2. Camille

“No!”

For a split second, I was sure I was being mugged, and some jackass was about to get away with my purse and wallet and phone and all of Gran’s apology gifts.

Except the person didn’t run off, leaving me stranded and broke.

A firm hand caught my arm, steadying me, and a male voice gushed, “Shit, sorry. You okay there?”

Whew. Not a thief. What a relief.

“Yeah.” Inhaling a surprisingly pleasant male cologne, I opened my eyes to a face full of black cloth and muttered, “I’m fine,” on a miserable groan because... “I’m the one who should apologize, though. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Pulling free from his grip, I turned away to scan the ground for my fallen things. As soon as I spotted the purse, I knelt down to check on the contents, certain the wine bottle had broken and soaked everything inside.

That would be my luck.

While behind me, my collision buddy was saying, “Nah, you’re fine. I wasn’t exactly paying attention either.”

Ignoring him, I pulled the wine free from the bag to examine the bottle, only to let my shoulders immediately sag with relief. “Oh, thank God. The wine’s okay.”

“But you dropped your cheese,” I was told.

“Huh?” I twisted around and looked up to find the man’s shadowed form looming above me.

In the dark, I could tell he wore a black hoodie with the hood pulled over his head and the front zippered part tugged down enough to reveal he was not wearing a shirt underneath. Add a pair of dark jogging pants, running shoes, and a white cord that extended from either ear to his jacket’s right pocket into the mix, and it seemed pretty obvious I’d interrupted him mid-exercise.

He tugged one side of his earphones out to repeat, “Your cheese.” Then he extended his other hand from the darkness toward me, which contained my sealed package of Gran’s apology cheese in his palm.

“Oh.” Well, that was embarrassing. I’d never spilled the cheese in front of anyone before. It was better than cutting it, though, I suppose. “Sorry.” I rushed to my feet and reached for it, but he pulled his hand back just as I did, making me miss.

At least, I think he’d moved his hand. Unless I was so tipsy that I’d completely miscalculated the distance between us. Which was possible.

Squinting in confusion over what had just happened, I looked up as he pleasantly answered, “No worries. It fell from your basket.”

“Purse,” I corrected, immediately frowning. “It’s a purse.”

“Really? Huh. Looks like a basket to me.”

“Well, it’s a purse.”

“Okay,” he answered with a good-natured shrug. “A purse it is, then.”

I rolled my eyes. Everyone mistook my beloved purse for a basket just because it was made from woven wicker.

And was probably too big to be classified as a true purse.

Plus it had an open top...like a basket.

It was like no one had any imagination, I swear.

It’s okay, baby. I petted the wicker side, soothing its injured feelings. I know you’re really a purse at heart.

Sighing over the insult to my poor handbag, I blinked at the fingers still holding out my cheese and noticed flecks of red and black speckling his knuckles with a bit of white on the cuff of his black sweatshirt that partially covered the start of a smartwatch.

A smartwatch. Hmm, strange. You didn’t see a lot of smartwatch-wearing people in this neighborhood.

Maybe he was a fairly successful drug dealer or something like that.

Who liked to jog in his free time.

I mean, you had to stay in shape if you planned on running from a lot of law enforcement, right?

Right.

“Thanks,” I said, reaching out purposefully so I didn’t miss my target this time. And success! I finally got a hold of the cheese.

“I think,” he told me, his voice amused as his hand retracted into the darkness after I retrieved my possession. “That your line there was actually supposed to be you’re welcome.”

Say what?

I must be drunker than I thought.

While his voice was deep and made that inner feminine spot in me blink awake and begin to sit up, my brow furrowed in confusion because—

“Why in the world would I say you’re welcome?” I lifted my gaze to the darkened area where his face should be and squinted against the blare of a streetlight that seemed to be shining down on me with blinding brightness yet kept him completely shadowed.

“Well, you just made a man’s entire day,” he explained as he casually slipped his hands into his pockets. “Here, I just got full-body contact with the sexiest redhead this side of the tracks, and you’re thanking me? Nuh-uh, honey. The least you can tell me is you’re welcome when I gush a grateful thank YOU for a sample of all that gorgeous softness.”

O...kay.

