When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9) - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,7

around and attacked.

2

Women had thrown themselves at him before, but he wasn’t used to getting an elbow to his gut when they did it. She’d caught him unaware, and he gave a woof of pain. At the same time, he automatically reached out to defend himself.

That made it worse.

All he’d wanted was a little fresh air, and now here he was, in a fight to the death with a black velvet–clad termagant.

He grabbed for her arms. “Stop it! Calm down!”

At his age, he should have known better than to ever tell a woman to calm down, and she kicked him hard in the shins. Unfortunately for her, she was barefoot, and she gave her own yelp of pain.

“What the hell’s wrong with you!” He trapped her arms and pulled her hard against him. She was tall and strong, but he was stronger. She cried out and went after him again.

He wanted to kill her, but he also didn’t want to hurt her. He kicked her legs out from under her.

He had just enough of the gentleman left to take the brunt of the impact as they dropped to the hard tile floor. He hit his damned elbow along with his hip but managed to pin her down by rolling on top of her and grabbing her wrists.

The perfectly composed performer had vanished. She was furious. “You bastard!” She spit out the words. “You evil bastard!”

When it came to name-calling, she didn’t offer much variety, but damn, she was strong. He could barely keep her contained as she fought against his grip on her wrists.

“Stop it right now, or I’m going to . . . I’m going to smack you!” He would never hit a woman in a million years, but she was out of control, and maybe the threat would calm her down.

It didn’t. Jaw set, teeth bared, she threw it all right back at him. “Go ahead, you bastard! You just try it!”

For all their drama, opera singers didn’t seem to have much creativity about how to cuss someone out. He tried a different approach, loosening his grip on her ever so slightly, but not letting her go. “Take a breath. Just breathe.”

“Vermin!”

At least she was expanding her vocabulary. Her hair had come loose and half her breast popped out of her gown, right down to the top of her nipple. He drew his eyes away. “You’ve had too much to drink, lady, and you need to take some deep breaths.”

She stopped struggling, but he wasn’t taking chances. He eased some of his weight off her. “That’s it. Keep breathing. You’re fine.” Crazy as a loon, but fine.

“Let me up!”

“Give me your word that you won’t take another swing at me.”

“You deserve it!”

“A debate for another day.” She didn’t look quite so insane, so he took a risk and rolled off her carefully, alert for a knee to his groin. “Don’t throw up on me, okay?”

She struggled to her feet, hair hanging in a crazy tangle, her voice throaty with dramatic menace. “Don’t you ever speak to me again!”

“You’ve got it.”

She scrambled awkwardly across the terrace and through the single door that led into her bedroom. The lock clicked hard behind her.

* * *

Olivia yanked the draperies shut over the door, weirdly proud of herself. Bastard! Bastard! Bastard! She’d never forget the way her friend Alyssa had looked the night Thad Owens had attacked her. Now, the big shot football player had gotten some of his own back.

She steadied herself on the edge of the bureau and managed to get her gown off. She, Olivia Shore, had a new career as a crusader for women. Tonight, she’d dispensed justice, a small blow for rightness in the face of all the disarray around her.

Out of nowhere, her stomach rebelled. She rushed to the bathroom, crouched over the bowl, and lost her dinner, along with the bottle of wine she’d unwisely consumed.

Afterward, she hung out on the tiled floor. Her shoulder stung where she’d scraped it. She set a warm washcloth against it, no longer feeling quite so proud of herself. She was drunk, and she’d acted crazy, and she could not do this. Not when she had so many other problems. And especially not when she had a contract she couldn’t break and four more weeks on the road with that piece of vermin.

She crawled into the bedroom, stripped off her underwear, and eventually located her pajamas. Her nighttime routine was highly disciplined. No matter how late or how tired