“It feels…good. I mean fine. Yeah. No worries.”
“Lift your foot for me.”
“My foot?”
“That’s right.” He waited patiently until I did as asked. Once I had one raised a little off the ground, he gripped my ankle carefully with one hand, wiping the drops of coffee off my skin with the other. His hand was warm, the pads of his fingers slightly rough. Once done, he tapped lightly on the toes of my other foot to signal it was up and repeated the procedure.
All I could do was stare. He did the job with such care, so gentle yet thorough. The man made my skin tingle, especially my crotch. Even my boyfriend from a few years back with the mild foot fetish had never turned me on this much. Did the bodyguard even know the effect he had on me? The outline of my nipples through the thin material of my shirt certainly didn’t qualify as coy. Sheesh. Clients throwing themselves at him probably happened all of the time. After all, his job description basically involved turning up and taking charge at the precise moment someone was at their most vulnerable. And being super-buff, apparently. Recipe for lust. Didn’t mean I needed to be crass or improper.
“Thank you for that, Ziggy. Much appreciated.”
“Take a step back and I’ll clean up the broken pieces so you don’t cut yourself.”
“You’re not my housekeeper,” I said. “You don’t have to do that.”
Again, he just waited until I complied. It was so strange, having him tend to me, having someone look after me like this. Carefully, he proceeded to gather up all of the broken pieces and place them in the tea towel. When he rose to his feet, towering over me, I searched his face for some
thing. Some hint of emotion. I found nothing, though it seemed there was heat radiating from his skin. Either that or I was blushing again. Damn inconvenient habit.
“I’ll take that,” I said. “Thanks again.”
He nodded and gave me the damp package before heading back to the bathroom without another word. And I stood there like an idiot all dazed and confused, watching him go. As if I could do anything else with him walking around my apartment half naked.
Perhaps I should take Lena up on her offer of a blind date. I might need to give it more thought. Who knows, maybe a man even more divine than Ziggy was out there right now, waiting for me. Someone who didn’t come with pesky concerns for professional cordiality. In the meantime, cleaning up the rest of the spillage and a nice cold shower seemed like a great idea.
“He gave the box along with five dollars to one of the regular delivery guys as he was walking inside,” she said.
Ziggy, Sarah from reception, and I stood gathered around the reception desk. Another bland brown box sat there with a label bearing my name. She’d called up no more than five minutes before, asking if we were available to come down. And it wasn’t so she could deliver good news.
“We got him on the security cameras, but he was wearing all black clothing and a motorcycle helmet,” continued Sarah. “No distinguishing features that I could see.”
I peeled back the packing tape. “We need to make sure.”
“Detective Ortega will be over in an hour or so,” said Ziggy, sliding his cell back into his pocket. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait?”
“Just in case. She’s a busy woman, I don’t want to waste her time.”
“At least let me open it.”
“I can do it. I’ll be fine. It’s my mess, after all.”
He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t stop me. He just hovered next to me, close by, and I could almost feel his muscles quivering like a sprinter at the starting gate, ready to react. Nobody said anything as I carefully pried open the cardboard box. It felt like there were ants crawling over my skin. Someone walking over my grave, maybe. Because sure enough, stinky rust brown-stained material lay folded inside. My stomach twisted and turned. A shriveled piece of raw meat sat amongst it all. Another heart, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was disgusting. Deranged.
“That’s enough, Miss Cooper,” said Ziggy. “Please step away. We’ve established it’s either from him or a copycat.”
“I can see some of the label on the material. It’s a piece from my lingerie line.” As asked, I took a step back, arms wrapped around myself. “So much for hoping he’d lost interest.”
Ziggy looked up. “The detective will want to talk to the delivery guy.”
“He couldn’t wait, but I’ve got his number and the five-dollar bill,” said Sarah.
“Good.” He turned to me. “Are you all right? Miss Cooper? Mae?”
“Hmm? Yeah.” I shrugged. “The tissue paper he wrapped it in, it’s kind of an orange color, isn’t it? Same as the last one, I think.”
“Hard to tell with all the blood. You positive you’re okay, not feeling nauseous or faint?”
“No, I’m fine. Basically.” I sighed. “I’m not some swooning maiden and there’s not much I can do about this that we’re not doing already, is there? They sure must hate me, whoever they are. He even bought it in my size.”