This guy was definitely different. I might’ve even classified him as creeper-ish if I’d been sober. But with my thoughts as loose and carefree as they were, I wasn’t really alarmed by him. I was mostly just curious about who the heck he was.

The romance-loving portion of my brain immediately decided on mafia hitman. With a heart of gold, of course.

Nice voice, hard, sculpted chest, an expensive watch, and amazing smell, plus he took care of his health. So yep, I was going with deadly hitman who tried to appease the guilt from every kill by being an extra-passionate lover that made every woman he encountered orgasm from simply looking at him, which would explain why he had to hide his face under a hood. Can’t just set off random ladies he passed by on the street; that would get awkward.

When my body gave an involuntary shudder of longing, I decided it was time to stop daydreaming and return to reality now. I mean, in all honesty, he could be a hitman. And not the heart-of-gold type.

“Alrighty, then,” I said slowly, nodding at his darkness and still not sure what to think of him. I wasn’t scared, even though somewhere in the recesses of my brain I knew I should be a lot more cautious than I was being. “You’re welcome,” I added. Hopefully, it didn’t matter that he hadn’t technically thanked me yet. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

I turned away, not willing to bank my chances on whether he was a decent person or not, and I started down the street away from him, ready to move along. I had a grandma to see. And werewolf sex to read.

Only to realize that my new mysterious jogger friend had fallen into step behind me.

Um…

Not cool. Really not cool. The beginnings of unease finally swirled through my gut.

“What’s a tasty morsel like you doing out here in this dark, ominous, not-so-safe neighborhood, anyway?” he asked conversationally, sounding harmless enough and not like I would expect a hitman to sound.

But you could never be too sure. Because honestly, I had no idea how a hitman really sounded.

“Causing mischief and mayhem,” I shot back, sending him a scowl over my shoulder and trying to scare him away with the power of my intimidating glare alone. “What else?”

Now, go away, sexy-smelling guy. I don’t consort with hitmen. No matter how scintillating their voices may be or hard their chests felt.

“Mischief and mayhem, huh? Mmm…” He made an appreciative hum deep in his throat that reminded me of a half-purr, half-groan, which smothered my fear with a strange thrill I should definitely ignore. “I like the sound of that. Count me in.”

Gah. I was never going out walking drunk again. My head was a complete mess. I couldn’t tell if I was turned on by this guy or scared to death of him. My woozy brain told me I should probably be scared, though. So…

Latching on to every ounce of bravado I had, I jarred to a halt and whirled around to face off with him, scowling as hard as I could and lifting my finger like an irate teacher warning a student not to talk out of turn. “Are you following me?”

He stopped in his tracks right under a streetlamp to reveal a tall figure with wide, powerful shoulders. The upper portion of his face was still shadowed under his hood, though, so all I saw was a bit of his nose, all of his mouth, and his jaw covered by the start of a dark beard.

But, oh, what a perfect jawline and sinfully wicked, full mouth he had.

Whoever he was, he should definitely be proud of having a mouth like that.

Lifting his hands in a surrendering motion, he said, “No. Of course not. I wouldn’t think of following a stranger through the night like some kind of stalker. That would be all kinds of wrong.”

“Weren’t you walking the other way?” I challenged suspiciously.

“Was I?” That entertained tone in his voice as his full lips quirked into a sexy smirk caused a jump of interest to reverberate through my stomach. “I suddenly don’t recall.”

Bluffing my ass off, I narrowed my eyes to make him think I wouldn’t put up with any misconduct from him.

“Well, you were,” I confirmed. “Now, I suggest you keep going that way.” And I shooed him along toward the correct path.

“But, Mayhem,” he pleaded impishly, his lips spreading into an enigmatic smile as he flashed me perfectly straight white teeth and leaned against the pole of the streetlamp to lazily cross his arms over his chest. “Your way suddenly looks so much more appetizing than mine.”

Appetizing?

“Oh brother,” I rolled my eyes on a groan.

The dude was one of those consummate flirts, wasn’t he?

That type had always annoyed the heck out of me before. Except, you know, that might only be because those men flirted with every other woman around me, never me specifically. This might be the first time I’d actually hit one’s radar.

