The Winstons Book One

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

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BECKA LEFT THE COFFEE shop in a hurry. She held a hot coffee cup in one hand, and at the same time, she tried to stick a muffin and a toasted bagel in her handbag with the other.

She had forgotten to ask for a hot sleeve for the cup. On top of that, she had also neglected to take a napkin. Her head was high in the clouds that morning. Now the searing heat burned her fingers through the paper cup.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t go back to the coffee shop. She was already late for her morning classes, and the last thing she wanted was to miss the entire lecture on her favorite subject. So, Becka kept struggling. She tried to make the muffin and bagel fit in her handbag, at which point she wondered why she had left the house with such a tiny purse that morning.

The people and things around her became a blur, the more she wrestled with the bag, and the more she rushed toward the bus stop.

No more than a moment later, just as she turned around the corner, her eyes still on the tiny handbag that wouldn’t cooperate with her, she ran into a tall man. As luck would have it, the lid of the coffee cup came loose, and all the hot liquid spilled all over the giant’s pristine, white shirt.

Becka thought that things couldn’t get any worse. Not only did she scald him, but the damn shirt had to be white. Why not black? No one would notice a coffee stain on a black shirt.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry! Really, really, sorry!” she blabbered and tried to clean the man’s shirt with her bare hands. She forgot about the cup lying on the pavement, discarded like yesterday’s news, all but empty. She had also forgotten about her coveted breakfast, which was leaning precariously on one side of the handbag, ready to fall out as well.

Her hands shook the man’s shirt as fast as she possibly could. Her meager attempts hoped to limit the burns at the very least.

Becka knew that the hot coffee must have already penetrated his shirt, and she didn’t even want to think of what had happened to the skin beneath it, badly burnt by the freshly boiled brew.

“I think you’d better take your shirt off!” she cried out, but she didn’t take her gaze off the task at hand.

Remorse drove Becka’s actions now. Images of the emergency room flashed at the back of her mind. Focused to a frenzy on her nearly catastrophic mistake, Becka never noticed the rest of the man to whom the chest belonged, much less the eyebrow that shot up as soon as she ordered him to strip.

“May I ask what exactly you’re trying to do?” the man finally asked in a deceptively mild tone of voice. Until then, shocked by the actions of the little woman, he had stared at the top of her head.

At the sound of his voice, Becka finally looked up and blinked. Not once or twice, but three times. The man under her gaze wasn’t the regular polished and polite man she had encountered in her life before. He was a far, far cry from that.

A long, pale scar on his left cheek set off the man’s rugged face. It began somewhere close to the corner of his eye and continued to nearly the corner of his mouth, giving him a dangerous allure. He looked like one of the mercenaries Becka had seen in one of the documentaries about the civil war in former Yugoslavia. That wasn’t reassuring at all.

His brow still rose scornfully, and for a moment there, Becka wondered how he did it. She imagined that it wasn’t easy to pull off that move for long. The woman just about forgot her curiosity when she met his eyes, colder than the Arctic Ocean. His brow still rose scornfully, and for a moment there, Becka wondered how he did it. She imagined that it wasn’t easy to pull off that move for long. The woman just about forgot her curiosity when she met his eyes, colder than the Arctic Ocean. She swallowed hard and forced herself to be brave. She refused to be a scaredy-cat. Becka would always face danger, and it wasn’t the moment to change her ways.

“Hmm.... I was thinking...you know...your shirt...”

“I heard that bit about my shirt, don’t worry. But I don’t know what difference would make if I took it off now. With or without the shirt, my skin is still scalded, my morning still ruined, and I’m still pissed off,” he said in a level tone of voice. He didn’t show the slightest hint of anger, but that made her even more fearful.

While it was true that he didn’t sound mad, the complete clash between his words and his tone made her nervous. Becka couldn’t even begin to think of how to talk to him.

She swallowed again and bravely said, “Yes, I know that. But the coffee is mostly on the shirt, so if you take it off...”

“Now?” he mused when he saw she stopped without finishing her sentence.

“Well, yes,” she nodded and stressed her words. She wanted to lend them more confidence than she had.

Becka pretended to know what she was doing, although her face burned in embarrassment and shame. She had asked him to take the shirt off, but it was the first time she said that to a man. Besides, his tone and attitude made her uncomfortable, and she worried that everything showed on her face. Becka didn't have a poker face worth a damn. Every time she played cards with Jay, he would laugh at her best, yet failed efforts to bluff.

The man stared at her for a few seconds, but then, with a bold move, he took his shirt off. “Do your worst,” he said and handed her the ruined piece of clothing.

