“Arrogant?”
A pause, then, “Yeah.”
“A lousy conversationalist?”
He slanted her a quick glance, the hard line of his mouth quirking a fraction.
“Sexy?”
His lips tightened. “I don’t want anything from you—” He shot her a confused look. “You got a name?”
“Should have asked that when you decided to play Tarzan and throw me over your shoulder.”
“I could have thrown you to the wolves instead.”
“I would have survived.”
He snorted. “Tiny isn’t so tiny when he’s pushed, lady.”
She caught the demand for her name. She ignored it. He grabbed her purse, yanking it when she tried to take it, digging one-handed until he found her wallet. He flipped it open, sliding a glance at the name, then her.
“Hey, Calli.”
Oh, God, that voice was to die for, low and raspy. Annoyed by the thought, Calli grabbed back her things, wishing she could hit him. But he was driving. And she wasn’t stupid enough to get herself killed because she was feeling manipulated. Feeling? It was more like being bulldozed by a rampaging demigod of badness.
He slowed the car to a halt and shut off the motor, removing the key and tossing it, with her hotel key, into her lap. He grabbed his helmet from the back seat and met her gaze. “Stay out of the Nail. You don’t belong.”
Before she could respond with something scathing, he left the car, slamming the door before walking quickly away. She watched him, admiring his taut behind in tight jeans, the long lope of his stride, then she dragged her gaze to her surroundings. She was at her hotel. She looked down at the label on her hotel key.
Calli smacked the dashboard.
God, she hated being patronized by men. Every man at the factory, even Daniel O’Hara, her boss, liked playing a father figure. If she’d had parents, they would likely have done it, too Her seven chefs hovered over her as if she couldn’t get dressed without help and if any man became interested in her and wasn’t the epitome of quality, The Boys did their best to destroy him.
People looked at her and saw a “good girl” raised by nuns, with the morals of a saint, though the latter was a slight exaggeration. Obviously the dark Angel had seen it, too. Though one look at him and any morals she’d learned had gone straight out with the used holy water. Oh, she was grateful that men didn’t think she was easy, and she supposed there were still some women who wouldn’t mind the Goody Two-shoes, picket fence, P.T.A.-domestic goddess image. But Calli loathed it. She hated how guys cleaned up the conversation when she entered a room, the jokes dying before the punch line. Or worse, clammed up altogether. She wanted people to say exactly what they were feeling.
Even the men she’d managed to find the time to date recently were agonizingly polite, obsequious. And painfully dull. They didn’t talk to her, they chatted, as if she couldn’t handle anything remotely stressing. If they only knew her past, she thought with a flash of memory. Calh wanted more. Of what, she wasn’t sure.
She felt extraordinarily restrained by the image she needed to project for her career and the one struggling for escape. She looked down at her clothes and smirked. This wasn’t exactly her usual style, but she felt incredibly daring and lush in leather. And beneath it all was a wild assortment of Brazilian lingerie that made her feel gloriously wicked. That was her only private justice, like snubbing the world when she wore tailored designer suits. For beneath every one of them was unchained seduction in lace and garters.
For an instant, she wondered if Angel knew, since he’d had his hand halfway up her skirt when he’d carted her out of the bar.
She slid over the gearshift and jammed in the key. The engine revved and she was turning to look behind her when the car door suddenly opened. Before she could speak, he reached across and turned off the car, then pulled her too easily from behind the wheel.
Where had he come from? she wanted to know. She’d watched him walk away!
He held her by the arms to his eye level. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
His eyes were like shaved ice. Scary. “Of course not.”
“Then what the hell were you doing?” He shook her and one of her shoes plopped to the ground.
“That’s not your business, now is it, Angel?” Where he got that name, she couldn’t begin to wonder. He was more like Lucifer. Dark, lean, with lots of muscle beneath that jean jacket. She felt it when he’d carried her so humiliatingly from the bar. She saw it now in his hauntingly pale eyes. God, they were like crystals, sparkling with secrets. The power of them worried her.
“Do you mind?” She brought her shoeless toe to the crotch of his jeans.
“Don’t play there, little tigress,” he rasped, and something ignited inside Calli.
“I hadn’t planned on it. Well-placed kicks work so much better.” She tapped him lightly and his eyes flared. “Put me down.”
He did, abruptly, releasing her as if his hands were burned, and stepping back.
Jamming on her loose shoe, she slid back into her car. She didn’t look at him, but she could feel him; his stance casual, his hips slanted, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. And those eyes. “I don’t know what possessed you to interfere in my life, Angel Whoever-you-are, but I can take care of myself.” Where was that car key?
“I’ll remember that when I’m reading about your murder in tomorrow’s paper.”
“You’re being a tad possessive toward someone you don’t know.” She found the key.
Angel watched her search for the ignition, three times. “You’re drunk. Miss Thornton.”
She held up her hand. “Let’s not beat around the bush, shall we? I’m smashed.”
“And who will you kill on the road just to spite me?”
She sighed, slowly lowering her head to the steering wheel. The horn beeped and she flinched. He was right, of course. Pride and rebellion could be taken only so far. Removing her keys, she swung her legs to the left and climbed from the BMW, closing the door. The following silence hung like a knife between them, sharp and dangerous.
She stared up at him. His face was expressionless. She didn’t think anyone could do that, wipe every ounce of emotion from his face, but he had. She staggered a bit, then bent and took off her shoes. Angel’s eyes flared as she straightened.
She was just a little thing.
“Don’t let my size mislead,” she said, recognizing his surprise. “I really am tougher than I look.”
“Same goes here.”
She let her gaze rip and slide over him, down to the dark, snakeskin boots, then back up, smiling at the gold loop in his ear. “I can’t imagine
