Enslaved (The Inbetween Novels) (10 page)

“Are you all right?” His deep voice and concerned eyes cut something loose in Shayla’s mind. Her heart sped up. Her mouth went dry. She needed to get away from him in order to think clearly.

Shayla grabbed Faye’s arm and spun her around so he wouldn’t be able to read her lips. “Get my stuff. I can’t—I can’t be here. Meet me at the car.”

She took off like homicidal clowns were chasing her. Shayla grabbed the car keys out of her pocket and was glad she hadn’t put them in her purse. Being near him while being so conflicted about how to feel made everything so much worse than she originally thought.

If he was a stalker, maybe he staged the whole purse-snatching thing to seem like a nice guy. However, if he was actually a nice guy, he just saved her a ton of headaches canceling her cell phone, credit cards, and replacing all of her identification. Why was he there, though?

“Why are you following me?” She asked aloud and slid into the driver’s seat of her car. It wasn’t like anyone would answer. She’d run away from the only person who knew the truth.

Dropping her head on the top of the steering wheel, Shayla tried to convince herself to calm down. The man had no clue about the chaos he created in her mind. For all he knew, she was still freaked out over having her purse snatched. Faye would say something to reassure him everything was okay, and then they’d leave. So what if Shayla didn’t get to apologize? With her luck, she’d run into him again later in the week—during some other horribly embarrassing crisis. Life was chalk-full of those lately.

Footsteps came from the back end of the car and stopped beside her open door. Shayla didn’t even bother opening her eyes. Only Faye knew where she’d be hiding.

“I’m such a moron. He was right there and I gawked instead of—“

“You didn’t tell me if you were injured or not.”

His voice jolted her from her self-loathing tirade. Standing a few feet away from the car, he still stole her breath. Shayla forced herself to speak.

“Fine. Wh—who are you?”

“Deryck.” He stepped closer and set the bundle containing her purse on her lap.

Shayla waited for him to take the opportunity to brush against her arm or something, but he didn’t. Deryck moved away. His golden eyes traced over her. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to a man paying her so much attention.

Deryck couldn’t contain his concern for Shayla. Knowing the man violated her in some way set his teeth on edge. If she had been walking alone when he took her purse, would he have beaten her to get it or threaten her with a gun? The thought turned his stomach. His imagination ran wild with images of the thief pistol-whipping her, kicking her, ripping away her personal belongings . . . .

“Nice to meet you again, Deryck.” Shayla picked at the loose threads hanging from the broken strap of her bag.

Squatting beside the car, he met her down-turned gaze. She let out a breath and looked away from him.

“Shayla, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”

Laughter rang out of the open car door. It hit Deryck like a fistful of Viagra. He made sure she wasn’t looking and adjusted the erection pinched behind the seam of his jeans. Gods be damned, it was an uncomfortable sensation. A disconcerting one, as well. His body shouldn’t be reacting this way in the human realm. Her allure was impossible to ignore this close.

“We’re quite a pair. I’ve been trying to find you to apologize and you beat me to it.” Shayla laughed again.

Her admission knocked Deryck for a loop. He sat back on his heels and looked at Shayla—really looked at her for the first time since he’d dreamed of her. This wasn’t some fantasy woman he’d cooked up to masturbate to. She lived. She breathed. She had a life of her own and didn’t depend on anyone for anything. Yet she’d devoted time to making amends over something he didn’t blame her for. She’d done nothing wrong.

“Why would you owe me an apology?”

Shayla’s stunning green eyes met his at last. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. “I acted like an ass when I saw you at my office. There was no reason for it. You didn’t do anything wrong. The flowers were gorgeous, by the way. Oh, you should know that I talked to the cops. But, since I didn’t know your name, they only have a vague description.”

Deryck stood and looked around the parking lot. “There are police searching for me?”

“Oh my God, no. I told them I didn’t want to press charges. They asked me to describe you in case something else happened and I changed my mind.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry if this causes any problems for you, Deryck. You seem like a nice guy. The last thing I want to do is send you to jail because I thought you were stalking me.”

Relief eased the pressure building on Deryck’s chest. He smiled. “Stalking?”

“Well, after the coffee shop and then seeing you across the street from my house, I was a little freaked about being stalked by a drug dealer.” Shayla paused and smacked her forehead on the wheel in front of her. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

The pressure in his chest came back. He’d hoped Shayla forgot about the incident at her house. Her final comment took a moment to sink in.

Deryck knelt outside her door again. “What made you think I was a drug dealer?”

Shayla tilted her head against the steering wheel to look at him. Her eyes drifted to his bare chest and up to his eyes just as quickly. “The money. I watch too much television. Drug dealers on TV always carry a huge wad of cash. I’m sorry, again, for assuming things about you.”

He laughed and shook his head. Was she always this honest?

“There is one way you can make it up to me.”

She sat back against the car seat. “How?”

