“Can I have my clothes now?” My throat was so tight, each word emerged strangled.
No? I’d swallowed my pride to sound appreciative, practically begging for my clothes back, and he had the gall to say no? Who the hell did this guy think he was?
Beneath the covers, an indignant shiver trembled through me. I couldn’t see much in the dark room, but I assumed he was the same man who’d come running into the alley last night. The memory of him was permanently ingrained in my brain. Tall, at least a foot taller than me, with close cropped dark hair and olive skin. Pale green eyes that sat above high cheekbones, fringed by long eyelashes that didn’t soften his hard edges one bit. “Listen, if you’re expecting some kind of open-armed, grateful—”
“From you?” He made a noise that sounded like a snort. “I’m getting the feeling you don’t do grateful.”
I winced, taken aback by the blunt honesty of his observation. “I never asked you to come running into the alley after me.”
“So you’re not glad I did?”
With my track record, of course I wouldn’t wind up with a run-of-the-mill good samaritan. No, instead I fell into the hands of a cocky jerk with extra time on his hands, looking for an appreciative female to stroke his ego. “How do you know I wouldn’t have been just fine on my own?”
“You’re right. I don’t.” His swift capitulation surprised me, and I sagged back against the pillow. “Next time you have your head in the clouds and don’t notice two thugs hot on your tail, looking to rob or rape you, probably both, I’ll let you take your chances.”
“Fine. All hail the conquering hero. Happy now?”
“Are you admitting that you needed my help?”
So damned smug. “Listen, we can debate my self-defense capabilities all day—”
“Night. It’s the middle of the night.”
“Whatever. All night, all day. There’s no difference. What I’m trying to say—”
The arrogant man with a white knight complex interrupted me again. “Actually, there is a difference. The difference is—it’s nighttime, and you’re in my bed getting all hot and bothered about nonsense. Either go to sleep, or we might as well channel your energy into something more productive.”
I snapped my sagging jaw shut, feeling a rush of heat between my thighs that rivaled my burning knife wound. Jeez, Nixie. Get a grip. This guy is clearly an asshole and you are not an asshole magnet.
His low chuckle sent the hair at the back of my neck standing on end. “So that’s what it takes, huh? You know, most women would consider sex with me to be more of a bonus than a threat.”
Jesus, this guy had quite a set of balls on him. “Don’t flatter yourself, big shot. You could have called nine-one-one. Or dropped me off at the nearest hospital. I’m in your bed because you brought me here. And now I want to leave.”
Tara Leigh attended Washington University in St. Louis and Columbia Business School in New York, and worked on Wall Street and Main Street before “retiring” to become a wife and mother. When the people in her head became just as real as the people in her life, she decided to put their stories on paper. Tara currently lives in Fairfield County, Connecticut with her husband, children and fur-baby, Pixie.