ROMANCING THE BULLDOG (4 page)

going to be.

ONE

Ten years later

The speeding limousine flew through a puddle of standing water and splashed Liz Morgan so

violently that she nearly lost her balance. She inhaled, as the sudden splatter of cold, muddy

water chilled her to the bone, and then slowly moved her arms away from her wet body as if

they weren’t soaked, too. She looked down, at her solid white pantsuit that now looked polka

dot; at her blue and white shoulder bag that was mud-covered too; and instead of becoming

angry, instead of lashing out at anybody or anything, her heart grew faint.

She was on the sidewalk in front of an auto repair shop in the northwest end of downtown

Jacksonville, on a dreary, overcast afternoon, and already it had been the kind of day that

made her wonder if she had some sort of a mark, some sort of a sign on her forehead urging all

to slap her, to just knock her silly.

First, her car broke down. She was heading across town for a meeting when it sputtered

and then stopped. She called the wrecker and rode inside of the tow truck to the nearest repair

shop, some place called Manny’s. While Manny was doing his diagnostics on her old Ford

Mustang, she went outside to catch some fresh air. And to steel herself for a repair bill that

she knew was going to require the kind of money she just didn’t have.

That was bad enough. But then some crackhead in Reeboks came upon her before she

even realized he was anywhere near her, and attempted to snatch her shoulder bag. She held

on, as he grabbed and ran, and she ran with him. But he was younger and faster and her

hands became entangled in the shoulder bag straps. She couldn’t turn loose at that point even

if she had planned to, which she had not. She lost her footing, she was fast but was no match

for a fleeing teenager, and was dragged along by the thief, on her side, for several feet. It

wasn’t until the thief noticed some men from across the street looking to come over did he give

up on snatching her purse, and took off running. It all lasted a matter of seconds. Liz, not to

mention her suddenly aching body, felt as if it had been hours of torture.

But it didn’t stop there. After assuring the men from across the street that she was fine, and

after knocking the dirt off of her pantsuit, Manny stepped outside, wiped his hands on a

grease-filled rag, and told her that her only mode of transportation, her 13-year old Mustang,

would cost three-thousand-dollars to repair. And that, he added, didn’t include the labor.

Liz knew she had to have given that mechanic a look something crazy because even he said,

“I’m just sayin’,” and took a step backwards. It felt like another attempted mugging to Liz.

She had been back in town for only a month and nothing was turning out the way she had

hoped. Not the job she ended up settling for; not the apartment she had no choice, given her

salary, to rent; and now not even her reliable car. Then for Manny to talk about how her

engine was shot, along with her motor mounds, her pcv valve, and other parts he kept naming

long after she had stopped listening, and that they all together would cost three thousand dollars

to repair, was beyond the pale. Three thousand dollars, he’d said, when she didn’t have three

hundred.

But just like the drama she left behind in Philly, this one was one humiliation after another

one. Because if her attempted mugging wasn’t bad enough, if her car repair bill wasn’t bad

enough, if her sorry life in general wasn’t bad enough, a limo decides that it wants in on the
get

Liz
action too, and splashed her.

First she just stood there, as the wetness chilled her to the bone, and then she pulled a

handkerchief from her purse and began wiping the mud off of her outfit - only to smudge it

even more. And the tears that had been waiting months to shed stained her lids. She’d made

mistakes, Lord knows she’d made more than her share of mistakes, but how much more, she

wondered as she wiped, did she have to endure?

“Are you all right?” a male’s voice yelled out at her. She looked up and saw that the limo

had backed back up and the backseat occupant had pressed down the window to reveal

himself behind the shield of the limo’s pure black tint. Liz wanted to show spunk, the way she

usually did, and tell him did it look like she was all right, but she couldn’t muster the energy.

She just stared at him instead, her big, golden-brown eyes like darts staring through him; her

soft, pretty face revealing such a mask of agony and despair that the limo’s occupant quickly

flew open the back door, and stepped out.

He stepped out as if he owned the street, Liz immediately thought, as his abrupt, high-

handed manner unnerved her. He wasn’t a necessarily tall man, but he was an imposing one,

his athletically sculptured body lean and strong; his every movement personifying power and

prestige. And as he buttoned his obviously expensive suit coat and began moving deliberately

toward Liz, she could feel his startling blue eyes staring deep into her brown ones, with his

furrowed brow giving off the impression that what he was seeing disturbed him mightily.

“Are you all right?” he asked again, this time his body leaning toward hers, as if he was

expecting her to whisper. “You don’t look so good.”

Then he sighed, as if he was upset that she wasn’t responding to him. “Didn’t you know

better than to walk on the edge of a road that’s filled with water puddles?” he asked, as if he

were blaming her for his limo driver’s carelessness.

Normally Liz would have corrected him without hesitation.
I know you’re not even thinking

about blaming me for what your driver did!
she would have said. But this was no normal

day. That was why she didn’t bother to respond, but continued to stare at the hot shot,

wondering why he didn’t just play his little blame game and then leave her the hell alone. But

nooo. He just stood there, his brownish-blonde hair conservatively styled in a severe, short cut

that stopped at the nape of his neck, his deep blue eyes looking almost as world-weary as Liz

felt.

“Can you hear me?” he said after apparently saying other things that she should have

responded to. “Do I need to phone for help?”

“No, thank-you,” she said and began to move away. But he caught her by the arm.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked her. “You can’t just leave.”

