A Date With Fate (2 page)

I am majorly bumming I didn’t pay more attention when my girlfriends were talking about the importance of always having an aerosol can and a lighter within easy reach. Tipsy on vodka tonics at the time, it had seemed unwieldy, and a tad brutal, to choose to set someone on fire with a Rube Goldberg flamethrower as a defense when you could simply shoot them. What I wouldn’t give now for a supersized can of Raid and a Bic.

Sadly, I’m not a secret ninja or a supernatural female. All 5-foot-1-inch and a hundred and four pounds of me is an entirely mortal, girly-girl. The odds were decidedly stacked against me winning over most men in a physical fight. No matter how I looked at it, without my gun to scare off the intruder, I was screwed.

A flash of inspiration had me dropping to my knees on the rug. I urgently felt around under my bed for the forgotten weapon of choice before I purchased my pistol.

‘Yes!’

I sprang back up. I immediately felt a little tougher with the Louisville slugger in hand. A crack with a bat could give me some time, although not as much as a bullet in the chest. If anyone came into this room my plan was a simple one; hit and run.

Outside my bedroom windows were bright streetlights. I need total darkness to sleep well. At night, lined draperies were always pulled tightly closed across the windows on either side of my bed. Right now, I was really happy with this quirk of mine. As long as the intruder wasn’t wearing night vision goggles, the blackout conditions could give me the advantage of surprise.

On TV, it shows green lights flickering around their heads like lightening bugs if people are wearing those creepy, alien-looking goggles. In that event, Plan B would be to flip on the overhead light, blind them, and then continue with my Plan A of hit and run.

I felt a bubble of hysteria rising in my throat when realizing I was basing my escape on the accuracy of a freaking television show.

‘
Why would green lights be flickering around anyone’s head if they were wearing NVG’s? Wasn’t the whole blasted point to have the advantage in the dark, not be lit up like a neon sign?’

I was losing it and seriously contemplated nailing myself in the head with my own bat, so I could pass out to avoid whatever was coming my way.

Standing there, I was chilled and shaky, goose bumps popping up all over. I’m not the type that gets cold easily. I knew it was from being hyped-up. It didn’t help my long hair was still damp from my earlier bath, and I was wearing a little nothing of a nightgown so short it barely covered my shivering butt. I almost shrieked when hearing a faint rustle of clothing and a definite creak of the top stair. The sound galvanized me into action.

I swiftly crossed the floor of my room while making sure to stay on the thick pile of the area rug to avoid noise. I stood slightly behind the halfway open door. I didn’t want to try and close the door; it would serve no purpose. It didn’t lock and was squeaky like everything else in my old building.

I hefted the bat in readiness. It was possible I’d only get one, good swing at the intruder and I needed to make it count. If I missed--well, my mind wouldn’t even go there.

A few agonizing seconds later, I heard the intruder pause on the threshold of my doorway. I held my breath. I heard a soft footfall, and then another. With the third step, he was now squarely in my bedroom. My eyesight more adapted to the darkness, I guessed it was a man by his general height and width of shoulders. His vague outline seemed tall, but it was hard to be sure. Even under the best of circumstances, most men seem tall from my vantage point.

I tried to ignore my churning gut and keep a level head. Would projectile vomiting the bowl of caramel sea salt gelato I had earlier tonight be a turn off, or just make me easy prey? I didn’t know the right answer, but I hate puking. I swallowed my saliva and strove to feel a little calmer, more coherent. I’ve always sworn I wouldn’t be that girl that fell down in her high heels and cried when being chased by a bad guy. Now was the time to prove it.

These thoughts were all a quick flash across my racing brain as I acknowledged one, indisputable fact with a gut-tightening sensation. By coming straight to my room as he unerringly had, this person proved he meant to come after me.

Within the first moments, I realized it was too iffy to go for his head in the dark. I readjusted my aim and went for the vicinity of his knees. Even as I swung the bat, I sensed movement in the air around me. My swing was prematurely halted against something solid with a loud WHAP! It sounded like an open hand. My heart plunged. I had somehow broadcast my intent. I felt a sharp yank and the bat went flying out of my slippery grip. I heard the muffled thud of the bat when it landed on the rug somewhere in the dark room. My only weapon may as well be on Mars.

