Isabel Sharpe - The Wild Side

Then she hurried up the escalator and lunged toward the turnstile, at the exact same moment as a distinctly male body wearing a T-shirt and jeans.

“Sorry. After you.” The distinctly male body stepped back and gestured her through. She turned, looked up and met a pair of dynamite blue eyes under short, military-style blond hair. Eyes brimming with boyish humor, intelligence, warmth and a touch of something grim and steely that even in Rose’s near-frantic state fascinated her.

She smiled her thanks and pushed through the turnstile ahead of him, wishing it was some other day and that she was, in fact, on the mindless, infinitely cancelable errand she wanted everyone to think she was on. Then she could take time to delve into those eyes and what lay behind them. It had been awhile since she’d gotten to know someone close to her age.

“I’m Mike. Slater. Friends call me Slate. What’s your name?” He fell into step beside her, fanning the spark of her regret into a painful ember.

“I’m Rose. Just Rose. Friends call me Rose.” She sent him an I’m-only-teasing smile so he wouldn’t think she was making fun of him. Guys hated being made fun of. Their egos couldn’t stand it. Though this one seemed so natural and boy-next-door in spite of his incredible sex appeal, he might not have minded.

“Where you headed?”

“Train station.” Her smile grew wary. Even a natural, heavenly built boy-next-door could be a threat. Someone out to make sure she disappeared, one way or the other. Or someone trying to keep her from leaving.

Rose clenched her teeth. She hated this. Hated not being able to trust anyone. Hated that everything and everyone might be something other than they seemed. That this nice-looking guy might be about to drag her out to some deserted lot and threaten to shoot her for whatever he thought she’d done, or whatever he thought she had.

The sooner she was out of Boston, the better. Even by talking to this guy, even if he was innocent, she’d already attracted someone’s attention. Someone who could answer questions about her if he bumped into people who wanted to know. As much as she wanted to linger and listen and look, she had to get rid of him.

“What time’s your train?”

“I’m not…it’s not for a while.” Only a few dozen yards into the crowded main room of the station she’d be able to see the departure schedule and take her pick of time and destination. Why couldn’t he have waited to ask until then, so it wouldn’t be so obvious she had no idea where she was going?

“I’ve got a long wait, too. I’m meeting a friend. Can I buy you a drink?”

“Oh, gosh. I don’t think so, thanks.” She quickened her pace; he kept up easily.

“I just want to buy you a drink, that’s it. Juice, milk, soda, whatever…doesn’t have to be booze.”

“No, really. I’m fine.”

“I don’t mind. There are some decent places here.” He gestured toward the assortment of eateries in the station.

Rose stopped and turned to face him, struck again by the depth and complexity of the expression in his eyes. “Are you always this persistent?”

“No.” He grinned and crossed his arms, hands shoved into his armpits. “Usually I don’t even ask in the first place. So I guess I don’t want to start off a career of asking strange women out with a dismal failure.”

She couldn’t help a small smile. This guy would probably be a lot of fun. Damn the timing all to hell.

“I’m sorry. I just have to be so careful.” She bit her lip. “Everyone has to be careful these days.”

“Okay, no problem.” He held up his hands and backed away. “Nice to meet you, Rose. Have a good trip.”

He grinned once more and strode off toward the food court. She took a quick, deep breath. Stupid as it sounded, and as much as she had been anxious to shake him off, now that he was gone, she felt terribly alone.

She pulled herself together, scanned the departure board, chose a train to D.C., so she’d have the most stops to choose from, bought her ticket and a newspaper, and settled down to wait.

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