Huh. Fancy that. Maybe flirty men weren’t so annoying after all.

I eyed this one with renewed interest as he tipped his chin, motioning toward me. “Hey,” he murmured with that awesome, panty-dropping voice of his. “I could give you a ride to that liquor store you’re knocking over. Or is it an ATM you’re robbing? Whatever mischief and mayhem you’re causing, I’d gladly play getaway man. For you.”

Okay, I had to give him props for that one. He was certainly cute and witty with the lines. Which was totally my type.

But stranger danger was real.

So I sniffed and shook my head, turning away. Resist the allure, Camille, I told myself. Resist. This guy could be anyone.

“No, thanks,” I told him. “I prefer to walk.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he shot back.

The smirky amusement in his voice had me slowing to a stop before spinning back again. “Did you just check out my ass?” I asked in a low, warning voice.

He sighed dreamily and set a hand against his heart. “I like to think of it as appreciating the scenery. Seriously, though, I never thought flannel pajama pants had any sex appeal before, but you have proven me wrong.”

Oh dear Lord. As compliments went, I totally dug that one, although I was pretty sure he was partly laughing at me while he made it. The timing was all wrong, though; I still had no idea if he was an ax murderer or some good Samaritan. So instead of letting myself feel flattered, I scowled. “Yeah? Well, appreciate this!”

And I flipped him off before stomping away and telling myself to never wear these pants in public again.

“If that’s an invitation, I accept,” he shot back, keeping pace behind me.

“It wasn’t an invitation.”

“Didn’t think so,” he answered easily, his voice way too cheerful to be bothered by my obvious rejection. “But you can’t blame a guy for hoping, right?”

Reaching the threshold of my patience, I spun toward him. “Didn’t I tell you to stop following me?”

I could almost hear him squint in thoughtful consideration before he said, “I mean, not in those exact words, no, you didn’t.”

“Well, stop following me,” I thundered, in those exact words. “And if you go one more step in the same direction as me, I’m pulling out my Mace and intimately introducing you two. Got it?”

“But what if I just want to go in that direction now?”

I jerked up my keychain, Mace in hand, and aimed it right at his face, even though I hadn’t taken the time to remove the safety lock first. “Then find another way to get there.”

“Okay, fine. Wow.” He chuckled as he lifted his hands again and even retreated a step. “I suppose I can be a good boy. On occasion. But hey, Mayhem,” he called when I turned away again to stomp off for the last time. “Take it easy out there, alright? You look like the type who’s way too delicious for the average guy to handle. Don’t want you leaving a trail of broken-hearted carnage behind. Might get messy, you know.”

“Hey, creepy hooded man,” I called back cattily. “You got a little white stuff.” Turning to walk backward away from him, I wiped at the corner of my own mouth with my thumb. “Right here.”

He repeated the act, only making the whiteness smear more as he drew his thumb over the smudge and then examined his hand to discover I hadn’t been lying.

On cue, his beautiful lips quirked into another entertained grin as he looked up at me. “Well, that’s embarrassing.”

Except he sounded as if he’d never been embarrassed about anything a day in his life.

“Hmm,” I said, unable to conceal my own smarmy smirk. “Maybe you should consider swallowing next time.”

Throwing his head back, he shouted out a laugh that filled the night with his amusement.

“Damn, Mayhem,” he shouted after me. “I think you just became my dream woman.”

Chuckling, I turned away to walk forward again before rounding the corner at the end of the street to leave him behind. Then I shook my head and sighed, sobering desolately. “You better keep on dreaming, then, pal,” I murmured to myself.

Because I’d never been anyone’s dream woman. And I doubted I ever would be.

I knew he had stopped following, but I couldn’t help but look back, a part of me hoping he hadn’t given up, while my rational side sighed in relief, glad he’d left me alone.

Being sly and flirty and having a heart-stoppingly gorgeous grin didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. You couldn’t be too cautious in this world.

At the end of that block, I was still missing the stranger’s playful but completely inappropriate teasing while glad I’d gotten away from him unscathed when I turned the corner, only to jar to a halt and gape open-mouthed at the sight before me.

But seriously…

Holy wow.

Black Crimson had struck again.