Tall, Dark And Texan. Jane SullivanЧитать онлайн книгу.
She was going to make her mark in this world.
No matter what she had to do.
MICHAEL WOLFE LAY IN BED, staring through the darkness, trying to keep his anger in check. He’d been called a lot of things in his life by people with vocabularies that could blow a freight train off its tracks, but rapist and murderer hadn’t been among them.
He’d saved her, and this was what he got?
If only he’d realized how soon the storm was going to hit, he never would have set out for that bar tonight in search of Feliz Mendoza, a burglar on bail who’d decided to skip his court appearance. He never would have gotten caught in plunging temperatures and a sleet storm. And he never would have happened upon a half-frozen woman looking beyond pathetic, her dark hair plastered against her head, her sweater wet and misshapen, shivering so hard she could barely speak.
Given the fact that it was nearing midnight, sleet was pounding the city, the police station was four miles away and the women’s shelter even farther, he’d brought her here. Then she’d shocked him by trying to run right back out into the same crappy situation he’d just rescued her from. Thirty more minutes on that freezing, deserted street without a coat could have put her in the hospital or worse, especially since there wasn’t much of her to begin with.
But it wasn’t until he’d hauled her away from the door, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, that he realized just how small and delicate she really was. Suddenly he’d felt as if he was holding something terribly fragile, and if he made one wrong move, he’d break her. She’d felt all soft and willowy and…
He started to say warm, but she hadn’t been warm in the least. She’d been a walking, talking, screaming ice cube.
Look at you! You’re big, you’re scary looking, and I’m pretty sure you could bite the head right off somebody’s shoulders if you wanted to. What was I supposed to think?
Well, he had to admit that was nothing new. He’d been frightening people to death since he was thirteen years old, and now, at age thirty-one, the fear factor had only escalated. He was used to the world looking at him as if he ate little children and climbed tall buildings to swat at airplanes. And women certainly weren’t exempt from that assessment. They all stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of him, and not because he was so damned good-looking. About the only women who didn’t cross to the other side of the road when they saw him coming were those who were as tough as he was, who knew the streets, who’d seen far worse things in their lives than a man with a face like his.
So why had this woman’s reaction bothered him so much?
Because she should have been thanking him for rescuing her instead of flattening herself against that door, breathing like a teenager in a horror flick and staring at him as if he was some kind of monster. That was why.
He didn’t need this. He didn’t need a crazy, argumentative, thankless woman bugging the hell out of him, disturbing the peace and solitude he valued so much. He’d never brought a woman here and just the thought of her asleep in the other room right now unnerved him. This was his space, and he didn’t share it with anyone.
Come tomorrow morning, he intended to remedy the situation. The quicker he got her out of here and she became somebody else’s problem, the better he was going to like it.
3
WENDY WOKE the next morning to sunlight shining brightly through a row of metal casement windows. Rising on one elbow, she looked around, and for a moment she wasn’t sure where she was. Then she glanced down at the huge flannel shirt she wore and it all came back to her.
She slid out from beneath the covers and scurried to where she’d tossed her clothes over the chair last night. They were still cold and damp. Glancing at a clock in the kitchen, she saw it was nearly eleven o’clock. Had she really slept that long?
Then she sensed a much more pressing problem.
She’d once gotten caught in a New York cab in a snarl of traffic for over two and a half hours, but even then she hadn’t had to pee as badly as she did right now. She adjusted the extra-extra-large shirt he’d given her until the neckline rested on her shoulders instead of halfway down her left arm and went in search of a bathroom. A minute later she reached a startling conclusion.
There wasn’t one.
No. That was impossible. She circled the loft a time or two more, and suddenly it dawned on her that the bathroom could be only one place.
Inside his bedroom.
She walked to the door and tentatively pushed it open. Scanning the room, she saw a row of shelves along one wall overflowing with books and magazines. A lone dresser was positioned along another wall, and on top of it sat a portable television. Against the far wall was a bed, where he lay sleeping, stretched out on his stomach with the covers kicked off.
And he was stark naked.
She froze, stunned at the sight. Back away. Leave the room. Pretend you saw nothing.
But she couldn’t. Not when her eyes were glued to the most beautiful male body she’d ever seen, and she’d seen her share. He had a physique as if he’d dropped right down from Mount Olympus, with gorgeous broad shoulders, just enough muscle to be hugely impressive without looking as if he’d popped a case of steroids and an absolutely world-class ass.
She’d known he was big. Rock solid. But she hadn’t known just how flawless a body he had. It was like staring at a national monument or a hundred-story skyscraper or something else so awe inspiring that the only reason she’d pry her eyes away would be to haul out a camera. And stretched out beside him was the feline from hell, his one-eared head resting on the edge of the pillow, sound asleep. It was such a bizarre sight—the massive man and the gargantuan cat sleeping peacefully side by side.
But no matter how stunning the sight, she still had to pee. Badly. On the other side of the room, she saw the door leading to the bathroom. She tiptoed in that direction, but halfway there she heard the rustle of sheets and blankets.
The man had begun to move.
She stopped and flattened herself against the wall. He started to roll over, dislodging the cat. She thought about running from the room, but then he caught sight of her and she knew it was too late. As he turned and sat up on the edge of the bed, for a split second she was sure she was going to get a glimpse of the part of his body that would undoubtedly make the rest of him pale in comparison. But at the last moment he pulled the sheet along with him and rose from the bed, dragging it along as he walked toward her.
“What are you doing in here?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her speech had deserted her completely. And no wonder. Every drop of her blood had rushed to the most demanding part of her body right now—her eyes. And at the moment they were roving over the exposed parts of his body as if they had a mind of their own, finally landing dead center on the part below his waist that he barely had covered up.
“Hey!” he said. “You want to look someplace else?”
Her gaze shot up to meet his. He spit out a breath of disgust and walked toward the bathroom. “Pervert.”
Her eyebrows flew up. Pervert? He was calling her a pervert?
“Exhibitionist,” she muttered.
He whipped around. “I live here! If you don’t like it, you know where the door is!”
“Actually,” she said, her attention playing over his body again, “I like it just fine.”
She met his eyes again, and she swore that the big bad bounty hunter actually blushed. He turned and stormed toward the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Wow. Just…wow. She’d never in her life seen a body like that on a man, and the shock of it almost made her forget just how badly she had to pee. Almost.
She