she was lying through her teeth. Shit. He was going to have to take her home himself.
He didn’t want to spend another minute in her company, let alone the time it would take to get her to his car, drive back to their complex and help her into her condo. She was frivolous and irresponsible, and every time he came within a foot of her she got on his nerves so bad he wanted to howl and chew concrete, to commit reckless, poorly thought-out acts, many of which culminated in turning her over his knee and blistering that round ass the way someone ought to have done years ago.
This was very not like him. So the last thing he wanted was to be thrown together with her. Still, she was through work for the night, he was through work for the night and she lived right next door. Clearly she couldn’t work the clutch in her automobile with that badly swollen foot, and it would be criminally irresponsible of him to leave her to fend for herself when they were both headed for the same destination.
Not to mention that he owed her for the pain he’d inflicted with the ice bag. That had been uncalled for, no matter how angry her smart mouth had made him.
He sighed. “Come. I will take you home.”
She looked at him as if he’d offered to molest her worthless dog instead of provide her with needed transportation. “No!” It came out loud and emphatic, and she smiled weakly at a gambler at the far end of the row of machines who glanced up from pushing the buttons that selected his poker hand. She lowered her voice. “Thank you very much, but no. That’s not necessary.”
“You cannot drive.”
“I told you I’ll call Treena.”
“You lied.”
She gave him a cool look from killing blue eyes. “And you know this how?”
“By being good at my job. I know how to read people a hell of a lot tougher than you.”
“Fine. I lied. I’ll call Mack.”
He shook his head in disgust. “You would disturb Mr. Brody at this time of night when I am perfectly willing to take you home? You are the most irritating, irrespon—”
“—sible woman you have ever had the misfortune to meet. Yeah, yeah. We’ve had this conversation before.”
Color flushed her cheeks, and only then did Wolf realize how very pale they’d been just a moment ago. She probably was in a great deal of pain. Before remorse could assail him, however, she raised her fine-boned chin.
“Fine. Thank you. A ride home would be very…thoughtful.” She sounded as if the words were strangling her, but he couldn’t inspect her expression for she bent over just then to lift one corner of the ice bag off her foot and check her ankle.
“Can you walk?” he demanded of the crown of her glossy brown wig.
That snapped her head up in a hurry and heavy-lidded blue eyes blazed up at him. “As opposed to what—being carried by you? Oh, yeah—I can walk.”
His palms started itching. Smacking her ass would be so cathartic. He’d never met anyone who needed paddling more than this woman. He jerked his chin toward the exit leading to the parking garage. “Come on, then.”
She took her time removing her remaining shoe, then got up to follow him. She did manage to hobble along under her own steam, but God she was slow. More than once he was tempted to throw her over his shoulder to improve their odds of getting home sometime before the next millennium. He didn’t, of course. It would be giving in to the Jones wild streak—and unlike his dad and his sister, Katarina, that was an impulse he always kept on a tight leash. So, gritting his teeth, he strode ahead of Carly, then stalked back to take baby steps by her side for a few minutes before his impatience got the better of him and he suddenly found himself several yards ahead of her and had to rein in his strides once again.
Finally they made it to his car, and he unlocked the passenger side for her.
“Wow,” Carly said as she braced one hand on the automobile’s roof and looked over the vehicle with patent admiration. “This is the last car I would’ve associated with you.”
He didn’t take umbrage to the implied subtext that he was a dullard. Buying something as flashy as the converted street rod had been uncharacteristic. Still, giving in to his desire for the classic muscle car was the one time he’d let the cursed family wild streak run free. He’d figured it was a safe-enough outlet—especially if it saved him from freeing other, more destructive urges as was the usual Jones way. He ran his fingers over one of the graduated-color flames that flared from burgundy to red to orange to gold across the glossy black paint job, then opened the door for her. “Get in.”
Peering into its immaculate interior, she looked down at the melting ice bag in her hand and hesitated. “I’m afraid I’ll muss it up.”
That was the most intelligent thing he’d yet to hear her say, and for just a moment he felt almost warm toward her. He studied her closely for the first time since they’d begun their tortoise-paced trek from the casino and saw that not only was she pale again, but now sweat beaded her upper lip and brow, as well. She clearly was not feeling her best, and with unaccustomed gentleness he reiterated, “Get in.”
She did and had her head braced wearily against the seat back when he got in the driver’s side. She ran her hand over the gray leather of the bench seat. “What is this? A Ford?”
“Yes.” Turning over the engine, he listened to its throaty growl with satisfaction. His smile lingered as he turned to look at her. “A 1940 Ford coupe.”
“It’s very cool.” Lifting her head slowly, as if it weighed more than her slender neck could bear, she pulled off the swingy brown wig. “Oh, that’s better,” she murmured. Her short blond hair was matted to her head, but she ruffled it with her long fingers and soft spikes began popping up until she once again looked like what she was: a careless, carefree showgirl.
But one with shadows beneath her eyes.
They traveled the short distance to the condominium complex in surprisingly companionable silence. Wolf began to think that perhaps a miracle might occur and they’d actually end this night in a civilized manner.
Dropping Carly off in front of their building, he went to park the car in the garage he rented. She moved so slowly that she was still waiting for the elevator when he caught up with her. They’d barely stepped off it on the second floor a moment later when barking erupted from her apartment down the hall. A grunt of disgust escaped him.
Immediately, the momentary cease-fire in their adversarial relationship came to a halt. Carly turned and subjected him to a slow, unfriendly up-and-down, and he watched her grow a good inch taller as her back stretched straight. Her blue eyes grew dark with the screw you expression he was accustomed to seeing in them as her dog continued to yap hysterically in the background.
And his fragile hope for just one lousy night of peace turned to dust.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE’D FORGOTTEN. For a few moments there, Carly had actually let down her guard and forgotten that Wolfgang Jones was nothing but a judgmental, dog-hating jerk.
Okay, sure, Rufus was a trial, more so than any other pet she’d ever owned. But if Jones would just give her some breathing room,
