Chapter 1 - The Stranger I Kissed
Harper Ellison threw both arms around the wounded stranger and whispered:
“Please pretend you know me.”
The man looked at the small silver key crushed inside her palm.
Three men in black jackets stopped moving.
One of them stared at the number engraved on the key.
The stranger's expression changed.
That key did not belong to Harper.
Thirty seconds earlier, Harper Ellison had been doing what she did every night at 8:30.
Turning the little brass sign on the door of Ellison Flowers from OPEN to CLOSED.
It had been a long Tuesday.
Two wedding consultations.
A funeral arrangement.
Sixteen deliveries.
One customer who had changed her mind about pink roses four separate times.
Harper's feet hurt, her brown hair was falling loose from the bun she'd pinned up that morning, and the cream floral dress she'd chosen because it was comfortable had acquired a green streak near one hip from a bucket of eucalyptus.
All Harper wanted was leftover pasta, a shower, and eight uninterrupted hours of sleep.
Then she'd heard the voice from the alley.
“You're not leaving this block alive.”
Harper froze.
Common sense told her to unlock the shop door.
Go inside.
Call the police.
Do not investigate ominous voices in alleys after dark.
She followed the first two instructions.
Then ruined everything by looking.
Three men surrounded another man near the curb.
He wore a black suit over an open white shirt.
Rain had darkened his hair.
There was blood near the corner of his mouth, but what frightened Harper wasn't his injury.
It was his calmness.
The other men were angry.
He wasn't.
One of them had his fist twisted into the stranger's lapel.
Another held a metal baton at his side.
Yet the stranger looked at them as though they were inconveniencing him during dinner.
Then the oldest man noticed Harper.
“Keep walking.”
She should have.
Instead Harper smiled brightly.
“Oh, thank God.”
Four men stared at her.
Harper rushed forward.
The stranger's dark eyes narrowed.
She wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Please pretend you know me,” she whispered.
Then she kissed him.
For one extraordinary second, nothing happened.
The stranger became perfectly still.
Harper had the absurd thought that she'd finally found the one human being in the city more shocked than she was.
Then his hand settled lightly around her waist.
Not possessive.
Not rough.
Steady.
Playing along.
Harper pulled back.
“Touch my husband,” she told the three men, “and you'll answer to me first.”
The man holding the stranger's jacket blinked.
“Your husband?”
“Very much so.”
Harper tightened one arm around the stranger.
His mouth twitched.
She shot him a warning look.
Not helping.
The tallest of the three stepped forward.
“You don't know what you're involved in.”
“Probably not.”
Harper's heart was pounding so hard she could hear it.
“And I'm comfortable keeping it that way.”
The three men exchanged glances.
The wounded stranger finally spoke.
“Enough.”
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't move.
But the effect was immediate.
The man gripping his jacket released him.
The baton lowered.
The older man's jaw tightened.
For the first time, Harper noticed something she had misunderstood.
These men weren't looking at the stranger with confidence.
They were looking at him with fear.
“Not here,” the older man muttered.
The stranger stared at him.
“No.”
One word.
Absolute.
All three men backed away.
Harper watched them disappear toward a parked SUV.
Only then did she release the stranger.
“Oh my God.”
He adjusted his jacket.
“I am so sorry.”
One eyebrow rose.
“For saving me?”
“For kissing you!”
A faint smile appeared.
“Do not enjoy this.”
“I'll try.”
Harper stared at him.
Rain rolled from his dark hair along the side of his face.
Up close, she could see tattoos disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. More covered part of one hand.
He looked expensive.
Dangerously expensive.
And entirely too comfortable for someone who had just been surrounded by three hostile men.
“Who are you?”
His smile disappeared.
“That wasn't your first question.”
“What?”
“You apologized first.”
“Well, forgive me for having manners during whatever deeply disturbing situation this is.”
Something almost warm appeared in his expression.
“Why did you help me?”
“You were outnumbered.”
“You didn't know whether I deserved it.”
Harper shrugged.
“I'm a florist, not a jury.”
For the first time, he laughed.
It wasn't loud.
It lasted barely a second.
But it changed his face.
Harper immediately wished it hadn't.
Because mysterious strangers were easier to walk away from when they weren't unexpectedly charming.
She held out her hand.
“Harper Ellison.”
He looked at it.
Then took it.
His grip was warm.
“Damian.”
She waited.
He didn't continue.
“No last name?”
“Not tonight.”
“That isn't suspicious at all.”
“You kissed a nameless man in an alley.”
“To save your life.”
“Was that what happened?”
Harper frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Damian looked toward the street where the three men had disappeared.
“They weren't going to kill me.”
“They literally said you weren't leaving the block alive.”
“They were trying to frighten me.”
“Well, congratulations. It worked on me.”
“Not enough to make you leave.”
That silenced her.
Damian looked down.
“Your hand.”
Harper followed his gaze.
She was still holding the little silver key.
She had found it beside Damian when she'd rushed forward and picked it up instinctively, assuming he'd dropped it.
“Oh.”
She handed it toward him.
“You dropped this.”
Damian didn't take it.
His entire demeanor changed.
“Where did you get that?”
“On the ground.”
“Exactly where?”
“Beside you.”
Damian stared at the engraved number.
“That isn't mine.”
Harper's stomach tightened.
One of the retreating men looked back.
He saw the key.
His face changed.
Damian saw it too.
“Inside,” he said.
Harper blinked.
“What?”
“Go back into your shop.”
“Excuse me?”
“Now.”
She folded her arms.
“You don't get to order me around because I accidentally married you for thirty seconds.”
“Harper.”
It was the first time he'd said her name.
No humor remained in his voice.
“Lock your door.”
Something about his expression convinced her.
She stepped backward.
“Are you coming?”
“No.”
“Those men could return.”
“They won't.”
“You sound extremely confident.”
“I am.”
Harper reached the shop entrance.
“Damian?”
He looked at her.
“Whatever you're involved in, keep it away from my flowers.”
His mouth almost curved again.
“I'll do my best.”
She entered and locked the door.
Through the glass, Harper watched him stand alone in the rain.
A black sedan appeared from around the corner.
It stopped beside him.
A driver stepped out and opened the rear door.
Harper stared.
Damian looked nothing like a helpless stranger now.
He looked like a man accustomed to doors being opened before he reached them.
Before getting into the car, he looked directly through the window at Harper.
Then at the silver key still in her hand.
His expression sharpened.
The sedan drove away.
Harper looked down at the key.
She almost laughed from nerves.
“Wonderful.”
She placed it in the cash-register drawer.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
Harper hesitated before answering.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a man's voice.
“You picked up something that doesn't belong to you.”
Harper stopped breathing.
Her eyes moved toward the locked front door.
“Who is this?”
The caller ignored her.
“Look across the street.”
Harper slowly raised her eyes.
A man stood beneath the awning opposite the flower shop.
Watching her.
The phone remained against her ear.
May you like
The man lifted his free hand.
And pointed directly at the drawer containing the key.
