his life. He came upright and limped a few steps. Great. She must have nicked him. He leaned against the car—what was left of it—and held a hand to his forehead as he turned to stare at her.
Her adrenaline spiked. She’d totaled his very expensive car. Cassie had the feeling the stranger was about to tear her apart. She would meet him in the middle and grovel. Maybe turn on some tears for good measure. Hadn’t Jolene told her that men hated themselves when they made women cry?
Cassie unhooked her seat belt and tried to get out of the car. The door wouldn’t budge. Great. She’d have to go back to climbing in through the passenger’s side as she had last month when the Civic went through a temperamental stage. Or maybe not. She glanced around and saw the crumpled hood, steam rising, and watched as the sedan shuddered, giving up the ghost.
The smell of gasoline began to permeate the air, clouding her judgment. She looked down at her outfit and knew today’s interview wasn’t happening with the way she looked. She’d seen homeless people appear more pulled together. Confused, she wondered what she had wanted to do.
Cassie saw the stupid dog again, a yapping, spoiled poodle. The prissy mutt’s owner teetered over on stilettos taller than the Eiffel Tower and scooped the dog up, hugging him to her tightly as she glared at Cassie. Cassie estimated the dog’s outfit cost more than her last month’s rent. The woman walked on, not bothering to ask if she needed help. Hollywood. It was a different world from Texas.
She reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder. Nothing else of value to save. Cassie prayed the passenger door would open. If it didn’t, she could always climb into the back seat and get out that way.
Suddenly, he was hollering. The guy she’d sort of hit. It must’ve been his car she’d smashed. If she hadn’t been sure before, she was now. Men and their cars—no one came between them.
Cassie giggled at her flash of wisdom. That was one car that wouldn’t be cruising around Beverly Hills anytime soon. Jeez, what would this do to her insurance? She already had two speeding tickets in the last eighteen months. Her insurance agent would drop her now. She’d be at the mercy of those goons that only advertised on late night TV. They charged an arm and a leg to cover high-risk drivers. She was now a charter member of that club.
She looked up as the guy inched closer, hobbling along, yelling, his arms waving. Breathing the gas fumes had her disoriented. She couldn’t understand what he was saying. She started to apologize but then remembered her mom told her never to apologize after a wreck because that could be construed as admitting guilt. She was at fault. Big time.
The guy made it to her and tried to yank the door open. It wouldn’t move. Before Cassie could speak, he reached through her open window and hauled her out.
“Hey, wait a minute. What are you doing?”
He mumbled something but all Cassie could do was stare at him. He had the most amazing gray eyes, dark and stormy and full of anger.
At her.
Recognition seared through her. “Oh, God. You’re Rhett Corrigan.”
If her heart had been in overdrive before, it now pounded like an African drum—loud, erratic, and wild. She realized he was running. Rhett Corrigan was hauling ass. Just like in one of his movies. At least as much as he could. His gait was off. She must have hit him after all. Clipped his knee, run over his foot, something.
Then the explosion sounded. Cassie flinched as she looked over her shoulder to see the Civic turned into a fireball. Flames rose and flickered like dancing devils. They ran along the entire frame and leaped onto Rhett Corrigan’s convertible, lighting it afire. Suddenly, the convertible also exploded and Cassie understood that the gas tank caused the fireworks.
She sucked in a deep breath of sweet air and glanced back at her rescuer. “You saved my life,” she said in wonder, her head starting to clear now that she wasn’t inhaling noxious fumes. “If you hadn’t pulled me out when you did, I would be toast.”
A violent trembling shot through her body, quick as a California brush fire. She clutched the movie star’s shoulders, digging her nails in deep. He winced but she couldn’t help it. It was as if she’d jumped into the Atlantic’s icy