Lara’s imagination went into overdrive as she pictured the man wielding a long knife in his hand as he approached her. A knife he intended to use to slit her throat after he’d done God knows what to her.
Her breathing became erratic, and she began to hyperventilate. Dark spots were appearing in front of her eyes. Her heart pounded so loudly, it was as if it wanted to escape her chest. Her legs felt as if they had turned to jelly.
“…so much for telling me it’s polite to introduce myself.” The man’s words were clearer as he came closer. “Bloody social mores. What good are they if the people you’re talking to don’t respond in the way they’re supposed to? I told her my name and now she’s too afraid of me to even turn and look at me, let alone reciprocate.”
“I’m not scared of you or anyone else!” Lara defended as she spun round to face him.
There was no knife glittering in either of his hands, but her eyes still widened in alarm as she took in the height and breadth of the man standing six feet away from her. A man so tall and muscular, he didn’t need a knife to represent a threat.
“No?” he challenged as he obviously saw her reaction to him.
Her shoulders straightened. “No!”
It was dark in the alley, with only the moon for light, but even so, she could tell he had dark hair and was probably three or four inches over six feet tall. Which meant he absolutely towered over her five feet two inches in the heavy biker boots.
His features were indistinguishable in the shadows of the alley, apart from being all sharp angles.
He was wearing a dark suit that, even without too much light, Lara could tell was perfectly tailored to his wide shoulders and chest and his tapered waist. His muscular thighs and legs were showcased in matching tailored trousers.
He wore the expensive clothing with arrogant ease, but also in a way that made Lara think it wasn’t his preferred style of clothing.
She glanced in the direction of the theater, unable to see even its garish lights from here, but the way this man—Malachi?—was dressed, she would lay odds on him having also been at the theater until a few minutes ago. She didn’t remember seeing him there, but then her attention had been focused on something else. Someone else.
Her chin rose as she looked at him. “You followed me from the theater,” she accused, this time going with the saying it was better to attack than defend.
“I did,” he confirmed without apology.
“That’s it?” she snapped. “’I did,’” she echoed in a scathing facsimile of his deep voice.
He gave a shrug. “Would you like to join me for a coffee? There’s a coffee shop just round the corner from the entrance into this alley.”
Lara gasped. “Are you on drugs? Or maybe drunk? You’re certainly high on something.” She couldn’t think of any other reason why a man she didn’t know, one, moreover, who admitted to having followed her before trapping her in a narrow alleyway, would then calmly invite her to have coffee with him.
“Doubtful, when I haven’t ingested any alcohol or barbiturates, legal or illegal, recently.”
“Recently?” she repeated suspiciously.
“I don’t take drugs, ever. They mess with my head.”
Mess more with his head than it already was, Lara would hazard a guess. This man’s method of calm conversation was definitely questionable.
“But I do occasionally drink a glass of wine and brandy with and after a good meal,” he added conversationally.
“But not tonight?”
“I haven’t had a chance to eat a meal yet this evening, good or bad.”
“Why not?”
“I was at the theater and then I followed you.”
Lara gave an incredulous shake of her head at how easily he continued to admit he was stalking her. “Why would I want to have coffee with a man who admits to having followed me before accosting me in a dark alley?”
His teeth gleamed white in the moonlight as he smiled. “I think we both know the answer to that.”
“No, I—”
“I told you I was at the theater before following you. I was in the bar, to be more specific. Guarding my client.”
Her eyes widened. “You don’t look like a bodyguard.”
“What do I look like?”
She frowned at his humoring tone. “Your tailored suit and the rest of your expensive clothing, plus your air of arrogant confidence, say you’re more likely to be the man who owns the company.”
“Kingston Security is a family-owned company,” he confirmed. “We usually deal with business security, personal as well as cyber. Unfortunately, we do take on private clients too, and we all have to take a turn in looking after them. It was my turn.” He shrugged. “I certainly wouldn’t have attended that play tonight if I’d had a choice.”
“Your client was there?”
“Yes.”
“His name is…” Lara was sure she already knew the answer to this question. Malachi Kingston’s behavior made no sense otherwise.
“Gerard Taylor.”
Exactly what she’d thought his answer would be.
Lara didn’t remember seeing this man at the theater. Which showed just how concentrated she’d been on her task of the evening, when this man exuded an unmistakeable aura of power she was now aware of even in the surrounding darkness.
“Coffee?” he invited again pleasantly.
Lara frowned. “I feel as if I’ve fallen into a parallel universe.”
“Do you think there is one?” he mused. “I’ve always imagined there could be, but my brothers and cousin all disagree.”
“How many brothers do you have?” She was now following the tenet about placating your attacker until you found a way to escape. Not that he had attacked her, yet, but his behavior certainly didn’t appear to be normal.
“Five actual brothers, plus my cousin. Adam is as close as a brother, having been brought up with us after his parents died.”
“They all work for Kingston Security?”
“Yes.”
“Are they older or younger than you?” Keep him talking seemed like good advice too, she told herself, hoping there was less chance of him attacking her if she could keep a conversation going between them.
“Two of my brothers are older, as is Adam. Consequently, I have three younger brothers. You haven’t told me your name yet. It’s polite, when someone introduces themselves, to return the pleasantry.”
She’d been hoping he—Malachi?—had missed that part of this strange conversation. “Maybe we should go and have that coffee after all.”
“Fine.” He nodded. “But just so you know, in case you were thinking about it, I wouldn’t advise trying to make your escape on the way there or out the back entrance once we reach the coffeeshop. I broke the school record with my hundred-yard sprint, and it still remains in place to this day.”
Lara believed him.
Along with everything else he’d said tonight. There was a strange honesty to Malachi. One that said he couldn’t tell a lie, not that he wouldn’t. That he would tell the plain, unvarnished truth, even if what he had to say wasn’t particularly pleasant.
Because escaping him, either before or after they entered the coffeeshop, had been exactly what Lara had intended doing.
The moment she could see him properly beneath the illuminations of the overhead lights on the main street, Lara knew she’d done the right thing in humoring him when she agreed to accompany him.
Yes, she’d known he was tall, and he definitely had wide shoulders and a broad chest, but as well as that aura of power, there was a predatory air about the way Malachi walked and moved. As if, despite taking a firm grip of her arm and measuring his longer steps to her shorter ones, he was aware of everything going on around them and was ready to attack, if necessary.
His watchfulness made Lara aware of those things too.
The traffic going by.
Other pedestrians.
A man sleeping beneath ragged blankets as they passed a shop doorway.
A couple wrapped in each other’s arms walking on the other side of the street.
Even so, her attention quickly returned to the face of the man walking beside her.
He had dark brows, the same color as his hair, over equally dark eyes. Sharp cheekbones etched either side of his long and straight nose. The firmness of his lips and jaw looked as if they had been chiselled from marble by a master sculptor, the dark stubble on the latter only adding to his air of danger.
A danger that, as they entered the coffeeshop together, warned Lara not to let her guard down for a moment.