She looked at his hand on her arm and then at him, as if he was the one who was behaving

oddly. “Says who?”

He stared into her eyes, and he desperately wanted to say,
says me
, because he felt just that

possessive for just that moment in time, but he knew he couldn’t go there. He said nothing,

causing Liz to feel strange, too. Wait a minute, she thought. There was something familiar

about him.

“I’ve got to go,” she said with a defeated drone in her voice, bending her arm to remove it

from his grasp.

But he wouldn’t let her go. Because there was something about the way she spoke, the way

she looked and sounded, that pricked at his heart. Did he know her? “What’s your name?” he

asked softly.

Liz frowned. “My name? What does my name have to do with anything?”

He knew her. “What’s your name?”

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes a great deal of difference. I’ve splashed you. I have a right to at least know your

name so that I can apologize properly.” Those bright brown eyes, those full, puckered lips,

that dark brown, radiantly beautiful face. He knew her.

“You didn’t splash me, your driver splashed me.”

“Same difference. What’s your name?”

“Liz, all right? My name is Liz. Now will you please let go of my arm?”

Liz? This was feisty
Liz Morgan
? His heart dropped.

“I said let go of my arm,” she said again.

“No,” he said this time without hesitation, with even a tinge of irritation in his voice, and his

effrontery astounded Liz.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“It’s nice to meet you, Liz. I’m Jason Rascone.”

She shielded her shock. She was able to shield it. But she could hardly believe it. This was

Jason Rascone? Where was his mustache, where was his bad boy swagger? He looked so

different, so conservative now, like the president of some glee club or something.

He wasn’t certain if she remembered his name at least, so he continued talking. “I apologize

for ruining your lovely suit.” His eyes swept over her body as he said this, remembering every

inch of her. Liz began to feel uncomfortable.

“Jace!” a voice said near the limo and both Jason and Liz turned in the direction of the

sound. Stephen Armitage, medium height, thin as a rail, had stepped out of the car. “Do you

realize what time it is?” he asked with his arms wide open, a Blackberry in one hand and a

smart phone in the other. “The entire Chamber of Commerce is waiting on you!”

“Just give me a sec,” Jason replied to his excited colleague, but his colleague wasn’t trying to

hear that.

“But sir!” he said. “You can’t just hold up the entire Chamber of Commerce over some

female. Will you please come on?”

Jason looked at Liz. “That’s Stephen,” he said. “He works for me, although you wouldn’t

know it by this conversation. Stephen, say hello to Liz.”

Stephen, an overly dramatic sort of person in Liz’s estimation, rolled his eyes. “Hello, Liz,”

he said in an irritated tone and then immediately returned his attention to Jason. “Now, will

you please come on, sir?”

“Where are you headed?” Jason asked Liz.

Liz could not believe this man. He didn’t remember her, and she wasn’t letting on that she

remembered him. Why didn’t he just go on to his business meeting or wherever else he had to

go on to?

“I was about to catch the bus,” she said. “And if you remove your hand, I’ll gladly be on

my way.”

Jason grinned. “You can’t catch a bus looking like that,” he said, looking down at her mud-

smudged pantsuit again. “Now that’s a fact.”

“Sir!” Stephen said again, but Jason ignored him.

“We’ll give you a lift,” he said, pulling Liz toward the limo, but she quickly pulled back.

“No, you will not,” she said, forcefully removing her arm from his grasp. “I don’t know

you from an ax murderer!”

Jason grinned. “No, you don’t think that, do you? Do I look like an ax murderer to you?”

“Nobody
looks
like an ax murderer,” Liz replied, unimpressed with his self-assurance, “but

that doesn’t mean there aren’t plenty out here.”

“Okay. Point taken. But this is the deal: I can’t just let you leave like this.”

“And why not?” She began to feel her spunkiness return, and he was beginning to sound

just like the old Jason.

“If you think I’m going to be responsible for this fashion disaster,” Jason said, motioning his

hand toward her pantsuit, trying his best not to reveal his real reason, "and just drive away and

let you walk away, you don’t know me very well.”

“I don’t know you at all!” She said this and meant it. She used to know him, but she

wasn’t ready to admit that much. Given what they did when they did
know
each other, she

wasn’t sure if she wanted to ever admit it. “That’s the point,” she added.

“I’m on my way to give a speech to the Chamber of Commerce.”

“Your assistant made that abundantly clear.”

“Ax murderers don’t get invites to speak at chambers of commerce.”

“There’s a first time for everything. Now will you please excuse me?” Liz said this with

some degree of finality and then began moving away from Jason.

But as she stepped off of the curb and onto the oil-slicked road, her high heel gave way,

causing her to slip backwards and then fall rump-first into another puddle of standing, muddy

water. Jason, horrified, hurried to her aid.

“Good gracious woman, what’s wrong with you!” he asked with a tinge of anger in his

voice. He helped her to her feet, his large hands circling her waist now, and she just stood

there, dripping wet, as tears began to drip from her eyes.

When he saw those tears his heart dropped, and a sense of foreboding came over him. “Are

you hurt?” he asked her tenderly, looking her over, a frown of concern all over his face.

“Other than your pride, I mean?”

Liz just stood there, as if she was being held up only because of Jason’s hands, and then she

slammed her own hands against her side in a teary-eyed frustration. Jason knew what that

meant. She was giving up.

“Okay, party’s over,” he said decisively as he took her by the arm and led her, forcibly,