The Ruthless Caleb Wilde. Sandra MartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
the fillies he used to tame when he was a kid, working with the ranch hands at El Sueño.
Carefully, he draped his jacket around her shoulders. It covered her from her throat to her knees.
“Come on,” he said. “Put your arms through the sleeves.”
She did. And even more carefully, making sure he didn’t let his hands brush against her, he snugged the lapels together and closed the buttons.
She trembled, but she let him do it.
Her attacker moaned.
Caleb looked down at him. The man’s nose was pouring blood, and angled crookedly across his face. One eye was swollen shut.
Not enough, Caleb thought coldly.
The woman seemed to sense it. She touched his arm.
“Please, could you get me out of this place?”
“Shall I call the police?”
She shook her head.
“No. The publicity … And—and he didn’t—he didn’t … He never had the chance to—to do more than—than touch me. You got here before he could—” She drew a deep breath. “I just want to go home.”
Caleb nodded. It was an excellent idea—until he thought of shoving through the crowd outside.
“Is there a back entrance?”
“Yes. That door, behind you … It leads to a delivery bay.”
In his rage, he hadn’t noticed the door but he saw it now, in the rear wall.
“I’m going to put my arm around your shoulders,” he said. “Just to play it safe. Okay?”
She looked up at him. Her face was streaked with mascara. Her mouth was trembling, and he thought he had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.
“Okay?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
Caleb put his arm around her. She stiffened but she didn’t pull free. They walked to the door; he pulled it open.
The street outside was dark and deserted. He’d stepped into enough streets like it, back in his Agency days, to feel every sense come alive.
“Stay close,” he said softly.
She burrowed against him as the door clicked shut. She felt delicate, almost fragile in the curve of his arm.
He wanted to go back into the club and pound his fist into the face of the bastard who’d hurt her again.
But he couldn’t.
She needed him.
And he needed wheels. He’d come here by taxi but from the looks of things, it might take a long time for one to cruise by.
They walked to the corner. Caleb took out his cell phone and hit the pre-programmed number for the private car service he used when he was in New York. He was in luck. One of their limousines had just dropped off somebody only a couple of blocks away.
He held her close while they waited. A couple of minutes was all it took before a long black car pulled to the curb. The driver sprang out and opened the rear door.
The girl turned toward Caleb.
“Thank you.”
He smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
He was tempted to say he’d introduced himself earlier but she obviously didn’t remember the incident. Besides, he wasn’t proud of it.
“Caleb,” he said. “And you’re …?”
“Sage.”
The name suited her. Sage grew wild on El Sueño. It was strong and enduring. And beautiful. Like her. Why had he ever thought her only pretty? Even now, with black gunk under her eyes, she was lovely.
“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