A drum rap clap of thunder on the trunk of my car scared the crap out of me, and caused me to sit up too fast, wiping my eyes, and smearing make up. I glanced all around the car, expecting one of my sibs. It did happen occasionally that one or more showed up on a fine afternoon like this one for some beach time or surfing with their youngsters in tow. Better surfing in Malibu or something.

I saw no one. I opened the car door and reached for my brief case and my purse wondering fleetingly if I was up for surfing or beach play--maybe a fine distraction-- maybe not.

"Hey-y." I called, noting the wary and weary catch in my voice. Well, why not? I had held several dying or dead babies today already. Possibly more tomorrow.

"Uh huh. Uh huh. Ba da da da da duh, uh huh." Came a completely unfamiliar and very melodic male voice.

I shook myself looking behind the car, squinting into the late afternoon/ evening reflection off the bright adobe homes across the way. It was completely characteristic of my sibs to want to scare me. This was beyond normal. It was also completely characteristic of them to rap, sing, hum and make any other melodic noise.

"'Bout time you got home, uh huh, uh huh, ooooweee, now how's that for a fine looking high heeled well-muscled calf? Uh huh?"

He came into sight as I righted myself and shut the car door with a beep from the key sensor, locking it automatically. I pulled the sunglasses to a higher perch atop my head, pushing my blonde hair back behind my ears. My eyes were now greeted by a fairly tall man, hair close-cropped military style, facial hair trimmed neatly. His lips were puckered out as he made the beat box noises, and his eyes darted around the garage with interest, finally lighting back on me.

He was dressed in slinky dark blue sweats, over basketball shorts, those kind that snapped up the sides, and they were not snapped, that's how I knew about the basketball shorts underneath. He sported a thin tight white t-shirt, and tattoos that covered his arms from under the tops of the shirt sleeves to his wrists, ending in a straight line across where a long sleeved button down shirt might end, excluding his very long knobby white fingers. It took a split second to realize he wasn't related to me. His grin was infectious, but I could barely offer a congenial smile. He had perfect teeth, though.

"Rafe Stryker." He held out one of those knobby fingered hands and before I could think to move the straps of my purse and briefcase, he had grabbed my hand and was shaking it up and down enthusiastically.

I don't know what I was expecting, certainly not the cool, but extremely firm grip of the palm that completely encompassed mine. Hard, like-- like-- I blinked, analyzing it. Like Uncle Jules' hand. A hand that was very strong and very compact from playing hours and hours of guitar and piano. There was a special and unique signature handshake of a guitar player and this guy's was definitely it.

I had to analyze the name quickly to see if it was familiar as well. And I had to say something. He hadn't let go of my hand. Those eyes were quick, darting eyes, seeking eyes. Gees, I was too slow this afternoon, too wiped out.

"Aubrey Mann." Both straps plummeted to my elbow, catching and then falling the rest of the way to my captured wrist. They were heavy too. Our other hands collided as we both reached for the straps to stabilize them once again on my shoulder.

"Uh huh, uh huh." He hummed, or started a little vocal percussion with his humming, as his eyes darted from my face to my garage within seconds flat. He finally dropped my hand. "You okay, sister?"

His body was relaxed, in a hip-hop sort of way. You could call it relaxed, but the energy of it crackled in the air around us. I felt like his hands were about to cross in front of his waist holding imaginary drumsticks, and flick them rhythmically. He obviously had a song going in his head.

"I'm fine, thanks." I took that step to show him I was about to exit the garage into my house. "What can I do for you, Rafe." I pronounced his name with a flair, a hip-hop flair, that maybe I shouldn't have, it certainly sounded a trifle sarcastic.

His face swiveled back to mine, ascertaining how serious I was. The tone had been clipped. I cocked my head to soften the annoyance I felt. Our eyes met. Now I could see that his were a deep blue, like the ocean outside my bedroom windows, like the sky on a crisp fall day.

This was neither. I smiled. "Rafe...?"

His answering smile was again so infectious I almost dropped my purse. It flashed a brilliant comedic dimple into both of his cheeks, and his eyes crinkled too. I realized he fairly oozed charisma.

And I was very used to charisma. My dad had more charisma in his little finger than just about anybody alive. And his eyes were just as piercing and darkly fringed as Rafe's.

