demanding he find the elusive Miss Goldie Beckett.
He rushed out into the street, already condemning the futility of his actions. This was New York City. Finding a single person in a throng of people on the sidewalk, even after nine at night, was insane. And yet his feet moved inexorably in the direction of the subway station. Behind him his chauffeur kept pace in the limo. Probably he was wondering what had possessed his employer, Gael mused.
He knew her name. All he had to do was pass it to his security people and let them find her. He’d witnessed her naked ambition for himself. All he needed to do to entice her was offer his name and the once-in-a-lifetime project he had in mind and she would come running. There was absolutely no need for him to pound the pavement.
He’d slowed his footsteps, thinking how idiotic he looked when he heard a scuffle in the alleyway.
Gael almost walked past. Unsavoury characters lurking in dark places were commonplace in cities such as this.
A husky cry and the flash of golden curls caught the corner of his eye. He stopped in his tracks, wondering if he was conjuring her up in his irritated desperation.
The alley was poorly lit, but not deep. His eyes narrowed as he tried to peer through the wisps of smoke pouring out of a nearby restaurant vent.
‘No, damn you, let go!’
The distinctive voice coupled with the decisive sound of clothing being ripped firmly altered his course, hurrying him towards the night-shrouded scene.
‘Lady, I won’t say it again. Give me the bag.’ A low, menacing voice sounded through the gloom.
A bold, mocking laugh. ‘At least you have the good manners to call me lady as you attempt to steal my property.’
‘It’ll be more than an attempt in a second if you don’t let go of the damn bag!’
The warning was followed by more sounds of a tussle. Then a muted scream, the distinctive thud of a body landing heavily and a hiss of pain.
Gael arrived at the scene in time to see a dark shadow loom at him, then rush past. The blocking move he threw out missed by a whisker, and the assailant was already rushing out of the alley. He had a split second to debate whether to go after the mugger or aid the victim. Gael chose the latter.
The vision before him scrambled upright from the grimy concrete. ‘God, no! Stop him! He’s got my purse!’
This time he caught the bundle that attempted to launch past him. Arms flailed in his hold. A firm, sinewy body twisted in his arms as he held her tight.
‘Dammit, let me go. He’s got my belongings.’
‘Calm yourself. You won’t catch him. He’s long gone by now,’ he replied, attempting to keep hold of the wriggling creature.
‘Only because you’re letting him get away. For God’s sake, let me go.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Hell, you’re his accomplice, aren’t you?’ she accused.
Gael reeled back in amused shock. ‘Perdón? You think I’m a thief?’
‘I don’t know what the heck you are. All I know is you’re stopping me from going after that piece of scum who’s just stolen my purse. What am I supposed to think?’
She pulled at his hold. Gael thought it was probably wise to let her go, but his hands wouldn’t co-operate.
‘You’re supposed to thank a person who has just come to your aid,’ he suggested.
Eyes of an indeterminate colour widened in disbelief. ‘He got my stuff before you arrived. You let him get away—and you think I should be grateful?’ she spat with quiet fury.
She had fire—he granted her that. But it was the shaking in her voice that drew his attention.
Gael gripped her arms in a firmer hold, careful not to spook her further. Although he was still mildly amused she thought him a thief, her agitation meant she might take flight if he let her go. ‘I’m not a thief, Miss Beckett. I assure you.’
She froze. And in the darkness he was beginning to become acclimatised to her gaze searched his with growing suspicion.
‘How do you know my name?’ she demanded, her voice husky with a different kind of emotion.
Fear.
That didn’t sit well with him. He let her go and stepped back, although he made sure to keep himself between her and the exit. Now he had her before him he wasn’t in the mood to go searching for her again should she bolt.
‘You have nothing to fear from me.’
She laughed mockingly, but her trepidation didn’t abate. ‘Says the man who’s keeping from leaving. Don’t think I didn’t notice the body-block. I’m warning you—I know Krav Maga.’
Again a tendril of amusement twitched at a corner of his lips. ‘So do I, pequeña. Perhaps we can spar some other time, when we’re both in the mood.’
‘I don’t spar just for the fun of it. I fight to defend myself. Now, either tell me why you’re here wasting my time, and how you know my name, or get out of my way.’
‘Your assailant is long gone. If you wish to report the incident I’m willing to lend you my phone.’
‘No, thanks. If you want to do something useful will yourself into getting out of my way instead, why don’t you?’
Gael shook his head. ‘Not until we’ve talked.’
‘I don’t know who you are or what you could possibly have to talk to me about that involves us standing in a dark, smelly alley.’
She started to skirt him. He let her go until she faced the exit and her perceived freedom.
‘I’m here because you’re of interest to me.’
‘I highly doubt that.’ She took a few steps backwards. Stumbled. Her breath caught as she righted herself. ‘I don’t know what your problem is, but I assure you I’m not worth stalking, if that’s your thing. And the sum total of my worth—which was eighty dollars—is now headed for the other side of the city, thanks to you. Anything else you want won’t be given willingly.’
She retreated a couple more steps, until she stood beneath the single lit bulb gracing the mouth of the alley.
Gael inhaled sharply. He’d thought her performance captivating across the wide expanse of an auditorium. At the time he hadn’t paid much attention to the woman herself. But he was looking now. And up close Goldie Beckett was...something else. Her dark honey-toned skin, even under the poor lighting, was vibrant and silky-smooth, her high cheekbones, velvety pouting lips and determined chin, a perfect enough combination to make his breath snag somewhere in his chest.
He wasn’t by any means new to the art of appreciating beautiful women. His electronic contact lists were filled with more than his fair share of phone numbers from past and possible future conquests. But there was something uniquely enthralling about Goldie Beckett’s face that riveted his attention.
Perhaps
