Arrogant Bastard - Julie Capulet Page 0,16
alpha male aura is messing with my calm, mostly-stable outlook. There’s an edge to my well-trained politeness that isn’t polite at all. “I’m not sure that’s any of your business. Besides, shouldn’t you be shacked up with your harem by now? It’s late.”
His not-quite-smile is more amused than offended. He traces his finger around the rim of his glass but his eyes are still on me. His hands are tan and strong-looking. “I’m not in the mood for my harem tonight.”
Is that a joke? I shake my head lightly as I slide the last flute into place. “That’s surprising.”
“I guess I should be flattered you think I’d be up to the task.”
I feel a flush rise to my cheeks as I can’t help picturing him up to the task. I have no doubt he would be very much up to the task and the thought sends a surge of awareness through me. His self-assured charisma, his obvious athleticism and his raw masculinity make it kind of obvious that … oh, God, I do. I want to know what it would be like to feel good. To feel loved instead of—
No. I’m deluding myself.
He’s a playboy. Obviously. He’s exactly what I’ve been running from. A textbook example of what to avoid at all costs. What I need is to find myself someone who’s less threatening, who doesn’t scare me, who calms me and won’t try to control me.
“I’m Gage,” he says. “Gage McCabe.”
The name sounds vaguely familiar to me, but I have no idea why it would. I finish my drink and place the empty glass in one of the dishwasher trays. “And I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Mr. McCabe. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
Don Juan is persistent. “I’m working tomorrow night.”
“On Thanksgiving?”
“It’s one of our busiest days.”
“Friday night, then.”
I’ve already decided I’m not going anywhere near this guy, as to-die-for as he may be. He’s got hot sex and heartbreak written all over him, and as much as I might crave one of the above—more and more, as though urges of my body are on overdrive even as they clash violently with the voices in my head—I can’t deal with the combination. “Also one of our busiest days. The whole weekend is basically mayhem. You have a good night now.”
With that, I leave him to his drink. As I close the door to the stairs of my apartment behind me, I glance back at his face. There’s a determination there I don’t like the look of.
I check on Josie, who’s fast asleep. I take a long shower to wash off the day and I collapse into bed, hoping tomorrow isn’t the beginning of the end of everything I’ve worked so hard for.
Gage McCabe.
Where have I heard that name before? And why does my brain keep retracing the lines of his face, the intense look in his eyes and that raw, dark-edged magnetism …
… which promises only a world of trouble.
Go on, girl. Get some of that angst out of your system. Take the risk. Replace the bad memories with a few good ones. You know he’d take you on a wild ride. Live a little.
Once again, I scuttle the devil-voice in my head forcefully back into her cage. I’m living enough. I’ve got a business to save, a best friend jumping ship on our lifelong dream because she has no choice, and a very busy weekend ahead of me.
With any luck, Mr. Smug—Gage McCabe—will be gone by morning.
Before I can recall where I might have read about him or why, I’m fast asleep.
I see her standing there, on the other side of the room. I recognize this place. We’re in the convention center downtown. It’s crowded. It’s one of those fundraisers, with dozens of round tables set up for dinner. There are decorations and a stage with a podium for the speakers and the presentations. Everyone is dressed in black.
Except for her.
She’s wearing her yellow dress.
She looks out of place. She’s glittery and sunlit as though a bright ray of sun shines only on her. She’s lightly tanned and her hair is barely windblown, like she might have just stepped inside after spending the afternoon running through the summer fields of Iowa. I can smell her scent from here, of ripe wheat and roses and sweet, sweet perfection.
She lights up the room. She is, quite literally, the sun.
Someone touches my shoulder. I brush them off. I can’t take my eyes off the girl in the yellow dress and