However, Becka didn’t take it. She didn’t even notice that the man was holding the shirt for her to take. She couldn’t find her voice to answer back. Her eyes were too busy taking in the expanse of a chiseled chest peppered with curly coarse hair, still wet from her coffee. She had forgotten what she wanted or was supposed to do entirely.

“Earth to the moon?” he mocked her in his grave voice and waved his hand before her eyes.

Finally, his gestures pulled her out of her reverie. Becka’s gaze shot up to his eyes in an instant.

“Sorry, just lost in thought for a moment there,” she mumbled more than a little disappointed with her silly admiration of the male figure. She had thought herself above such trivial endeavors.

Finally, she took the shirt from his waiting hand and used it to dry his chest more vigorously than it was necessary.

The coffee was already a dry sticky stain. However, that wasn’t on Becka's mind. Neither was the fact that her vigorous brushing might take off a layer of the man's burned skin. Upset with herself for her carelessness and every reaction that followed, she was brimming with embarrassment. Not only had she poured her coffee all over a stranger, but he also caught her staring at his chest like a lustful, simple-minded woman.

“Yeah, I noticed,” he replied, amused, watching her expression while she cleaned his chest. The man enjoyed the young woman’s train of thought. He could read it on her face with no effort whatsoever.

It was refreshing to see someone so unspoiled as the woman before his eyes. He was tired of all the games played in society and wanted something new.

After a few moments, he decided to ask, “Does any man’s chest have this effect on you or just mine?”

A little malice sneaked in his voice, and that made Becka straighten up and look directly into his eyes. Then, she replied sulkily, “I’m only trying to help, you know. Why are you acting like a jerk?”

At her snapped reply, the man’s eyes became colder than they had been before, and he yanked the shirt out of her hands.

“Yeah, with such help, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m dead tomorrow,” he observed.

She tapped her foot in frustration, raised her voice a notch, and replied to him with her usual self-confidence, “You’re just pissed off because I ruined your shirt.”

Her voice mustered all the determination she could, and she added a nod for good measure. She hoped that it would give her more of a knowledgeable air.

“But it was a mere accident. You must understand. It wasn’t like I wanted to spill my coffee all over you. I’d have preferred to drink it,” Becka scoffed and shrugged her shoulders.

Becka stood tall before him, matching his confident, dominant attitude with her own. However, she spoiled everything when she continued in the tone of a stubborn and willful child, “I really could have used that coffee.”

The sudden change in her attitude fascinated him, and he watched her more thoroughly. Only now, he noticed her chocolate eyes, and especially, her small mouth with rosy lips, arched like a bow. A part of him was practically begging and pushed him to grab her already and have a taste of her sweet, sensual mouth.

The longer she talked, the more his interest in her lips grew. An agonizing need compelled him to lean in and claim what he wanted. He found them more tempting when the tip of her tongue came out and licked her upper lip anxiously. Something stirred inside him, and suddenly, his interest changed entirely.

“You owe me,” he said so abruptly that it charged the atmosphere in an instant.

Shocked, Becka opened her mouth to reply. Yet, too stunned by his sudden outburst, she couldn’t make a sound for a few moments.

The man didn’t clarify his statement or expand on it. He just waited for her to process his words and get back to him with a bold retort. From what he had seen so far, he was sure he would get one. He didn’t have to wait for long.

“What are you talking about?” Becka eventually contrived to say with thinly concealed indignation in her tone of voice. Her rounded eyes stared at the man intently.

“What you heard,” he brushed off her harmless furor and continued, “You owe me.”

“For this shirt?” she asked incredulously, showing the shirt she held in her hand.

“Among other things.”

His wolfish smile ran shivers down her spine, as her mind started dreading the worst and conjured unsettling scenarios.

“What other things?” Becka asked, although more than a little hesitation and uncertainty delayed her question.

Her eyes seemed to grow wider, and the tip of her tongue touched her upper lip nervously again to torment and make him more aware of his increasing desire for her.

He couldn’t understand that irrational, unlikely desire for a clumsy woman he had just laid eyes on, but something in him wanted her. He needed to have her, just like that.

She looked a little young. Maybe very young. However, he knew that looks deceived sometimes. Still, he made a mental note to ask about her age. Although she drew him agonizingly, he didn’t want to get involved with jailbait. He had a strict policy about not going to jail.

“You poured your coffee on me. You scolded my skin and ruined my shirt. Of course, I can’t go to an appointment half-n***d. And, please, note that it’s a significant appointment. I’m already late because of you,” the man explained patiently to her as if he talked to a small child.

Of course, it was a ruse. He only wanted to see what kind of reaction he could draw from her.

