The steel brace of his arm caught her mid-section, and she hung there, mucus and anxiety spewing from her mouth and stringing over the mail at her feet. Thank God there was nothing in her stomach to eject. The saliva on her lips was embarrassing enough.
He bent over her, his body surrounding her back, hard thighs supporting her butt, his arm hooked beneath her folded waist. “There you go.” His low, steady whisper sounded like a shout in the wind, snuffing out her surroundings. “Better?”
Her vision tunneled. Ringing blared in her head. She couldn't focus. “I'm fine. You can let go.”
“Do you have meds? Do you need a doctor?”
A paralyzing freeze spread through her veins, sucking heat from her face in tingling waves. No doctor. No medication. None of that fixed a damned thing. She clutched the muscled forearm at her belly, pushing at it, dry heaving.
Who was this man? No way was he just passing by in the middle of the night. Was he going to hurt her? Rape her? Or do something that would disfigure or permanently damage her body? Did he have a gun?
She choked. Why her? The rapid wallop of her heart accelerated. She yanked at the arm, an unmoving restraint, and forced bravado in her voice. “What do you want?”
He leaned in, his chest heavy against her back and his breath feathering her hair. “You live here?”
His gentle tone conflicted with the pressure of his fingers. She rammed her head backward. He dodged her strike, and the cage of his body curled around her, straightening her with his arms around her chest.
Blood thundered in her ears, and her heart hammered to escape, to give up, to shrink and die. She stretched her jaw and wheezed a pathetic shout. “Help.” Need air. The door. She angled toward it, throwing her fists behind her and colliding with nothing.
“Easy.” The coil of his arms held her upright, his body a brick wall at her back. “If there's no heart condition, no epilepsy, then what's wrong with you?”
She might've laughed if she weren't failing to breathe. This man didn't give a shit about her condition. No one did. With his arms wrapped around her and his exhales on her neck, she'd never felt more helpless. She wanted to drop to the ground and retreat into herself, but she was better than that, dammit. “Let go.”
He didn't. She might not be able to overpower him, but she still had her voice. If all he wanted was an answer, she could give him a revolting one. “You want to know what's wrong with me? My genital herpes has flared up. You know, blistering sores, cracked open and itching? My Valtrex prescription is in one of these packages.” She scanned the ground, gasping, humiliation screeching through her voice. “To make matters worse, I started my period. I can feel it dripping down my leg.” There. That would send any guy running.
He laughed. The motherfucker laughed. Either he knew she was lying or he was a sick fuck.
Somehow, her struggling only shifted her closer. A waft of cut hickory and citrus flooded her nose as his lips brushed her cheek. “You are a captivating surprise, Amber Rosenfeld.”
Oh my God, he knew her name? Her muscles heated, more desperate than ever to get away from him. She threw an elbow, and it bounced off his rigid stomach. “If you don't let me go, I...I'm—” She sucked in a breath, her voice gravelly and broken. “I'm going to bleed all over you.”
He chuckled. “I don't mind a little blood.” He tightened his grip. “Besides, you can't even stand on your own.”
Ragged sobs swallowed her breaths. She lurched forward, hands slashing at the air, reaching for the door, going nowhere. “How do you know my name?”
He kicked at the scattered envelopes. Her name and address labeled overdue bills, fliers, and catalogs in block print, glowing in the stripe of light that escaped the crack in the door.
Okay, so he knew her name. She just needed to grab the package with the dye and hustle her ass inside. She twisted in his arms and swept a foot, toeing for an envelope with bulk. Her lungs burned with exertion. Fucking shit, where was it?
A renewed bout of panic hiked her pulse and sealed her airway. What the hell was she thinking? Fuck the package. She had to break free. Lock the door. Call the cops. She could reach the door in one or two running leaps.
Her heart raced, nearly exploding, as she thrashed against him. His arms pinned her biceps, so she swung her fists, aiming for his groin and missing. He wrestled her hands to her sides, everything moving too quickly to process. She simply reacted, slamming her head back again and collided with his chest.
The grunt of pain that followed resuscitated her flight response. She thrust all her weight against his arms, her heels scraping the concrete. “Let me go, you psycho.”