"God, you're gorgeous!" He breathed, losing all his relaxed tension in one complex breath. "Do it again.... give me that drop dead incredible smile...."

My eyes puckered slightly again in annoyance and I bit my lip to keep from smiling for him. "Do you need something? Are you from around here?"

"Uh huh. Uh huh. I am. I am. Next door. Next door." He jerked his head to the left and his eyes rolled to indicate which next door he meant. I hadn't met any of my neighbors in the year I'd lived here.

I shook my face back and forth and shrugged to show him I was at a loss as to what he needed from me, and took another small step to show him he was blocking my exit. My eyebrows rose to frame the obvious question.

"Yeah, okay. I'm bugging you when you just got home from-- work--I take it. Where do you work?" He stepped back and I could see that he wore no shoes, and his toes reminded me of his fingers, knobby and white. Most people at least wore flip-flops or slippers. He actually stopped before the back of the car and put up one very well-muscled and tattooed arm. It wasn't covered in just a few tattoos either, but completely covered in a myriad of many, many tattoos. My eyes were drawn to the artwork as he'd obviously meant them to be.

I had to think to remember where I worked. "I just came from USC Medical Center where I helped deliver quintuplets." I sniffed and eyed the arm again, where he was now very obviously blocking my path. I wasn't the least bit flustered by his stance, it wasn't threatening, in fact, he seemed like a young rock star, strutting his stuff. If he had made a move to threaten me, I knew I could take him, muscles or no muscles, I was trained in martial arts, and unlike my sibs, I still kept up with the taekwondo forms and progression I had started as a child.

I blew out my breath, though, feeling the tiredness seep into my being. I'd been at the hospital about twenty hours. Before that, I'd been at my practice seeing patients. Before that, I'd been at ABCSC on a consult.

He blew out his breath too and lifted his arm for me to pass without backing away. If I wanted to pass I'd have to endure a very close proximity to him. He started making those rap type voice percussion noises again. He sounded suspiciously like one of my older brothers.

Even in heels, I wasn't nearly his height. I wasn't the shortest of the Mann girls, but I wasn't the tallest either. Megan and Melia were taller than all of us at five foot six inches. I was around five four and a half. Three-quarters, I smiled.

"You still haven't answered my question, Rafe. What do you need?" I started to move past him and he whipped out that corded arm again.

"Smile."

I flashed a cursory, annoyed fake smile and moved past him, around the back of my car.

As I rounded the edge, he leaped in front of me and grinned a lopsided grin.

"Rafe?"

"Aub--" He grimaced as he tried out the single syllable. "Do they call you Aub?"

I stopped and tried on a less fake smile. "I take it since we're neighbors, this is a getting to know you visit? 'Cause if it is, I am exhausted and would rather set up a time over the weekend or something...." I let that one hang. Come on, I pleaded inwardly. It's time to say something besides flirt with me.

"Well, I can't call you Aub. And I already know a girl named Bree, and that might get confusing. So I'll just have to call you--"

"Aubrey." I finished with a dramatic sigh. You'd think this exchange was taking too long, but in actuality, it wasn't. The fact that he was acting much like a punk school kid, that was what gave me that exasperated air.

"My cat." He said, dropping his very tattooed arm to his side as I made my way to the garage door and pushed the close button on the wall. He glanced behind us to see it start down as the overhead light came on and then I opened the interior door.

"Yeah? You have a cat?" I was obviously allowing him in, as I'd trapped him between the garage door and the inner house door. I knew my house to be lovely, and have a very lovely and open view, but it certainly wasn't the most pretentious on the street. I set my belongings on the first little table by the door that I came to and slipped out of my shoes, leaving them in a basket under that same table. I didn't stand on formality nor did I walk in the house on the tile or the wood in stilettos.

He didn't have shoes to kick off.

He clasped his hands behind his back and stared around curiously, taking things in as if this was going to possibly be his only chance to check it all out.

I walked through the hallway, ignoring the formal living area, both of them, the formal dining area, and the library to the right. Instead, I entered the kitchen and went straight for the refrigerator where I opened it and pulled out a pitcher of my preferred regenerative herbal tea. I lifted it to him. "Do you drink Cali?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." He slid up to my counter top, resting his bum cheek on a bar stool, and his elbows on the black and gold flecked marble.

I retrieved two glasses and poured him one somewhat surprised he knew of Cali. Usually, I had to explain it to strangers. His energy was unbounded as he appeared at my side to take it. I stepped back.

