at the same instant he launched himself at his attacker. It wasn’t until his arms closed around a struggling, squirming woman that he realized it was Angel.
“What the devil!”
“Joe!”
“You were expecting Jack the Ripper?” he snapped, furious now that he knew she was safe. “Of course it’s me! Dammit, what were you doing hiding in the dark like that? I could have hurt you!”
“Me? You were the one sneaking around like a thief! When I heard someone moving around downstairs and I saw your truck wasn’t here, I thought someone had broken in. Why didn’t you turn on a light, for God’s sake?”
“Because I don’t need a light to see where I’m going in my own home! And I didn’t park out front because my truck is low on gas, so I left it by the gas tank so I could fill it up in the morning.”
Still holding her close, Joe glared at her and only just then noticed that she was wearing nothing but a pale blue nightgown. Made of cotton and designed more for comfort than seduction, it was hardly the type of nightwear you’d expect Hollywood’s latest sweetheart to wear to bed, but there was something about its very simplicity that would have tempted a saint. And God knew, he was no saint.
Stunned, he knew right then he should have released her and gotten the hell away from her. But with a will of their own, his fingers tightened on her arms, drawing her closer, and there didn’t seem to be a damn thing he could do about it. He watched her eyes flare with awareness, and suddenly the air between them was thick with a tension that had nothing to do with anger. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and just like every other man in America who’d sat in a darkened theater and watched her on the big screen, he found himself wondering what she tasted like. Right or wrong, he had to find out.
In the bright glare of the hall light, she read the intention in his eyes and stiffened like a board. “No.”
“Yes,” he growled, and covered her mouth with his.
The second his lips touched hers, he knew it was a mistake. The sweetest things always were. Like an addiction that called to a man’s very soul, her soft, generous mouth trembled under his, innocently teasing, tempting, until the need to taste became a need for more. His head clouded, and with a low groan, he gathered her closer and took the kiss deeper.
Her senses reeling, Angel clung to him and tried to tell herself this couldn’t be happening. Not with Joe McBride. He didn’t like her, had made it clear from the moment he’d laid eyes on her that he didn’t want anything to do with her. And the feeling was mutual. She wasn’t any crazier about him. He was cold and distant and whenever the opportunity presented itself, he went out of his way to make her feel unwelcome. If anyone had told her he was a sensuous man who could turn her knees to butter with just one kiss, she would have called them a liar. She would have been wrong.
And it was that, more than anything, that abruptly brought her to her senses. The last time she’d let herself be taken in by a man’s kisses, she’d been wrong about him, too. She’d been young and naive and so damn trusting that just thinking about it made her wince. She’d actually thought she’d found her prince. Instead, she’d been taken in by a toad. She’d promised herself then that she’d never make that kind of mistake again, and that wasn’t a promise she intended to break.
Furious with herself for letting him tempt her even for a second, she abruptly broke free of his arms and quickly sidestepped him when he instinctively reached for her again. Her blue eyes sparking fire, she snapped, “I don’t know what you think is going on here, cowboy, but somebody read the script wrong, and it’s not me. Back off!”
The taste of her still on his tongue, infuriating him, Joe rasped, “You’re the one who came at me in the dark dressed in nothing but a skimpy gown. I only took you up on your invitation, sweetheart.”
She gasped, outraged. “I already told you I thought you were an intruder! What was I supposed to do? Stop to change while someone was sneaking up the stairs to rape me? I don’t think so!”
She was right, of course. He was being completely unreasonable, and that only angered him more. He’d taken advantage of the situation, of a guest in his home, and he’d never done that in his life. But, dammit, he wasn’t made of stone! What man wouldn’t lose his head when he found Angel Wiley in his arms and dressed for bed?
“Next time, throw on a robe before you leave your room,” he retorted coldly.
“I should have known you’d find a way to make this my fault,” she tossed back. “That’s just like a man. Always blame the woman. Well, for your information, Mr. McBride, this never would have happened if you hadn’t sneaked into the house like a thief in the night!”
“So now it’s my fault for being considerate? I didn’t want to wake you, dammit!”
“Well, you did!”
“Well, excuse me for breathing. Next time, I’ll come stomping in so you’ll be sure to know it’s me. Will that make you happy?”
“As a clam.”
“Fine!”
Seething, they glared at each other like two eight-year-olds facing off in the playground across a line drawn in the dirt. It was a fight neither of them could win. Frustrated, Joe swore and turned to storm into his bedroom. A split second after he slammed his door, he heard the echo of Angel’s across the hall.
Tearing off his clothes, he let them lay where they fell and crawled into bed, determined to forget the entire incident and go right to sleep. But long after the dust settled in the hall and the silence of the night crept back into the house, sleep eluded him. Because every time he closed his eyes, he could see the awareness in Angel’s eyes right before he kissed her, taste the sweetness of her on his tongue, feel the soft, enticing curve of her breasts pressed against his chest as he’d wrapped her close in his arms. Furious with her, he tried to convince himself it had been too long since he’d had a woman, that he would have reacted the same to any female who appeared before him in her nightgown, but his body wasn’t buying it. There was only one woman he ached for tonight, dammit, and like it or not, that was Angel Wiley.
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