Bachelor By Design: Bachelor By Design / Too Hot For Comfort

She grabbed his ankle and shook it. “Trace, are you all right?”

He didn’t react to either her voice or her jostling. He just lay there deathly still. Her heart pounded in her chest as panic consumed her. She stood up, grabbed both his ankles and pulled with all her might. His body moved about a foot. She pulled again, grunting aloud with her effort. He was so impossibly heavy. She’d never moved over two hundred pounds of dead weight before. Dead. The awful word reverberated in her head. He couldn’t be dead.

Could he?

At last, she’d pulled his body clear of the staircase. She dived to her knees again and clasped him by the shoulders. “Trace, please wake up. Please!”

The skin at his temple was mottled a dusky blue, and a thin red streak of blood was running down his cheek. His face was still pale, his lips almost bloodless. She wasn’t sure he was breathing.

“Trace!” She shouted his name, her throat straining with effort and fear. She called it again. Then a third time.

No response.

Frantic now, she cupped one hand under his neck, tilting his chin up. His mouth fell open, revealing a straight line of white teeth. She took a deep breath, then clamped her mouth over his. Exhaling slowly, she tried to fill his lungs with air. But somehow, it wasn’t working right.

Then he moved. His lips anyway, gently molding themselves against her mouth. His tongue darted forward and her eyes opened wide as it slid sleekly inside.

His eyes were still closed and she heard a low rumble deep in his throat. Then his hands rose. They reached up to cradle her face, holding her gently in place. Pure sensation overcame her shock as his mouth pressed against hers. She moaned softly as his fingers trailed down her throat, his thumbs stroking her collarbone. Then his hands moved over her bare shoulders, drawing her even closer to him.

He groaned again. Only this time it sounded more like a groan of pain than pleasure.

Chloe broke the kiss and sat up, watching him grimace as he brought his hand to his temple. She swallowed hard. “Are you all right?”

“What the hell happened?” His voice sounded weak and raspy.

“I don’t know. I came down here and found you unconscious under the stairs.”

His gaze focused on her. “Where exactly is here?”

“My house.” She leaned forward. “I’m Chloe, remember? Chloe D’Onofrio. We have a date.”

“Chloe.” He closed his eyes. “I dreamed you were kissing me.”

It seemed like a dream to her, too. She’d never been kissed like that before. It wasn’t just his technique. The man had been barely conscious, after all. It was the unusual spark that had arced between them—connected them.

He opened his eyes. “Or was it a dream?”

“No. But it wasn’t exactly a kiss, either—at least it didn’t start out that way.” She licked her lips. “That’s not important right now. How do you feel?”

“Like someone has been using my head for batting practice. What happened?”

“I think you were attacked by a Chihuahua.”

He shook his head as if to clear it, then winced. “I think I’m hearing things. Did you say a Chihuahua?”

She stooped to pick up the small ceramic dog lying upended near the base of the stairs. One pointed ear had been chipped off, and the remaining fragment was stained with a small amount of blood. She held it up for him see. “It used to be Ramon’s pet, since he’s allergic to animal dander. Now we use it for a doorstop.”

“It also makes a handy guard dog,” he said, gingerly fingering his injury. “I just wish I’d seen it coming.”

“What exactly were you doing under the staircase?”

“The staircase,” he echoed, closing his eyes once more. “Nice. Nice staircase. I…looked under it.”

She frowned. “Why?”

His brow crinkled as if he was trying to remember the reason. At last he said, “Names. I was looking for names.”

Names? That didn’t make any sense. Which shouldn’t surprise her, since he was suffering from a head injury. “Speaking of names, do you happen to remember yours?”

He opened his eyes and scowled up at her. “Of course.”

“Tell me,” she said, wanting to be certain.

“Trace Joseph Callahan. I’m twenty-seven years old and live on Ravenna Drive in St. Louis, Missouri.” He arched a brow, then winced at the slight movement. “Am I right?”

“You looked older than twenty-seven.”

“At the moment, I feel about eighty-seven.” He struggled to sit up, his face blanching at the effort. “Make that ninety-seven.”

She clasped his shoulder and helped pull him to a sitting position. He closed his eyes, then dropped his head between his knees.

She chewed her lower lip, wondering if she should call him an ambulance. “Are you all right?”

After a moment, he nodded. “Just a little dizzy.”

“I still don’t understand what happened.”

He looked up at her. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No, not to me.” She stood up and began to pace. “I find you unconscious under the stairs and I can’t find my brother anywhere.” She paused to look at him, twisting her fingers together. “Do you think Ramon is in trouble?”

“Definitely.” He gripped the newel post, then rose unsteadily to his feet. “Attempted murder is a serious matter.”

She blinked. “What are you saying?”

His brows drew together.

“Don’t look at me like that. And don’t pretend to be shocked. Ramon answered the front door with a butcher knife in his hand. He made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want me anywhere near you. And, just yesterday, he assaulted me with a power saw.”

“That was an accident. And this is…pre-posterous. Ramon would never…could never hurt anyone.” Her gaze flicked to his foot. “Not on purpose, anyway.”

“Chloe, I admire your loyalty, but this is pushing it a bit too far. The man is a menace. He belongs behind bars.”

Her blood turned to ice at his words. Ramon would never survive in jail. He could barely survive out of jail.

“I know he’s your brother,” Trace continued, his tone gentler now. “But I have to report him to the police. Otherwise, he’s liable to kill someone with these crazy antics. And since I seem to be his favorite target, I’m afraid that someone will be me.”

“You don’t understand,” she breathed. “He’s had a tough life. Our family is…different.”