Page 799 of One More Kiss

Shaking out my light brown hair, I spritzed a little styling gel on it and let it air dry. By mid-morning it would be a mass of unruly waves and curls a few inches past my shoulders. I completed the outfit with a pair of straw-colored espadrilles, getting a secret thrill from seeing my red pedicure peeking out from the open toes. I really was being risqué today.

Grabbing my simple black messenger bag, I made sure my copy of Wuthering Heights was in there before tossing in a bottle of water from the refrigerator and heading out the door. I had an hour commute straight through the heart of Chicago from the Northside to the Southside on the Blue Line with a change to the Red Line train, and I was already running late. I could push the limits only so far when my boss wasn’t in town. If I wasn’t there to answer the first few phone calls, someone was bound to call him and rat me out.

The heat hit me like a fist the moment I opened my door. All the benefits of my cool shower vanished in a sheen of sweat misting over my neck and chest. Waving my hand in front of my face to generate a tiny breeze, I walked the several blocks to the Metra station. The entire way, I tried to keep to the shade, playing an odd game of hopscotch as I skipped from the blotchy patches of shade cast by the trees to the long stretches of shadows from building overhangs.

As the train pulled into the stop, several cars were packed beyond capacity, while others were almost empty. I groaned. This day was just getting better and better. Typical of Chicago’s public transportation system, some of the train cars had working air conditioning and some did not. It was easy to see which ones didn’t. So, my choice was to roast in a metal tin can with plenty of space for an hour or stand the entire time squeezed between strangers in a cool environment.

As I was trying to decide, a man gave me the once-over and then licked his lips before pushing his body into the already over-packed car.

Decision made.

I strolled into the mostly empty train car and found a seat.

Pulling out my book, I escaped into the cool, windswept English moors. I had read Wuthering Heights countless times already, of course, but it didn’t matter. It was my favorite. Whenever I found myself without a new book to read, I would snatch my worn copy off the bookshelf and reread it again. It felt like visiting with an old friend I hadn’t seen in ages. Time never passed. We still understood each other without having to exchange any words. I opened to one of my favorite parts where Heathcliff proclaims ‘Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!’

I clutched the book to my chest and sighed.

Why couldn’t more men be like Heathcliff? I mean, sure he was a violent sociopath, but he was also handsome and brooding and intense. His love for Catherine knew no mortal bounds. They were true soulmates, existing for each other and each other alone. I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to be loved that intensely by such a powerful man as that. Imagine being the center of his entire world? The last guy I dated had insisted we go Dutch on dinner and then whipped out a coupon for a buy one, get one free entrée. Then announced he would be the free one.

Whatever happened to the gentlemen? The guys who wore a suit for a date and always paid. The type of guy who would give a girl his coat if they had a chill and who would drop her off at the door of the restaurant if he had to circle for parking so she didn’t have to walk in her heels. The kind of man who opened doors and got playfully angry if a girl tried to carry a heavy package herself. The sort of boyfriend who wouldtalk tothe co-worker who was making her feel uncomfortable or the mechanic who was trying to rip her off. Was there a man out there who was confident enough to steal a kiss? To push me up against a wall and rock my world, arrogantly knowing I would enjoy his touch but sensitive enough to make sure? Was he out there? Did he still exist? Had he ever existed?

When the train got to my stop, I realized I hadn’t read another word. I had spent the entire commute daydreaming about a man who would always remain in the book boyfriend realm. I stood, grimacing when the back of my dress stuck to my thighs. Pulling the fabric free, I hopped off the train onto the platform. All my former reluctance to go to work was gone as I anticipated turning the central air conditioning down to absolute frigid levels.

As I approached the scarred and scuffed grey warehouse door, I had a moment of panic. I dove into my messenger bag and ran my hand along the bottom, praying I hadn’t forgotten the office keys. Mr. Russo only gave me a key to get in when he was out of town out of absolute necessity. Usually, either he was in the office before I got in or I’d just have to stand and wait outside till he arrived, which really sucked when it was raining or snowing, like it always was eight months out of the year.

I threw my head back and let out a sigh of relief when my fingers touched the brass key ring. I searched for the proper key for the outer door.

If the tires hadn’t screeched, I might never have turned.

Tossing a casual look over my shoulder, I saw a brand-new white van cross two lanes of traffic and slide over toward the curb, pulling up alongside some parked cars. The back door slid open and three men in ski masks jumped out.

My brow furrowed, but that was all.

I didn’t run.

I didn’t scream.

What normal person would assume they were about to be grabbed?

My first thought was there must be a television crew nearby that I hadn’t noticed. This was Chicago, after all. There were random television crews constantly popping up inside bars, on the streets, in alleys. As the three men approached, I stupidly thought how glad I was I had decided to be bad and wear a cute sundress today, as opposed to my usual black skirt and blazer. I mean, if a girl was going to be background on some television show, she might as well look good, right?

I then noticed the black hood and zip ties.

My brain finally caught up to what was happening.

But it was far too late.

My scream was cut off by the hood thrown over my head. Despite my kicks and struggles, they easily lifted me off the sidewalk. A burst of pain radiated from my shoulder and down my back as they tossed me onto the hard metal floor of the van.

The van screeched as it pulled away from the curb, drowning out my screams.

My final thought before everything went black was no one, absolutely no one, was going to miss me or even care that I was gone.

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