"Nice place."

"Thanks. So. Yeah. Your cat?" I prompted, seizing on the only thing he'd really given me to work with. It had to be why he was here, or else, he really was a moron, and I was entertaining him... why?

He blew out his breath and then started humming. "She's in here somewhere. Slipped in when you weren't looking, I would suppose. I saw her through your glass doors." He jerked his head over his shoulder to the huge sliding glass doors that led out onto my beach front patio. "Tiffy! Tiffy!" He called and then returned to his bum cheek perch. "How long have you been here?" Slim bum cheek, I amended, giving it an appreciative eye.

"A year." I stated calmly, wondering what kind of mess his cat had made somewhere in my house the last forty-eight hours.

"Nice." He looked around with those expertly trained eyes, taking in every detail. "Very comfy." Then he suddenly jumped up and strode across the kitchen and its adjoining black tiled space, to the next room, a carpeted space where I watched TV when I was home. Wall to wall book shelves lined the farthest wall and although I had very little by way of nick-knacks yet, I had managed to collect a few family photos. These Rafe stared at in deep interest.

He picked one up and twirled, showing it to me. "You dig 80's pop?" It was a picture of my mom on stage, her long kinky curled hair so like mine swinging out away from her in an arching halo, as she belted out some beautiful melody no doubt.

I saw him eyeing my hair, even though for the most part I kept it professionally tied back, or even up somehow. Right now it was simply in a low ponytail. That didn't stop it from being trademark Tracy.

"You're not a fan. You're her daughter." He breathed. "Of course you are. You said Aubrey Mann. I was in such a hurry to establish a first name basis, I forgot to listen carefully to the last name." He set the picture back on the shelf, scanned the rest of the frames in highly intrigued silence, and then made it back to his seat and his drink. "I love your mom's music. Grew up on it. Listened to her and Pepper's as a kid. My mom had all their records."

I had heard it all before and was not surprised. There weren't very many people of my acquaintance who hadn't heard of my mom or didn't know her music. Right now I was more concerned about the cat, and my patience had worn thin as he hadn't taken the cue about me being exhausted.

I called for the cat again and then listened. Surely a hungry kitty would come to the sound of people voices. She hadn't died in here, had she?

Rafe's eyes darted around. "Leave the doors open. She likes to hide, she'll come out when she's ready and come on home. She knows where the food is. And--Miss Aubrey." He waggled his brows at me in suggestion. "Since you are exhausted, a good workout would prepare you for good stress-free sleep. My taekwondo instructor is due to arrive at my studio any minute, please, come make it a threesome. I see by your pictures that you are a brown belt."

My mouth dropped open before I could collect myself. He hadn't been over there that long staring at pictures, had he? To have picked out that particular one? My face burned in embarrassment.

"It's an old picture." I said slowly, "And I don't think---." He was to me quicker than I could take in. My glass made a clinking sound as he set it on the marble. He took my hand and his smile was so-- so--knowing. "Please, be my guest. A work out can only help you relax."

I knew this to be true, but I might be beyond that point. Nevertheless, I pulled my hand free. "You have your own private instructor?" I made my way past him; the stairs to my bedroom were to the left.

"It's a little awkward going to his studio. I get stalked there for sure. That's why it's easier to do it here." He was following me up the stairs. "I can't believe how great it is that we both know taekwondo. Quite fortuitous. Neighbors and all."

I hadn't been around when he'd moved in, so I had no idea how long he'd been there, but it seemed like he must not have been there long. He was certainly quite om... what was a good word? Brazen? Uninhibited. Bold? Lack of boundaries? Nosy... talkative? I stopped on the stairs. "I thank you for the offer, and even though I'm exhausted, I think I will take you up on it."

I had turned, and he was close enough behind me that his eyes were level with my belly. Both of his extremely muscled tattooed arms barred the way from any retreat.

His eyes reflected the waning sunlight through a stairwell stained glass window I'd found in England as a teenager. I'd had it installed when I moved in here. The color in his reflection was exquisite. Made his eyes seem like opals.

I caught my breath.

His grin was again--- so.... knowing.

*****

A/N

This section dedicated to Heather Bloggs my first professional full book reveiwer. I appreciate her assistance and suggestions, and really hope to work with her thoughts to make this book a better fit and more publishable.