“Agree to have dinner with me?”

Shayla stared at him, her mouth slightly parted. A soft squeak escaped her lips. Deryck couldn’t help but smile at her shock. Surely men asked her out to dinner all the time. She was gorgeous, full of life, and witty. All of which, he learned from the few times he’d seen her.

“I, uh . . . .” She looked around, as though searching for someone to help her decide.

“It’s just dinner, Shayla. Not today, of course, but sometime soon.”

Shayla’s friend, Faye as she’d called her, walked around the rear of the vehicle. “She’ll go. Won’t you?”

Shayla leaned around the doorframe and scowled at her friend. “I will?”

“Yes, you will.” Faye rifled around in her bag and pulled out a paper and pen. She jotted something down and handed it to Deryck. “Here’s her cell phone number, call tomorrow and make your date when she’s not babbling.” Her fingertips brushed over his. Deryck frowned. She seemed . . . familiar. Gods, he hoped she hadn’t called on him.

Shayla blushed and shot her friend another sideways look before giving Deryck a soft smile. “I don’t babble. I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Deryck stood. “Yes you will. Drive safely, Shayla.”

He carefully shut her door. Faye circled around to the passenger side. She gave him another too-familiar look and slid into the car. Deryck made sure they drove out of the parking lot safely.

Things were going his way at last. He’d count the hours until it was appropriate to call and make their date.

First, he needed to buy one of these cell phones, as Faye called them. It shouldn’t be too difficult; he’d seen everyone in this realm with one of the devices plastered to their ear, young and old.

A mountain of clothes covered Shayla’s bed. Jeans dominated half of the available surface. Blouses encroached on the denim island, along with tank tops, skirts, high-heeled shoes, boots, sandals, scarves. It looked like a department store vomited up last year’s rejects on top of her periwinkle and lavender duvet.

A black dress shot out of the closet and landed on top of the blouses. The added weight sent the pile tumbling onto the floor to join a stack of underwear Shayla decided were too old-fashioned to be wearable anymore.
Not that I’m concerned with Deryck seeing my underwear on the first date.

She’d lost her ever-loving mind.

Shayla stared at the row of dresses hanging in her closet. Frustrated, she wrapped her arms around the lot of them and hoisted the dresses off the closet rod. She stumbled to the side of her bed and sorted through the last bits of clothing she hadn’t already rejected for her date with Deryck.

“No, no. All wrong.” Three dresses went onto the reject pile. “Ugly as sin.” Another dress joined the pile. “Why the hell do I even own this?”

Shayla crumpled up the last dress and flung it out into the hallway. Brightly colored flowers streaked through the air and caught on the doorknob. It hung there, a hideous flag reminding Shayla her taste in clothes was as bad, if not worse, than her taste in men.

She doubled back into the closet and pulled open the drawers lining one wall. Cartoon characters smiled cheerfully at her from one. She slammed it shut. Pajama pants and oversized dorm shirts overflowed out of the two remaining drawers. Yeah, she’d make a nice impression if she showed up looking like she had a midterm to cram for and couldn’t be bothered to put on real clothes before stepping into public.

He’s already seen you in your pajamas.
Shayla rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand, still unsure if Deryck had really been in front of her house that day, or if she’d imagined it. He vanished so suddenly; she’d nearly convinced herself she imagined the whole thing.

“Must have been leftovers from a dream.”

Sighing, Shayla pulled her cell phone out of her pants pocket. She kicked clothes aside to a clear patch on the floor of her closet and sat, leaning against the wall. Her fingers punched in a number she knew as well as her own and prayed Kelly picked up her phone.

“Is the world ending, Shayla?”

She frowned at Kelly’s tone. “Uh, no?”

“Did someone light your house on fire?”

“No, everything is fine with the house.”

“Then, why the hell are you calling me in the middle of the night if it isn’t an emergency?” Sheets rustled through the phone.

Shayla cringed.
Shit.
“What time is it?”

“Late enough that I’m going to make you buy my coffee at work in the morning. Now, tell me why you called before I pass out again.”

She dropped her head against the wall hard enough to make the sound echo though the closet. “I’m sorry, Kelly.”

“Don’t be sorry, be chatty. Obviously something upset you. Normally you’d be comatose hours ago. Is it the nightmares again?”

Regret reared its ugly head. Shayla squashed it. Talking about the nightmares had been stupid, but she thought if she got everything out of her head, they’d stop. They hadn’t. Her dreams weren’t why she called, though.

“No, no nightmare tonight . . . unless you consider my complete lack of decent clothing a nightmare. I ripped through my closet and dresser, there’s nothing for me to wear on my date with this guy that isn’t ugly, ten years out of style, too big, too small, or worn out. How the hell have I managed this long without nice-looking clothes?” Shayla took a breath and rubbed her forehead. “I mean, it’s not like I’m hurting for money after this last raise, right? Why the hell haven’t I—“