Above me, a man’s voice softly hissed, “That wasn’t a very nice way to greet me.”

‘Holy Freakin’ Moly!’

I didn’t wait around to chat. I pivoted and took off running for the open doorway behind me. I hadn’t gone two feet when I was caught mid-stride by arms locking around my waist like bands of steel. I let loose with a startled scream as I was swung around like a rag doll. My feet were off the ground, and my back was pulled tightly against a chest that felt as hard as granite.

My attacker started to walk with me, carrying me easily back into my bedroom. I fought against him while shouting for help at the top of my lungs. It was a knee-jerk reaction. My building is located on the main street in Northfield, but it is mid-November and both my windows were closed tight. Even if I could be heard, there is no foot traffic in downtown this time of night. It’s a college town, but last call was long over. The bars stop serving at one in the morning and there are no all-night diners nearby.

I knew it was me against this man.

My next move was another knee-jerk reaction; it was a Déjà vu move from my childhood fights that always resulted in a quick getaway. I pried up one of his fingers at my waist with both of my hands. I wrenched it backwards with a jerk.

“God
dammit
!” his voice spit out in the darkness. He snatched his hand away from mine.

‘It worked!’

Unfortunately for me, it didn’t work for more than a second. I had no chance to get at his other hand to free myself before he quickly maneuvered and repositioned his hold. He now entrapped both my arms against the front of my body. One of his arms was across my chest and the other around my hips.

I kicked at him backwards as hard as I could. I tried to twist my body to knee him in the jewels. Like a vice, his arm clamped across my hips prevented that move. I couldn’t get at him. If his low laughter was any indicator, kicking him furiously barefoot wasn’t doing him any damage but really hurt the hell out of my toes.

He stepped us nearer to the vicinity of my bed. Right at that very instant, I learned something new about myself I’ve never before had a reason to know. I hated being bound without the use of my arms. My response came from deep within me at some primal level never consciously experienced. Instinctually, my reaction was to fight like a wildcat. I bucked my body, kicked my legs, and tried to smash my head back against his face—anything to throw him off stride and give me an opening to get loose.

He made a mockery of my efforts by easily controlling my frenzied attempts to get free. As if to emphasize this total power over me, my attacker put his hand over my breast and squeezed. Throwing my head wildly around didn’t stop his tongue from licking up my throat to my ear.

He growled, “You aren’t going anywhere, little girl, but fight me all you want.”

His touch and guttural voice held me frozen in suspended shock for an instant. This was really happening to me.

I didn’t answer. I saved my breath for battling him. I knew my struggling was turning my assailant on big time. I could feel him hard against me from behind while I strived to get free. I tried to ignore this as I fought him, but it was like trying to ignore a red-hot poker.

I used every trick I had ever been taught to break his holds. Too bad these tricks were from years ago, and against my sisters. I hadn’t been in an actual physical fight since I was thirteen. I could verbally slay Hannibal Lector into a blubbering fool without breaking a sweat, but I am not a kick-ass fighter against a man. I was captured with no use of my arms. I was unable to turn my hips, so my legs were useless, too. My brain was still functioning, though. I allowed my body to relax and go heavily limp in his arms, as if in a dead faint.

My attacker didn’t care if I was dead or alive, but instead took advantage of my feigned slump. He stuck his hand down the front of my nightgown; cupping and rubbing my breasts. His other hand on my hip moved to my naked butt, and he pinched me hard.

Unexpectedly shocked from my coma, I inadvertently yelled, “Ouch!”

He laughed at my pained reaction. Until I jumped up and snapped my head back, catching his mocking mouth with the top of my skull. It felt like his front teeth were embedded to the gums in my cranium. I didn’t think grown-ups had soft spots, only infants. Apparently, mine had never fused. I didn’t receive much delight from his moan of what had to be a mouthful of hair-filled agony since my own moan of throbbing hurt was louder.

