame running down a line of gunpowder. Tearing Pamela’s bleached blonde hair out and giving her a black eye would be so appropriate right now.
Her eyes shifted to the man on Pamela’s right. Bob...Brad...she couldn’t quite remember his name, but it was something different. Buck...his name was Buck. Poor old Buck didn’t look too happy at the situation either, especially since Darcy was closer to Logan than she was to him.
Buck stood up and shot Pamela a jealous glare. “Are you ready to go for some food yet? I’m getting hungry.”
“I’m sure she’s ready to go,” Darcy replied in sugar-coated, syrupy words that echoed her roommate’s style. “Aren’t you, Pamela?”
Pamela shot Darcy an angry look and got up with a huff. “Oh, alright. Come on then, Buck, let’s get this over with.”
Darcy could tell Buck was in the last death throes of their relationship, and didn’t know it if his puppy dog eyes on Pamela as they made their way out were any indication.
He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, a little taller and more muscled than the last guy.
He had a baby face, though, and dirty-blond hair spiked in the back, which gave him a Dennis the Menace look.
If he’d had a leash around his throat, he couldn’t have been any more subservient unless he was on his knees.
Maybe she liked the lost little boy look.
Who knows? Darcy was just glad they were gone.
She turned to Logan. He sat forward, his elbows on his knees, hands hanging between them, still studying her. “How attached are you to that couch?” she asked, staying out of his reach.
Logan lifted his eyebrow. He looked at the couch and then at Darcy’s smirking face, and she could see the moment he figured it out. He shot up fast with a grimace of disgust.
“And here I was planning on hauling you over my lap,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Not on that thing you won’t.”
His sudden lazy grin lit up her insides. “That wasn’t a definite no. I’ll take that as a yes to a different location.”
“You will never get a yes to spanking me,” she retorted fiercely. “What are you doing here anyway? And how did you find me?” She flopped into the leather recliner and flipped it back so she could put her feet up as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Logan pointed to the plastic Walmart bag by the front door.
“I brought your witch costume back, since you sneaked out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. That wasn't nice, by the way. Neither were the cops when I went to the police station to make sure you were safe and not roaming the streets of Independence alone at night. You told them quite a little story. I’ll have to watch my back when I’m at Holly’s now. ”
Darcy felt a slight flush of guilt rush up her throat at his disapproving tone. “I roam the streets alone all the time, thank you very much. I haven’t needed anyone to keep me safe yet.”