Sandra Marton - The Ruthless Caleb Wilde

“Well,” she said again, “thank you for …” She paused. Her face took on color. “Oh.”

“What is it?”

“How much will the ride cost?” She patted a tiny sequined wristlet that he’d assumed was a bracelet. “I keep my money and my keys with me. Nobody trusts the lockers so—so, the thing is, I have money but I don’t think it’s enough to pay for—”

“Why would I let you pay?”

“No. I mean, I couldn’t permit you to—”

“I was going to call for a car anyway,” he said, lying through his teeth. “Seeing you home will just be a slight detour.”

“Seeing me …?” She shook her head. “Going with me, you mean?”

Caleb nodded.

“Oh no,” she said quickly. “Really, that isn’t—”

“It is,” he said, softly but with steely determination. “I’ll take you to your door, make sure you’re safely inside, and then I’ll leave.”

She nibbled at her lip. He could almost see what she was thinking. Was he going to turn into her worst nightmare, too?

“Scout’s honor,” he said, holding up his hand in the time-honored Boy Scout signal because he couldn’t come up with any real way to convince her that his intentions were honorable.

Besides, giving things a light touch was better than giving in to the anger still boiling inside him.

Finally, she nodded. “Thank you again.” She turned, started to step into the limo. At the last second, she swung toward him. “I should tell you … I live in Brooklyn.”

From the way she said it, she could have been talking about Outer Mongolia.

“That’s okay,” he said as somberly as possible. “My inoculations are all up to date.”

She stared at him for a couple of seconds. Then she laughed. It was a wobbly laugh, still, hearing it made him feel good.

“You’re a nice man,” she said softly.

Him? Nice? Caleb Wilde, ex-spy? Caleb Wilde, corporate attorney? He’d been called smart, even brilliant. Daring. Hell, ruthless …

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it.

“You’re welcome.”

They smiled at each other. She cleared her throat.

“I don’t—I don’t like to think what would have happened if you hadn’t—”

“Then don’t,” he said quickly. “Don’t think about it, and we won’t even talk about it. Deal?”

He held out his hand.

Sage looked at it. Then, slowly, she put her hand in his.

His fingers and palm swallowed hers.

No surprise, Sage thought as she got into the limo. Her rescuer was big. Not just tall but big in the way of men who were physically fit.

She was tall, too. And she was wearing spiked heels. Still, she had to tilt her head back to look at his face.

And what a face it was.

He was incredibly handsome, not in the pretty-boy way of far too many men in this city but in a way that was ruggedly masculine.

Not that any of that mattered.

Big. Brave. Fearless.

And he’d come to her rescue when nobody else had even tried. Loads of people had seen what had happened, that a man had half dragged, half carried her into that storage room.

She’d fought and kicked and pounded her fists against her attacker but the people watching had either decided it was just part of some kinky sex game or they hadn’t wanted to get involved.

Someone had even opened the door, laughed and said “Hey, sorry to intrude!”

If this stranger hadn’t come along …

“Sage?”

She blinked and looked at him.

“Your address,” he said gently.

For a heartbeat, despite all the things she’d been thinking, she hesitated.

Caleb put his hand over hers on the smooth leather seat.

“I promise,” he said. “You can trust me.”

And Sage, who had been on this earth long enough to know better, smiled tremulously at her knight in shining armor and decided that she could.

TRAFFIC built as they traveled through Manhattan but it thinned again once they crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge.

Now the limo moved swiftly through the dark streets.

Sage was silent. That little laugh Caleb had managed to win from her was long gone. She sat huddled in the corner of the wide leather seat, her face turned to the window. All he could see of her was the back of her head and the rigidity of her shoulders beneath his jacket.

And her long, very long legs.

Hell.

He had no business thinking about her legs. Not at a time like this.

She’d had a terrifying experience. Somehow, thinking of her as a woman was wrong right now.

What she needed was … what?

He felt helpless.

She hadn’t wanted to call the cops and he understood that, but surely she needed … something.

Hot tea? Brandy? Someone to talk to? Someone to hold her? She’d let him do that but only for a minute.

He was a stranger. A male stranger. The last thing she’d want was to be in his arms. The trouble was that his every instinct told him to reach for her, draw her close, stroke her hair, let some of his strength leach into her.

She was too quiet. Too withdrawn. After that one little laugh at his pathetic attempt at humor, she’d told the driver her address and she hadn’t spoken a word since.

If only he could draw her out. Get her talking about something. Anything. He’d searched his brain for a way to start a conversation but “What do you think of the weather?” seemed woefully inadequate.

Besides, she wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

The truth was, neither was he.

His jaw tightened. He was still angry as hell.

He’d let the piece of crap who’d attacked her get off easy. A man who’d force himself on a woman deserved to be beaten within an inch of his life.

Caleb let out a long breath.

Except, wiping up the floor with the bastard would only have upset her more. The best thing had been to get her out of there ASAP, and that was what he’d done.

He looked at her again. She’d drawn her legs up under her. And she was trembling.

He leaned forward.

“Driver? Turn off the AC, please.”

Sage turned quickly toward him.

“No, please. Not on my account.”

Caleb forced a quick smile.

“Heck,” he said, trying to sound casual, “I’m doin’ it for me. I’m freezin’ my tail off. You northerners must have a thing for goose bumps.”

Her eyes, wide and almost luminous in the shadowed interior of the limo, searched his face.

“Really?”

“Hey,” he said, doing his good-ol’-boy imitation for the second time that night, doing whatever it took to keep her talking, “Ah’m from Tex-ass.”

The gambit didn’t work. She nodded, said “Oh,” and went back to staring out the window.

Caleb gave it a couple of minutes. Then he tried again.

“So,” he said with enough false cheer to make him wince, “we’re in Brooklyn now, huh?”

It was a stupid question. It deserved a stupid answer. But she was too polite for that. Instead, she swung toward him.

“Yes.”

He nodded wisely. “What part do you live in?”

“It’s called East New York.”

“Interesting name.”

That won him the tiniest twitch of her lips.

“It’s an interesting neighborhood.”

“Meaning?”

“Have you ever been in Brooklyn before?”

“Does a housewarming party in Park Slope maybe seven, eight years back, count?” That won him a faint smile. He wanted to pump his fist in the air but he settled for smiling at her in return. “No, huh?”

“No,” she replied. “Definitely not. Park Slope is upscale. It’s full of lawyers and accountants and … What?”

“That’s who I was visiting that night,” Caleb said. “A lawyer buddy whose wife is a CPA.”

“You’re not going to tell me you’re a CPA!”