My attacker recovered quickly. With a bounce, he hoisted me up higher against him. His hand roved all over my butt and the back of my thighs. He held me close against him to limit my range of motion. His mouth was hot on my ear whispering words I couldn’t distinguish, or be sure were even in English. I hoped I’d loosened his front teeth.

I wrenched my head away as far as I could to avoid his mouth, but couldn’t move my hips enough to avoid his busy hand. I felt his fingers strumming boldly down my rear end. Then I felt those fingers move between my legs, and the vibration of another mocking laugh against my neck.

The touch of my attacker’s invasive fingers drove me over the edge into a mindless, uncontrolled frenzy to escape his touch. I erupted and fought against him like a woman possessed. Blindingly out of control of anything I was doing or screaming, I was only dimly aware of kicking and scratching, head butting, throwing myself from side to side, and even snapping at his face. Had he come within range, I would have ate his face off zombie-style and then asked for seconds. I don’t know how long it took before his excited laughter started to penetrate my futile haze of bloodlust to kill him.

I could hear the underlying, sexual tension in his voice as he held me to him, goading me on, whispering he was stronger and would always win. He was a predator and the harder I fought the more aroused he became.

The next thing I knew, I went sailing though the air in the darkness. I landed on my bed so hard that I bounced not once, but twice. My antique bed springs were squeaking protests louder than my own shrieks. My attacker had snapped on the bedside lamp and tore his T-shirt off over his head by the time I came to a stop from bouncing. I was disoriented at the sudden blaze of light and struggling to catch my breath.

Breath or no breath, I couldn’t afford to lie there on my back, on my bed, and at his mercy. I hurriedly rose up, but didn’t get much further than my elbows before his hand clamped around the front of my neck and pushed me back down against my pillows. He kept me there.

The black dots hadn’t disappeared in front of my eyes from dazedly staring at the sudden burst of lamplight a moment ago. My attacker was a fuzzy blur as he stood next to the bed. I pulled with all my strength on his hand casually surrounding my throat. It wasn’t even a huge, monster hand. This guy was seriously strong, or I was incredibly weak. Either way, I couldn’t get free of him.

His hand slid off my neck and glided slowly downward. My nightgown is more like a longish, tight tank top. It’s made of a stretchy lace material with an elasticized neckline cut straight across and held up by thin spaghetti straps. He spread his hand, fingers dipping under the gown’s neckline. His splayed hand was lying across the top curve of my breasts, and exerting no apparent effort, held me firmly down on the bed. Unbelievably, I was unable to do much more than lift my head from the bed pillows.

Inside my head, I was calling him every foul name in the book and some that hadn’t been written. In my bedroom, my hitched breathing was the only sound in the silent night around us as we continued battling. I soon realized it was a one-sided struggle because my attacker was doing nothing but standing next to the bed and holding me down. He was probably getting off on the view every time I lashed out at him with a kick. I couldn’t let that stop me.

He blocked my attempts to maim him with kicks by using his left knee to pin down my thighs. I got a quick glance of a bare foot. Knowing this meant he had taken the time to remove his shoes and socks made me shudder. He had planned out this assault. His right foot stayed planted on the floor by my bed.

During this time, I still couldn’t see the predator’s face as he was a shadow backlit by the light from the lamp. Even with my vision restored, my damp hair lying across my eyes in tangles made trying to see a nightmare version of peek-a-boo. I was out of breath, and I could feel my nightie was twisted up above my hips from thrashing around.

I’m sure it would matter later I was partially blinded, winded, and so blatantly exposed to him, but not right this minute. The man was lifting his hand off my chest and I knew it was my golden opportunity.

I went for his balls.

With a surprised grunt, he adroitly avoided my fist by turning his body towards his right. This caused my punch to bounce harmlessly off his left thigh, but I had anticipated this move and my left hand was already in motion.

I was an inch from my goal of causing a painful distraction so I could get away when his right hand shot out. He grabbed my fist in a tight grip and thrust my arm off course, causing me to cry out. Not so much in pain, but in total frustration at the lost opportunity to nail him. He released my fist quickly but kept hold of my wrist.

My attacker gave a little shake to my hand in his grip and mockingly made a “tsking”, chiding sound, as if disappointed in me for missing.