Wounded Angel (The Earth Angels) - By Stacy Gail Page 0,18
to be heard through the entire front room. A click in Ella’s ear made her glance at the screen once more and found she’d lost the signal.
“I’ve got to get a new phone,” she muttered, pocketing the device. “I suppose I can pick one up on my half-day off.”
“That’s right, we made a deal.” Phoebe plucked up a pair of zebra-framed half-glasses from the desk and turned to the computer. “You’ve just earned yourself a half-day off, young lady.”
“Yippee, except for one thing. It’ll have to wait.”
“Why?”
“Look at my afternoon schedule—I’m packed. I’m training the new intern on how to conduct a start-to-finish course during my self-defense class in about fifteen minutes, and then I’m locked away in Jacob’s Doom Room with kickboxing. How about tomorrow?”
“Looks good.” She glanced up over the rim of her glasses. “You don’t have your new man-mountain client scheduled for this afternoon, do you?”
“His name happens to be Nate da Luca, not man-mountain, and he’s scheduled for tomorrow morning at eight.” As if Phoebe didn’t already know.
“Uh-huh. Then why is he showing up now?”
“What?” Startled, Ella glanced over her shoulder as Nate sauntered in like he owned the place, black sweatpants and a black and red Georgia Bulldogs sweatshirt peeking out from under a long duster, a gym bag slung over his shoulder. He caught sight of her and came to a sudden stop, as if he didn’t have the capacity to simultaneously see her and walk. A light sparked in his somber dark eyes, and he focused on her with a single-minded intensity that made her feel like the only other person in the world.
Without warning, her throat snapped shut. She pressed a hand against the disturbance and was swamped with an irrational relief that the shirt she wore was still adequately covering her. There were just some men who could make a woman feel like she was wearing nothing but a blush, and Nate was one of them. Hell, who was she kidding? He was probably their reigning king.
“Mr. da Luca.” Apparently oblivious that Nate and Ella had fallen into a spontaneous staring match, Phoebe beckoned him to join them at the desk. “What a surprise. If you’re here for Jacob’s kickboxing class, you’re a bit early. It doesn’t start until five this evening.”
“Yeah, I know.” He nodded at Phoebe but his attention swerved back to Ella as if he had an all-important need to keep an eye on her. “I’m sore from yesterday’s workout with Ella, so I thought I’d warm up with the class that comes before it.”
“That would be my class.” Ella forced herself to speak, because the simple ability to string words together was slipping away beneath that mesmerizing attention. Any minute now she’d be nothing more than a babbling mess. “But I can’t imagine you’d be interested in it.”
“Oh?” He stood next to her at the reception desk, close enough to absorb all the surrounding oxygen and make normal breathing a joke. “If you’re teaching it, I’m interested.”
The words sparked a warm flush in her neck that crawled all the way up to her face. “It’s a self-defense class. Not exactly a problem for a big guy like you.”
“If it’ll warm up my creaking muscles, I don’t mind if you don’t.”
“The class is made up of mostly women,” Phoebe interjected, and her disapproving tone made Ella glance at her. “Why don’t you warm up on an elliptical or treadmill instead?”
“He’ll be fine in my class, Phoebe, and having him there could actually be a benefit for my students.” Jaw knotted and determined to prove that nothing—not even the testosterone-laden likes of Nate da Luca—could get to her, Ella stiffened her spine. “I hope you’re ready for this, Nate. I can’t wait to show you my specialty.”
Chapter Five
“The only rule you must remember is this—survive. When it comes to survival, it’s not about playing fair, or being civil. A lifetime of polite, well-mannered conditioning has got to go out the window, but that’s okay. You have permission to act like a savage. That permission was given to you by the very person who’s decided to ignore society’s rules himself—your attacker.”
Ella looked around the packed room. Thirty women of various ages and walks of life stared back at her, unsmiling and on edge. Their disquiet at being pushed out of their comfort zone was palpable. Nate and the only other man in the class were also listening intently, with the other man looking downright delicate by comparison.