Becka felt the blood rush to her face, and she cursed her creamy complexion. It revealed too much, and in the most inappropriate moments. No matter how much she tried to appear sophisticated or cool-tempered, she always failed. Her skin betrayed her. It was the curse of her life. Maybe not the unique curse she had to contend with, but it made the top three.

Becka thought of going a different way with him, to get herself out of the trouble that seemed to be brewing, and very politely, she said, “I’m very sorry for scalding you and ruining your shirt. Of course, I’m sorry about your appointment as well, but I don’t see how I could...”

She never finished her sentence. A naughty smile flourished on his lips, and that made her lose her train of thought again. This time she was afraid of what he would say.

“I think you owe me something, and you can set it right by going on a date with me,” he finally specified his conditions in a tone that implied too many things that would better remain unsaid.

“A date with you,” she repeated as if she couldn’t grasp the concept.

“Yes, princess, a date,” he repeated in a tone of voice that showed that he meant it. “You know, that thing where we go somewhere, have something to eat, talk, that sort of stuff. It’s usually called a date. So, that’s what I want. A date with you. Today. Not right this moment because I certainly can’t go anywhere without a shirt, but immediately after you go into that store over there and buy another one for me.

Don’t worry about it, though. I won’t ask you to pay for it. I’ll give you the money,” he waved his hand magnanimously as if the price of the shirt were the problem.

“That's not a problem. I can buy it. You need a new shirt because of me, after all,” Becka replied, offended by his condescending attitude.

“It' not necessary,” he refused. He took his wallet out of the back pocket and pulled a few bills out.

“Here, that should be enough,” he said, giving her the money. “Now, go in, buy me a white shirt. Keep in mind, a white shirt, not blue, not black or green, or striped or whatever. Just white. Then we can go on our date.”

“No, I can’t,” she said stubbornly and shook her head.

“Why not?” he asked, his face so rigid and stern as if it were set in stone. He didn’t seem to take her rejection well. “As I said, you owe me. You know I can say that you attacked me.”

“Ha, good try,” she scoffed at him. “Attack by coffee! A deadly weapon! Don’t make me laugh. No one would believe that stupid thing, and you know it full well. Everyone will see that it was a simple accident and nothing more.”

“So then, am I to understand you’re too good for the likes of me?” he frowned.

Becka scoffed again and dismissed his silly, inconsequential words with a wave of her hand.

“Get serious! I haven’t even considered that. But since I don’t know a stitch about you or your life, it would be difficult to make such assumptions, don’t you think?”

“Is it my scar?” he asked peevishly now. “Do ‘stitches’ make you uncomfortable?”

She scoffed at him again but refused to answer a question she considered quite stupid and not worthy of her attention.

“You’re not legal, is that it?” the man tried again, determined to get her to admit to something. He didn’t understand why, but he couldn’t just let go.

“No, I’m legal. You don't have to worry that I’m underage. I'm three months over nineteen already,” she replied, and this time she smiled warmly at him.

That puzzled him a little more than her former, vague refusals. “So? You have a boyfriend then, and you won’t cheat on him,” he tried again. He had already reached the point where he just wanted to find out the reason, end the conversation, and walk away if she kept rejecting him. He had no explanation for that, but finding out why she wouldn’t go out with him was still a priority.

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend. However, I do have a class right now, and a couple more later on. The point is that I really don’t want to miss any of them, and I’m already so very late. But, if you still want to, I can see you in the afternoon,” she said and noticed that he was astonished that she agreed to go out with him. “And not because I owe you, or anything stupid like that. But because I’d like to see you again. I don’t owe you a thing. Just so we’re clear.”

His gaze searched Becka's face. He wanted to make sure that Becka didn’t try to string him along but brushed the thought off after a second of thought. He was nearly positive that she wouldn’t show up. Nonetheless, he didn’t have anything to lose, and he couldn't force her to go on a date with him, either. Everyone would have laughed at him if he had claimed that a girl attacked him with a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

“All right,” he accepted. “When?”

“If you want it to be today, then it will have to be after four,” Becka answered cheerfully, visibly keen on the unexpected date.

“Dinner, at six?” he asked her.

“Why not? I do need to eat dinner.”

“This spot here, where we are now?” he asked again.

She nodded, a little amused by his way of asking questions and turned to leave.

“Hey, you forgot my shirt,” he cried out after her.

“I’m buying it now,” she turned her head back to him.

“Take the money, then,” he insisted, stretching his hand out to her. “I don’t want you to pay for it.”

Becka was stubborn enough to go against his wishes. She did want to have it her way and leave him with his hand outstretched. However, she took note of the dogged expression on the man’s face and realized that he wouldn’t give up so easily. He seemed more stubborn than she was, so she gave in and took the money.