Predicting Rain?

He considered his options, then heard another soft sound, of a drawer being opened, then closed. He made his decision. The best thing to do was to get out of the loft without being seen, but be prepared just in case. He looked around in the shadow-darkened room for anything he could use as a weapon, and the best thing he could see was a lamp by the bed that looked solid. He reached for it, took off the shade and took out the bulb, then unplugged it and wrapped the cord around the base that felt like rough stone.

He held it like a club and it felt heavy and solid. Cautiously, he approached the door that led into the main living area of the loft. He paused, trying to remember the layout of the loft. Basically one cavernous space, divided into areas by six-foot high walls that came short of touching the lofty ceilings by at least another six feet. Polished hardwood floors, rough white plastered walls, plain furnishings, just two sprawling navy couches, a television in a unit on the far wall, a few tables, some stacked boxes, no carpets that he remembered. The communications-work area took up most of the back wall, on a twelve-foot table set up under high louvered windows, and framed by towering floor-to-ceiling windows on either side.

Simple and clear. He just had to get to the door without being noticed. He cautiously looked out into the main space, and knew luck was with him. Whoever had broken in had left the front door open enough for a thin sliver of light from the corridor to cut into the room. He glanced to his left, to the glow of a light beyond the partial wall that defined the kitchen area. Carefully, he eased into the space, staying as close to the wall as he could while he slowly made his way to the right and the escape of the open door.

He’d gone only a few feet when he heard something that stopped him in his tracks. The voice. The one from his dreams. This time it was softly singing a song he vaguely remembered from somewhere in the past, maybe an old Bob Dylan song…or some folk song? A simple melody sung in a breathy whisper. Then the song stopped when the voice said softly, “So, you don’t like music, huh? Bummer.”

There was no response. Just the voice again, “Okay, okay, I get the idea.” Followed by a low chuckle. “I’ll stop.”

The idea of going out the entry door was forgotten and Jack found himself moving silently toward the kitchen, the lamp base firmly gripped. The voice. He’d been right. A feminine voice. A woman, and she seemed to be talking to herself or maybe on the telephone. He didn’t have a clue if there was a phone line in the kitchen. He lifted the lamp base slightly as he approached the wall, then looked into the kitchen area.

He saw the owner of the voice that had invaded his dreams, the person who invaded the loft. It didn’t make sense. She was tiny, definitely alone, not more than an inch over five feet tall, maybe one hundred pounds soaking wet and she had her back to him as she leaned forward over something on the counter. She looked tiny in an oversize T-shirt fashioned in brilliant, tie-dyed colors of reds, blues and yellows. It was barely long enough to brush the tops of her bare thighs. Her hair so blond it was almost silver, fell long and straight down her back, almost to her waist, and her feet were bare. There was something at her slender ankle, jewelry of some sort.

Whatever fear he’d had at the intrusion was gone, replaced by curiosity and something else. That stirring he’d experienced in the dream was back full-force, fed by the way her long hair shifted in a silky veil when she moved, and by the seductive lines of her bare legs. He just watched. Her hands shifted to her hips, the action hiking the T-shirt higher on her thighs while her feet shifted on the cold hardwood floor.

“Okay, bud, you’re on your own,” she said a little louder now, but the voice didn’t lose any of its sexiness.

This was ridiculous, standing here, watching, listening. He made himself move farther into the room, still gripping the lamp base, and he made himself speak up. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

She jerked around, her long hair flowing like a veil, then she was facing him. If the voice had been disturbing, looking into huge brown eyes set in a delicately boned face, seeing seductively full lips softly parted in surprise and watching her rapid breathing press her high, small breasts against the soft cotton of her shirt, stunned him. His jumbled thoughts and spontaneous responses were so unlike anything he’d experienced before with any woman, that he was literally frozen to the spot. He simply stared at her.

WHEN RAIN ARMSTRONG heard that voice, she spun around. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and she couldn’t take a decent lungful of air to save her life. Fear choked her and she had to blink twice before she could make out a man not more than six feet from her in the shadowed kitchen. A man who had appeared out of nowhere in a loft that was supposed to have been deserted.

All she could do was stare at him, tall and lean, standing by the entrance, half lost in the fringe shadows of the space. She could tell he was wearing nothing but dark slacks and that he totally blocked any means of escape. He had something in his right hand, something that look ominously heavy and lethal, raised as if ready to strike her.

Even though she couldn’t move, her mind raced. Get out! she screamed in her head. Just get out any way you can! But she didn’t know how to do that. The only weapon she had was the can opener she had been using to open the cat food, and it was hardly a weapon.

He took a single step toward her. “I asked what’s going on? What are you doing in here?”

She swallowed hard. “Wh-what are you doing in here?”

“You first,” he muttered as he took another step forward.

