Bound

Chapter Four

 The rain continued to pelt down as Brianna left the diner for the day.   At just past two o'clock she threw her raincoat hood up and bent her head against the deluge.  The wind whipped around her as she ventured to cross the road.   At that moment a horn blared and she gasped, narrowly missing a sleek black Audi as it drew to a stop beside her.

Opportunity that offered itself up was often unavoidable, he mused, stopping his car near the girl.   He rolled his window down smoothly and called to her,  knowing full well what a siren call it was.  " Oh my goodness.   It's quite a day to be walking in this rain!  If you'd allow me I can give you a lift wherever you are going" he said, voice a purr.

Brianna stood dripping in the rain, the smell of expensive leather and cologne wafting through the open car window.  An opera played softly from within as she met the eyes of the man she could not get out of her mind.   Cautious to a fault she stepped back a pace, the rain sluicing down in rivers and dropping from her hood.  She hesitated, looking around.  

He smiled, warmly, dark eyes friendly and welcoming.   Laughing to himself he admired her as she stood in the rain, fighting with her warring emotions.  If it had been easy, it would have been another disappointment he thought, sitting and waiting for her reply.   

Brianna looked at him again, the warm car, the purr of the engine.  And she chose.   "Thanks a lot.  You can just drop me up the street, I'd appreciate it, Mr?"

The smile returned, full wattage, as he said " Gareth Viscardi, pleased to make your acquaintance.  You have me at a distinct disadvantage, however, as you have not told me your name."

As the warmth of the car and its baby soft leather enveloped her she managed to utter her name.  "Um, I'm Brianna Walsh, thanks so much for the lift", keenly aware of the rainwater dripping onto the no doubt expensive interior.  

He shifted the car into drive and pulled out into the traffic.   Gareth he mused, it was good, had been good countless times before.   He smelled her delicate scent, lemongrass and wildflowers and felt the stirring again.  Deftly gripping the wheel he turned the heat up a touch and innocently asked, "Brianna, where shall I drop you?"

Now that she was in this car with this stranger she felt like a clumsy schoolgirl with her first crush.  This man was very obviously worldly, from the tips of his Italian leather loafers to the pricey haircut he wore.  His voice, smooth and cultured spoke of education well beyond a local Community College.   She trembled inside with uncertainty, but replied to him in a meek voice.  "Oh you can drop me at the Glass House Souvenir Shop, about two blocks away."

He inclined his head in a nod.  As if he didn't already know where she lived, he thought to himself, as if he didn't already know her daily route.  Raising a eyebrow he asked,  "Do you have a car? Is it in the shop?" , full well knowing the answer already.   He was the best at information, already knew more about her than her coworkers probably did.  

She smiled, nervously, and replied "Well no, I did have one but unfortunately couldn't keep it.  So I was lucky when I moved into town that a job was pretty close to where I live."  She stole a glance at him, at the strong profile and lean, strong body.  It was like looking at a enchanting flame, so handsome was he.  She forced herself to look out the windshield and direct him to stop by the shop.   Silly fool, she told herself.  Taking a stranger's kindness and turning it into some sort of tween romance novel!  

He pulled up to the shop, allowed the car to idle.   He felt, rather than saw her covert gaze.  The moth was drawn and now she was soon to be his.  The choice had been made, whether she realized it or not, and the game was fully afoot.   Softly he turned to her ,producing from his pocket a black card with his name and cellular number on it, said  "Here you are Brianna.  Please feel free to reach out to me if you need another lift while I'm in town."   

Brianna took his card with trembling fingers, mouthed a thank you and was out of the car and into the gloom of the afternoon.  She walked past the shop, willing  herself not to turn around. She heard the car pull away from the curb as she let herself into the apartment's hall.  What a day it had been, she thought, looking down at the card with his name.  Gareth Viscardi.   For whatever reason he'd decided to stop, she was both glad and strangely, afraid.