Worth The Risk. Melinda Di LorenzoЧитать онлайн книгу.
herself to speak in a strong voice. “You proud of yourself, Mr. All-Or-Nothing? Capturing a defenseless girl like me?”
The blue-eyed man, who definitely wasn’t a cop, pulled away. Just enough to let her breathe safely. But he looked like he was trying to cover a smile.
“Most people call me Sam,” he told her. “And I’m not convinced you’re defenseless at all. But I’d hardly call this capturing anyway. After all, I did just save you from landing on your—”
This time, she cut him off. “On my what?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Head.”
“I don’t believe for a second that’s what you were thinking.”
“Do you want me to tell you what was really going through my mind as you fell into my arms?”
“Actually, I have zero interest in knowing what you think,” she stated.
“I’m going to tell you anyway.”
“Of course you are.”
“I think that you owe me one.”
“Owe you one what?”
“One rescue from certain death.”
“You didn’t save my life!”
“Are you deliberately picking a fight with me?”
She felt her face heat up. “Of course not!”
“Oh. So this was your way of saying thank you?”
“This is my way of avoiding men with stalkerish tendencies.”
“By climbing down an entire building like some kind of deranged superhero?”
“A deranged— Ugh! If you weren’t following me, I wouldn’t have had to take the roof.”
“That. Or you’re hiding something. Did you talk to Tamara?”
“No.”
It wasn’t quite a lie. She hadn’t spoken to her sister again. He seemed to sense the deception anyway.
“If you tell me what she said, I might be able to help you,” he offered softly.
For several seconds, she considered it.
Maybe he could shed some light on what was going on.
She shoved aside the idea firmly. She wouldn’t risk it. Not unless he became her only option. What she needed to do now was to get away so she could figure out what to do next. She didn’t need a complication. Especially not a good-looking one who made her knees a little weak. Besides that, he’d made it clear that he didn’t know where Tamara was himself. He was asking questions, not giving answers.
“Will helping me help you get the job done?” Her voice was loaded with sarcasm.
“I somehow doubt it.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“That means I don’t have to feel quite so bad about this.”
And with that tiny warning, she lifted one of her Converse sneakers and slammed it onto his foot, then went running up the alley.
I hope he’s okay.
Meredith had run two hard blocks without looking back when the unexpected thought popped into her head and just about made her trip over her own feet.
Why did she care if he was okay?
He’d sat outside her house, waited for her to come out, too, then jumped on her the second he could. What she needed to care about was putting some distance between herself and those eyes of his. To get to a place where she could stop and breathe.
That’s right. Because you sure can’t breathe when he’s nearby. Or stop thinking about his eyes.
This time she did trip. One sneaker caught on a rock and she toppled forward, barely managing to get her palms out in front of her body before she hit the ground. They scraped along the asphalt painfully, but Meredith pushed herself up and forced her legs to move again, this time at a slower jog.
Okay. Acknowledge the attraction before thinking about him leads to a broken arm or something. Then maybe you can get over it.
And it gave her something to consider other than the burning reminder in her lungs that she’d been neglecting her cardio.
The guy—Sam—got to her. There was no denying how her body had reacted to his, how she’d felt every pore come alive as they pressed together.
Well. He did save you from landing head-first on the pavement.
Not that Meredith would admit that to him. Or that she normally went for the hero type. She had no interest in playing the damsel in distress to some man’s misplaced sense of knighthood. So maybe the attraction was fueled by adrenaline. After all, it wasn’t every day she climbed down the side of a building to avoid a guy, then stepped on said guy’s toe and ran off into the streets like a crazy person.
But she’d been attracted to him before that, hadn’t she?
Yes, definitely.
The wide shoulders, the impressive height. The way he looked at her, assessing and intelligent, but appreciative, too. Then there was his quick wit...
“Write a song about him, why don’t you?” she grumbled.
Truthfully, it’d been a long time since she’d even noticed a man. Longer still since she’d been in one’s arms. Her unintentional, chest-to-chest, utterly heart-thumping moment with Sam had been as close as she’d come in years. Literally years. Because being the sister of the woman who created the perfect system for snagging and keeping a husband made dating problematic. Some men went running in the other direction the second they found out. A few went the other other direction and were ready to propose by the second date. Meredith had learned to be cautious.
So, yeah. Being this attracted to someone she just met—wondering what that five o’clock shadow of his would feel like pressed to her cheek or if his lips were as firm as they looked—was unusual.
And stupid.
“That, too,” she agreed out loud.
She had more important things to worry about. Like what her next move was going to be now that she’d escaped Sam and his crooked half smile.
Dammit.
His smile hadn’t even been on her radar until right that second. Now, though... Yep. Right up there with eyes.
Meredith shook her head and spoke her sister’s name aloud as a reminder of her priorities. “Tamara.”
And saying the name made her think maybe she should call her again. Meredith reached for her purse and then groaned. It wasn’t on her shoulder where it should be.
Must’ve dropped it when I tried to do that head plant.
Which meant that Sam probably had it.
“Great.”
What was the man’s deal, anyway? Something in her gut told her he wasn’t there to hurt her. But if he was so interested in Tamara, why didn’t he just go after her directly? Or contact someone who’d spoken to her recently. Her publicist or the host of tech people who helped run her internet business. Meredith’s sister didn’t exactly maintain a low public profile, and she had plenty of peripheral friends who practically qualified as an entourage. Not so long ago, her house had even been featured in some kind of home-and-garden magazine. Tamara’s life was accessible in many ways, but coming through Meredith wasn’t one of them.
Just the opposite.
Meredith swallowed, a guilty lump