Tame Me. Caroline CrossЧитать онлайн книгу.
had the foresight to wear boots when she’d left that morning.
Of course, at the time, the weather had been warm and sunny, matching her mood as she set out to apply for half a dozen promising employment possibilities.
Now, twelve long hours later, after riding eight different buses, walking dozens of blocks, and an eternity of waiting, talking, smiling and praying, not one job offer had come her way.
But then, the positions she’d applied for had actually paid a livable salary, instead of minimum wage for part-time hours too sparse to cover the barest necessities like rent or food. As an added bonus, they also hadn’t required her to breathe heavily into a phone or take her clothes off in front of strangers.
And so far, with the exception of the hostess gig at Annabelle’s, which she’d so foolishly thrown away, those seemed to be the only kind of offers she could generate.
Not that she was feeling sorry for herself or anything, she thought, jumping a little as a door slammed in the distance and an unseen man screamed an obscenity. Okay, so maybe her inability to find decent employment was making her feel even more useless than normal. And she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about how close to living under a bridge she’d be if not for last week’s windfall.
And yes, her feet were freezing, the too-quiet, seemingly deserted street was creeping her out and the thought of spending another night eating boxed mac and cheese all alone in her drafty apartment made her feel beyond bleak, but—
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”
Her head snapped up as a tall, menacing figure materialized out of an unlit doorway in front of her. She slid to a stop, her heart jamming into her throat as the interloper stepped squarely into her path.
Time slowed, then ceased, while her thoughts splintered. Run! screamed through her along with ohmigod I’m going to die at the same time an oddly detached little voice murmured, Gee, doesn’t that voice sound sort of familiar?
Then the man took a threatening step closer and the snow-dappled light from the streetlamp on the corner touched his face and her heart lurched back to life.
“Have you lost your mind?” Dragging desperately needed air into her constricted lungs, she didn’t think, just reacted, lunging forward to smack Gabriel in his big, broad, not-even-breathing-hard chest. “Of all the mean, rotten, low-down dirty tricks! You scared me half to death—”
“Good.” His warm fingers braceleted her flailing wrists. “You should be scared, dammit!” Even in the dark, there was no mistaking his grim expression. “What the hell are you doing out here at this hour?”
“Gosh, let me think. Oh, I know—I live here!”
“Well, here’s a news flash,” he shot back, effortlessly reeling her closer as she tried to pull free. “You won’t be living anywhere if you don’t have better sense than to tiptoe around after dark with your head bowed like some scared little mouse. God, Mallory! Don’t you have enough sense to know that in a neighborhood like this, any display of weakness is an invitation to be mugged—or worse?”
“You mean like having to fend off some know-it-all wannabe stalker?”
He leaned into her, so close she could feel the warm wash of his breath on her icy skin. “Believe me, sweetheart. If I were stalking you, there wouldn’t be any wannabe about it.”
Maybe it was the delicious tickle of terror evoked by his words. Or the sight of that hard, chiseled mouth mere inches from her own. But in a flash, awareness roared to life, crowding out her anger. She registered his heat, his size, the strength of the hands dwarfing her own.
Her throat went tight. And try as she might to tell herself it was a delayed reaction to the fright she’d received, no way did that explain the overwhelming urge she had to crowd closer and give herself over to his potent masculine power—
“Dammit, you’re shivering.” Abruptly, he released her. Relief streaked through her, only to be snuffed out as he whipped off his coat and wrapped it around her. “Come on.” His voice was as hard as the arm suddenly looping her waist, urging her forward. “Let’s get you in out of this cold.”
She thought of her apartment, and the idea of being trapped in that small, intimate space with him had her digging in her heels. “I’m fine. Really. And you can drop the concerned act because I’m absolutely not inviting you in—”
“No problem. My car’s right here.”
“What?” She tried to struggle as he unlocked the door of a big black SUV, only to find that his enveloping coat was as confining as a straitjacket. “No, Gabriel. While I understand your compelling need to put your hands on me—” she gamely tried to infuse some of the old flippancy into her voice “—it’s been a really long day.”
“We need to talk.” He opened the door and planted his free hand on the roof of the car, neatly boxing her in. “So either we go inside to your place where it’ll be just the two of us or you get in the car and we drive to some nice, public restaurant. You decide.”
It was no choice at all, and he knew it. Yet it was also clear he wasn’t going away. “Fine. We’ll go to the restaurant.” Giving him a narrow-eyed stare, she allowed him to help her up onto the seat. “But this had better be brief.”
He said nothing to that, simply shut the door, walked around and got in on the other side.
Five miles and what felt like another world later, they were seated across from each other at a booth in a cozy little diner that came complete with checked curtains on the windows, a bell over the door and an array of mouthwatering scents wafting from the kitchen.
“Hungry?” he asked as the waitress arrived with her pad.
Mallory shrugged, ignoring the sudden grinding of her empty stomach. “Not really.” Dinner out simply didn’t figure into her budget. Not when she had food at home, and the twenty dollars in her wallet was supposed to last her through the end of the week.
He studied her a moment, then turned to the waitress. “Two coffees, the chicken fried steak for me and a chef salad for the lady.” Switching his attention back to Mallory, he ignored her look of disbelief. “I’m buying,” he informed her matter-of-factly. “Now, what kind of dressing do you want?” When she simply continued to stare at him, he gave a slight shrug. “Make it Thousand Island,” he told the bemused server.
“Make it blue cheese,” she contradicted. If she was going to eat, she might as well get what she liked. “And I’d rather have tea instead of coffee, please. And separate checks, if you would.” She’d just have to skip lunch during her job hunt the next few days.
The waitress, a stout, pleasant-faced woman in her forties, wisely refrained from comment. She asked a few order-related questions, brought their drinks, then hustled off to post their order and take care of the rest of her tables.
Mallory gave the tea time to steep, then wrapped her hands around the cup and took a sip, hoping to counteract the exhaustion that was suddenly sweeping through her.
Gabe looked over at her, far too astute for comfort. “You all right?”
She sat up a little straighter. “You mean, except for having been so rudely snatched off the street?”
“Yes. Except for that.”
“I’m fine.”
“You mentioned that it had been a long day. Where were you, anyway?”
She might be tired but she wasn’t dead, and she certainly wasn’t discussing her failure on the employment front. She fluttered her eyelashes. “Where else? I was off meeting Raoul, my secret lover.”
“Ah.” He took a sip of his coffee. “He must be a real prize to send you home on the bus.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? He’s French.”
“My sincere condolences.”