Waking Up to You Overexposed - By Leslie Kelly Page 0,139
he sauntered into the office.
“I think that question would be called sexual harassment,” she said as she stared hard at him, hoping he’d take the warning as a threat and get out now, before he’d gone too far.
When he smiled and pushed the door shut behind him, she had a sinking feeling he’d already gone too far.
Damn. She should have left an hour ago. It was four o’clock, an hour after the dealership closed on Sundays. And she had to assume everyone else had gone home. Ted hadn’t been around since this morning. Judging by the whiff of alcohol she caught wafting off him, she figured he’d gone for a long lunch at a local bar.
Dean, why didn’t you show up? She’d thought for sure he’d be here. He’d worked every weekend since he started. That was the only reason Bridget had come in herself today...to see him!
It had been for nothing. She’d worn another short, sexy skirt that she’d bought at a cute local clothing store last night. That, with the silky sleeveless shell that draped across her curves invitingly would have been enough to get the man’s temperature rising. And he hadn’t even been here to see it.
Instead, Ted was. Ick.
“Girl, you have been hiding your light under a bushel.” He stepped closer. “It’s closing time. Let’s go have some fun.”
“No, thank you,” she said, her tone icy. She stuffed her paperwork into a drawer. Normally, she’d be more tidy. Today, she was in a hurry. She wanted out of here.
“Aww, come on, sweetie, I know there’s no man in your life. You must be lonely. Why don’t you let me keep you company?”
She’d rather keep company with a dead skunk. “No, Ted.”
Hopefully that firm tone would get the message across and he’d get out of her way and let her leave. But as she stood, Ted stepped between her desk and the door, right in her path. “You know you really want to stay.”
“No. I really don’t.”
Trying once again to be like Izzie, she fisted one hand, retrieved her purse and tried to walk past him.
He grabbed her arm. “Not even a few minutes’ conversation?”
“Not even that,” she insisted, jerking her arm away.
Her angry tone and the heat in her eyes must have finally gotten through. Because Ted went from stupid drunk trying to score to angry drunk trying to control in one blink of her eyes. Without warning, he put both his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back. Bridget stumbled over her own high-heeled sandals, landing on her butt on the edge of her desk.
“Perfect.” Dropping his hands onto her thighs, he crudely pushed her legs apart and forced his way between them.
“Let me go!”
“Not yet, hot stuff.”
She reached around on the desk behind her, hoping she’d left her scissors or stapler out, but all she managed to grab was a small desk clock. Wrapping her fingers tightly around it, she swung, but only managed a glancing blow to Ted’s shoulder.
His nostrils flared even as his eyes narrowed in anger. “Playing hard to get?”
“Let me go or I’ll scream.”
“Nobody to hear you, pretty thing,” he said, any hint of charm gone from his voice as his true nature emerged.
Before she could say a thing—or think what to say—Bridget heard something that sounded like an angel. But it was no angel.
It was Dean Willis. Roaring.
“Get the hell off her you son of a bitch.”
Suddenly he was. Ted was lifted off her and tossed to the side of the room. Bridget saw him land hard against the wall and crumple to the floor. He yelped in either fear or pain. Or both.
He had reason to be afraid. Dean was already reaching for him, his face red, his body emanating danger. “You’re dead.”
Ted’s bravado when facing her disappeared under this new threat. Before Dean could even grab him, he’d launched himself to his feet and run out the door, leaving the two of them alone. The whole thing—from Ted’s entrance to his speedy departure—had taken place in under three minutes.
Her head was spinning. Breathing hard and shaking a little, she mumbled, “Thank you so much.”
Dean swung around to look at her, that blood rage still evident on his face. His blue eyes were like matching chips of ice. He looked as much like a cute, nice-guy car salesman as she looked like Xena the Warrior Princess.
No. This was not gentle, good-natured Dean. This was a dangerous man in a high fury. And her shivers of fear turned