Express Male. Elizabeth Bevarly

He lifted a hand as if he intended to touch her, and Marnie instinctively, physically, recoiled. Smiling sadly, he dropped his hand again, and said in a voice that held both regret and resolution, “Pity things turned out the way they did, isn’t it? We were extraordinary together.”

      Her eyes went wide at that, her stomach pitching at the implication. If he thought she was a woman he’d known intimately—or whatever it was that passed for intimacy with a man like him—then he wouldn’t think twice about trying it again. It being a word for something she absolutely didn’t want to think about.

      Run away, she told herself. Now, when he’s not prepared for it. Run back to the store and hope someone’s there.

      He seemed to read her mind, though, because before Marnie could even lift a foot from the ground, he lunged at her, grabbing her upper arms and hauling her against himself. His face barely an inch from hers, he said, “Give me the manuscript, Lila. I’d rather not hurt you if I can help it.”

      Marnie’s heart was pounding now, her entire body going hot. Her brain lurched into action, but it rushed in so many directions at once, she couldn’t hang on to a single thought. The man’s fingers curled more tightly into her arms, hard enough that he was able to lift her partly off the ground. When she cried out at the pain, however, he eased his grip some, as if he really didn’t want to hurt her.

      But he did pull her forward even more and murmured, “Give it up, Lila. You know you want to. You know they haven’t treated you as well as they should. And you know I treated you better than anyone has. Join me. You and I together would be invincible.”

      Dizzy now, and too terrified to speak, Marnie felt her eyes begin to flutter closed. She feared she would faint, that she wouldn’t be able to fight back, and although she struggled to hold on, she had no idea what to do. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. She was the product of the most normal upbringing, the most normal life. She had no enemies. She avoided confrontations. She was tolerant, decent, compassionate. She lived a quiet, uneventful life. She taught music to children. She donated money to the local animal shelter. She volunteered at the food bank two weekends a month. She was a good person. Why was this happening to her?

      She would have given anything in that moment for a knight in shining armor to gallop up on his faithful steed and fell her attacker with an enchanted sword. But as a thirty-three-year-old single female well versed in the local dating scene, she knew Cleveland wasn’t overrun by paladins these days.

      But as if cued by her hopeful thoughts, a soft buzzing erupted out of nowhere, a sound Marnie recognized as one of the little golf carts the mall security guards used for their patrols. Until now, she’d thought the vehicles were kind of silly for law enforcement, even at an upscale mall. But when she glanced to her left and saw one circling the corner of the building just then, it looked very much like a white stallion indeed. And the uniformed guard behind the wheel could have easily passed for a gallant man-at-arms.

      Ah. Just the paladin she was looking for.

      Evidently making his nightly rounds, the security guard wasted no time coming to Marnie’s rescue. No sooner had he stopped the golf cart than did he launch himself out of it, running at full tilt toward her assailant. Without even stopping to ask what was going on—not that it probably wasn’t kind of obvious, a six-foot-plus man looming over a much smaller woman in a dark, deserted parking lot—the security guard hurtled herself at her accoster, who, likewise surprised, released Marnie and threw himself into the battle.

      Everything happened very quickly after that. But even amid all the chaos and confusion, Marnie sensed something out of kilter. Both men, she noted, fought with a forcefulness and expertise that just didn’t jibe with the common man. As she watched them brawl, she realized they weren’t brawling at all. There was too much elegance of movement, too much definition in the blows, too much orchestration of the combat. It was almost as if she were watching a violent ballet, so graceful was the altercation. This was no garden-variety street fighting they were doing. This was something way outside the knowledge of the ordinary man.

      They were well matched, though, however they had come by their learning, and for several long minutes continued their fight. Not sure what to do, Marnie stood where she was, still clutching the manuscript, marveling at the sight. If it looked like her assailant was going to win, she would make a run for it. But all signs were pointing toward her rescuer instead, who seemed to have a slight edge over the first man now. A moment later, his edge became dominance, until Marnie’s assailant lay flat on his back on the asphalt.

      Though not for long.

      Because he scrambled quickly back up again, his nose bleeding, one cheek abraded and studied the security guard through slitted eyes. For a single, weighty moment, both men only eyed each other warily from six feet apart. Then Marnie’s attacker smiled bitterly.

      “I knew OPUS wouldn’t be far,” he muttered, “but I didn’t think you’d be this close, not yet.” Then, without further ado—or further adieu, for that matter—he turned and fled.

      The security guard completed a half-dozen steps in the same direction, then must have had second thoughts about going after the guy. Smart man, Marnie thought. Who knew what kind of lunatic her assailant was? He might have even been armed. Best just to stay safe until they could make sense of what had happened. Not that Marnie thought for a moment that anything that had happened to her tonight would ever make sense.

      After halting, the security guard watched her attacker flee until the other man was out of sight, his hands curled into fists at his side, as if he hated having to let his adversary go. Then he spun around to look at Marnie, pinning her in place with a ferocious gaze.

      Wow. He was even better looking than her assailant. And as much as she hated to admit it, he kind of seemed more ominous, too.

      Oh, stop it, she told herself. There was nothing ominous about this man. He’d just rescued her from danger. He might have even saved her life! Her nerves were just so raw from everything that had happened tonight that a scoop of butter brickle ice cream would have seemed ominous at that point.

      Her rescuer was way too handsome to be anything but a good guy, with straight, dark blond hair falling over his forehead, and eyes so blue even the scant lamplight couldn’t diminish their vividness. As he made his way toward her into better light, Marnie noted that they were a lucent pale blue, the color and clarity of a summer sky. In contrast to his soft eyes, however, the rest of his face was all dark planes and hard angles. High cheekbones were carved out above lean, tanned jaws. An elegant nose was chiseled above a full mouth that looked as if it had been wrought by an angry god. It occurred to Marnie then that his fierce features gave him the look of not a paladin, but a mercenary. Someone who only came to the rescue when he was being paid for performing the service.

      It wasn’t exactly a comforting realization.

      Nevertheless, he was tall and strong and sturdy, easily topping six feet, his broad shoulders straining at the seams of his white shirt, his black uniform trousers hugging powerful thighs. He continued to stride toward Marnie until he came to a halt with barely a foot of distance separating them, a position that felt…

      Well. To be honest, it felt kind of menacing in light of the episode she’d just escaped. She told herself it was only because her nerves were frazzled from all that had happened tonight. Her rescuer had a nasty scrape on his jaw and a split lip, and his shirt was filthy from having rolled around on the asphalt. Anyone would look menacing under such conditions.

      Of course, that didn’t explain why he was looking at Marnie as if she were his most hated enemy….

      “Thank you,” she told him, shaking off the impression almost literally. “I don’t want to think about what might have happened if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”

      His gaze was fixed entirely on her face, but he said not a word to acknowledge her gratitude. He seemed to be cataloguing her features, as if he were trying to figure out if he knew her from somewhere. But he didn’t, she was sure, unless it was just in passing at the mall. She would have remembered a man like him. For a long, long time. And then she would