through his messy black hair, smiling as if he were God’s gift to women. “Want me to keep you company while you wait?”
Narrowing my grey eyes, I said, “No, I don’t. How about you scurry along to your wife…or your mistress? I’m guessing the lipstick might not be your wife’s colour?” My blonde hair stuck to my nape with a sudden flush of nerves.
He froze, anger darkening his face. “Clever. But I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you.” He took another step.
I stood my ground. What could he do? We were in a busy hotel with guests within screaming distance.
“Not cocky, just sleep deprived. I suggest you leave before I get mean.”
He leaned closer. “I like mean.”
God, he was an idiot.
“Go torment someone else. I’m not interested.”
“Any woman wearing see-through underwear is guaranteed to be interested.” He laughed. “Don’t treat me like a fool.”
“I’ll treat you like a rapist and scream if you don’t bugger off.”
He frowned. “That’s a bad word to use, pretty girl. Anyone ever tell you—”
“Back. The. Fuck. Off.”
Both the creep’s head and mine shot up, searching in the direction of the growled command.
My heart instantly tripped over itself; my eyes drank in a man wearing a white terrycloth dressing gown with the hotel’s emblem on the front. He was tall—taller than the asshole pestering me—and towered over my dainty size. I noticed all the usual traits—grim full mouth, dominant blue eyes, and bone structure bordering on the rugged line of perfection—but it was the things I felt that froze me to the spot.
Something strong and eager unfurled inside me.
He wore an effortless cape of violence, cascading off his shoulders like some superhero. His bare feet were gorgeously formed and symmetrical. His hands were fisted by his sides, while every muscle stood out in preparation for a fight. Not to mention the shaggy dirty blond hair or the minor bruising on his cheekbone, turning him from roughly delectable to dangerously unpredictable.
I clutched my magazine harder as his eyes landed on mine. Time slowed to a never-ceasing whisper as his gaze trailed from my mouth to my breasts to my stomach and swept down to my toes.
I forgot all about the creep as I remained locked in his powerful stare. He stood as if he were used to the world bowing at his feet. He moved as if he had every right to be smug and self-assured because he’d beaten life into submission and won.
I wished I had that confidence. I wanted to steal it from him. I wanted to duck under its protection.
Shit, get a grip.
Blinking, I glared at the newcomer. He glared right back, sending shivers down my spine.
“Who the fuck are you?” Creep asked, facing his newfound opponent.
The man didn’t tear his blue eyes from mine; his nostrils flared as if seeing past my choice of undergarments and seeing the real me.
The real me!
In a split second, I shed everything I knew and stepped into a new role. The role of a woman who belonged to the man breathing shallowly and oozing with violence—the woman who’d been waiting for her lover in the corridor on the fourteenth floor.
“David! Damn, you took long enough.” Throwing the magazine at Creep, I strode confidently and purposely toward the man I’d decided would be my ticket to freedom. He didn’t blink as I threw my arms around his waist.
It was like hugging granite.
The dressing gown gave no comfort or softness to the insane strength and rigidness of masculine muscles beneath.
Damn, what did this guy do for a living?
He didn’t move for an interminable second, then, as if we’d scripted and played this part all our lives, his arm came up and wrapped lovingly around my shoulders. “Lace, I told you to go back to the room.” The weight of his hold pinned my head in place, trapping my blonde hair.
I fluttered my eyelashes, looking up into his deep blue gaze, while cursing my racing heart. “I know. But then this gentleman decided to detain me.”
Swallowing, I commanded my nervous system to calm the hell down. My stomach was a riot of frothy bubbles, my heart full of moth wings and palpations.
He affected me.
I wanted to hate him for that. But I couldn’t. How could I hate someone who gave me back a smidgen of life just by existing?
His fingers dug into my arm as his embrace tightened. It wasn’t romantic or protective—purely possessive and aching with the urge to harm. “Oh, did he now?” His eyes narrowed