Caroline Cross - Tame Me

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This book is dedicated with love to four terrific women I’m lucky to call my friends—

To Susan Andersen, who makes me a better writer in every way and who—thankfully—always knows what my characters think even when I don’t have a clue.

To Barbara McCauley, whose optimism and generous spirit are a constant inspiration.

To Melinda McRae, who not only listens, but knows all sorts of unexpected things.

And to Kris Nelson, my long-lost sister…finally found.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Once upon a time when she’d still had a life, Mallory Morgan would’ve described Gabriel Steele as tall, dark and delicious.

That was before he’d cost her everything. Now, as she opened her flimsy apartment door and found him parked in the dingy hallway outside, the words that came to mind were hard, heartless and not-to-be-trusted.

“Mallory.” As always his voice was quiet but commanding, the perfect match to his lean, powerful body and reserved green eyes.

“What do you want, Gabriel?”

“We need to talk.”

“Do we?” To her relief she sounded calm and in control, something that had eluded her earlier that day when a chance meeting between them at Annabelle’s, one of Denver’s trendier restaurants, had resulted in her behaving badly—and paying a price she could ill afford. “Gosh, let me think.” Tipping her head to one side, she pretended to consider for all of two seconds, then straightened. “No.”

With a flick of her wrist, she sent the door swinging shut. It would just be too bad if it smacked him in his autocratic chin.

He didn’t so much as blink. Probably because the cheap panel moved barely an inch before bumping against his big booted foot. “Look, I get that you’re angry—”

Her free hand tightened on the scarlet satin of the robe that she’d thrown on over her bra and jeans at his unexpected knock, bunching the thin, slippery fabric at her throat. “What was your first clue? When I crossed out your reservation and refused to seat you even though the dining room was half-empty? Or when I quit my job rather than apologize?”

“Don’t be insulting. I caught on with your pig at the trough comment.”

“Then I believe we’re done. Because I’ve certainly got nothing more to say.”

A grim smile touched his lips. “You don’t want to talk? Fine. You can listen then.” Like the poster boy for overbearing men, he slapped his palm against the wood and pushed.

Instinctively she started to push back, only to check herself as she realized he was already widening the gap between jamb and door as if she didn’t exist. Deciding she’d be a fool to engage in another battle she was sure to lose, she abruptly changed tactics.

“Well, since you insist…” Letting go of the doorknob, she gave a nonchalant shrug and took a giant step back. “By all means, come in.”

To his credit, he didn’t gloat. But it wasn’t much consolation when the instant he crossed the threshold and the door shut behind him, she realized she’d miscalculated once again. No matter how big a hit her dignity had taken, she should have kicked, cried, screamed—done whatever she could to keep him out.

Because with Gabriel in it, her already minuscule studio apartment seemed to shrink. He not only took up all the available space, but also all of the air, making her feel small, breathless and far too…aware. Of his height, his power, his body heat. Of the jolt she felt when he looked at her.

It was hard to believe she’d once thought nothing of flirting shamelessly with this man. Not that it had meant anything—and not just because she’d had a carefully crafted reputation as a frivolous party girl to maintain. But because, her own shortcomings aside, she’d known early on that he was far too formidable for any involvement beyond a little lighthearted fun.

Still, whenever they’d bumped into each other at one or another of the Denver A-list’s glittering soirees, she’d delighted in the subtle sizzle of mutual awareness that would envelop them, the way the air seemed to heat just a little with their proximity.

Inevitably, they’d wind up dancing, and she’d delight in leaning in close, in whispering outrageous suggestions in his ear, in watching the dangerous smile that would tug at his mouth when she trailed a fingertip along his jaw. The only thing better had been the proprietary way his hand would tighten on her waist when she rubbed her thigh against his as they circled the floor. That, and the amused glint of warning that would spark in his eyes, igniting a sharp little thrill she’d feel down to her toes.

All part of that other life, she reminded herself sharply. The one before Gabriel and his bedamned Steele Security had gone after her father and she’d lost her home, her friends, the last of her illusions and most of her self-respect.

Not to mention a fortune so large that up until it disappeared, her most pressing concerns had been along the lines of whether she should spend the weekend shopping in Paris or skiing in Gstaad.

It already seemed like a hundred years ago. And a distinct contrast to now, when she was already sick with worry about whether she’d be able to find another job that would allow her to both eat and keep a roof over her head.

That, however, was nobody’s business but her own. Sure, Gabriel could barge in here, looking like a fallen Armani angel with his inky, razor-cut hair, beautifully tailored clothes and calf-length black leather coat, displaying the style she’d once jokingly dubbed “elegant badass.” He could disturb her peace and stir up memories of a life she’d spent the past months trying to put behind her.

But he couldn’t touch the core of her. She’d had years to perfect her defenses, to learn how to keep people in general at arm’s length—and males in particular off balance.

The realization calmed her, allowed her to steady her bottom lip, which, infuriatingly, was threatening to quiver. Quietly blowing out a breath, she released her grip on her robe, knowing full well the effectiveness of a little insouciant sexuality as she reached up with both hands, gathered the long, unruly mass of her hair and tossed it behind her back.

“So?” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, doing her best to look bored. “Are you just going to stand there? I thought there was something you simply had to say to me.”

“Yeah. So did I.” His expression gave nothing away as his gaze flicked from her eyes to her throat to the creamy V of her exposed cleavage before settling squarely back on her face. “I was wrong.”

“You? Wrong?” She waited a beat, then smiled insincerely. “Surely not.”

He didn’t smile back. “I’d rather hear you talk. Why don’t you tell me what the hell you’re playing at, Mallory?”