She tried to back up, but her waist hit the counter behind her. She darted a look past him, the space between him and the door rapidly expanding. Maybe she could get around him before he could react. But then again, maybe he’d just hit her with the thing in his hands. He was tall, a good foot taller then she, somewhere in his mid to late thirties, and from his near naked state, she could see he was fit. Lightly tanned skin stretched taut over hard stomach muscles, a chest with just an arrow of dark hair and disturbingly broad shoulders. His angular face was partially shadowed in the dim light, but she could see the slash of dark brows over hooded eyes, a slightly crooked nose, all framed by dark hair, short and somewhat spiked.

She saw the way his hand held the weapon, and she cursed the fact she didn’t have a clue where the knives were located. She shifted slightly, ready to just make a run for it, but she never got the chance. Joey, the orange tabby cat she’d come to feed, had made his way to the top of the wall between the kitchen and living area, and right then, the huge beast launched himself at the intruder. The man must have sensed something coming, because he started to turn in the direction of the attacking cat, but he couldn’t do a thing to protect himself before there was impact.

The cat hit him in the shoulder and chest, sending him off balance, and for a moment man and cat were suspended in midair flying to Rain’s right. Then there was a crashing sound as the man hit the floor, mixed with a profound curse. The cat immediately launched himself off of the man, up and onto the counter in one smooth move.

It was Rain’s chance to escape, and she took it, but she’d only taken one step before her foot struck something hard and cold. She pitched forward, flailing to get her balance, but fell straight into the prone stranger.

There was heat and the scent of soap and maleness, and strength. That scared her. She quickly pushed as hard as she could, sending herself back and away from the contact, hitting the wooden floor and ending up on her knees. She sat back on her heels, pushed her tangled hair out of her face. Whatever chance she had of escape was gone.

The man was standing and towering over. Then she saw the weapon he’d been holding, the thing that had caused her to trip. She made a grab for it, but she wasn’t fast enough. He had it and he was standing over her once again.

She took several deep breaths, then pushed herself to her feet. She couldn’t do a thing about his size advantage, but she could talk a good game—her father had always told her that, insinuating that was why she was so good at what she did. She took another breath, thankful that the man was keeping his distance, at least for now. She didn’t want to touch him again or have him touch her.

She braced herself, ready to try anything, then looked right at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was frowning at Joey on the counter. “What in the hell is that?”

“My attack cat,” she muttered, her mind working a mile a minute. The best defense is a good offense, and she’d go on the offensive to see what happened. “You’re lucky all he did was knock you down, you sneaking in here like this and scaring me to death.”

He looked at her then and she had the oddest feeling she’d met him before. But she hadn’t. She’d never heard that voice or faced the man himself before in her life. She would have remembered. “What was he going to do, tear me to shreds?”

She shrugged. “Who knows?”

He shook his head. “Just tell me why you’re here and what in the hell you’re doing here at two in the morning?”

At least he was talking and not bashing her over the head with the lamp base. An attacker who wanted to talk, but why was he here half-dressed? It didn’t make sense. “You explain first,” she said.

He exhaled roughly. “Oh, come on. I’m not the one who broke in.”

“I didn’t break in. There’s a key in the lock.” She knew at least one thing. “That’s how you got in here, isn’t it? I left the damn door open.”

“No, I have my own key,” he said.

Her stomach sank. “You were in here all along?”

“Since midnight.”

Oh, boy, had she been wrong. “In here?”

“Actually, in the bedroom. I was sleeping….” He shrugged. “Let’s start over. It’s obvious that you aren’t here ripping me off, and I belong here, so just tell me why you’re here in the middle of the night with that animal?”

He was staying here. She knew people went in and out of this place, but no one had told her that anyone would be here tonight, or she wouldn’t have come over. She motioned to Joey who was calmly cleaning himself on the counter. “Feeding that beast.”

“At two in the morning?”

“That wasn’t my idea,” she muttered and looked at the lamp base in his hand. “Were you going to hit me with that?”

He looked taken aback, but said, “Only if you were a killer and you outweighed me by fifty pounds.”

“Well, I’m not and I don’t,” she muttered.

“So I can see,” he said softly in a tone that brought color to her cheeks. Then he said, “So, you came to feed the cat…?”

She exhaled and motioned to the lamp base. “Can you put that down?”

He eyed her up and down, and there was a definite softening in his expression. She realized that his eyes weren’t just shadowed, they were dark as night. “If you promise not to unleash that beast on me again.”

“Sorry, I can’t promise that. He’s pretty much got a mind of his own.”

“Okay, but I’ll keep an eye on him,” he said and laid the lamp base on the counter. Facing her again, he asked, “Now, why were you coming in here to feed him at this time of night?”

“Because he ran away.”

“From you?”

“No, the guy who used to live here. He moved, the cat went with him, but he disappeared—the cat, not the man—and his wife’s worried about it and thought that the cat might try to get back here, and sure enough…” She pointed to Joey. “He turned up tonight. I was sitting on the fire escape meditating when I spotted him going over the roof, then he jumped down to the window and disappeared. I guess the guy left the window open just in case he came back. Anyway, he got in, and I knew…” She cleared her throat. “I thought this place was empty.”