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Her mouth fell open. “I was not snooping! I was just trying to find out what kind of fire I landed in when I fell out of the frying pan!”
His eyebrows flew up. “Fire? Are you kidding? I bring you someplace warm where you can stay the night, then keep you from running back out there again like some kind of lunatic, and you call that a fire?”
She opened her mouth to respond, then clamped it shut again. He was making more sense all the time.
She nodded toward the other room. “What about the guns you have in there?”
He glared at her. “Those weapons are for my job.”
“Your job?”
“I’m a bail-enforcement agent.”
“Huh?”
“Bounty hunter.”
Bounty hunter?
It took a full ten seconds for the words to register in Wendy’s mind, and when they did, relief swooped through her. The guns, the mug shots…okay. Maybe those made sense now. It still didn’t explain the living accommodations and the half-eaten cat, but…
“You go after criminals?” she asked him.
“Yes.”
“Bad guys?”
“Yes.”
She peered up at him. “Which means you can’t be a bad guy…right?”
“I already told you I’m not a bad guy!”
She flinched. “Oh, come on! What else was I supposed to think? Don’t you think that any sane woman would have come to the same conclusion I did? That you just might be a little dangerous?”
“Dangerous?”
“Yes! Will you look at yourself, for heaven’s sake? 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. That doesn’t give me a lot of warm fuzzies, you know.”
He blinked and, for a moment, looked surprised. Maybe even a little insulted. Then just as quickly, his expression melted back into the scowl he’d been wearing before.
“Listen, sweetheart. It’s late, I’m tired and I’m fresh out of warm fuzzies. Sleep on the sofa if you want, leave if you want. I don’t give a damn.”
Taking a key from his pocket, he strode over to the door to the war room, pulled it shut and locked it. He disappeared down the hall, turning into what she guessed must be a bedroom.
Then…silence.
Wendy stood there, shivering, swearing she could hear the sound of his angry voice still echoing through the vast expanse of the warehouse loft. Well, she had news for him. He couldn’t be fresh out of warm fuzzies, because he’d never had any to begin with. He’d scared the hell out of her, then acted as if it was her fault.
A bounty hunter. As if she would have guessed that? Ever?
With a few deep, calming breaths, her heart rate slowly returned to normal. At least now she knew she’d live to be broke and homeless another day. And unless she committed a crime and jumped bail, her big, angry roommate probably wasn’t going to be a threat. For tonight, at least, she had a place to stay that wasn’t a cardboard box on the streets of downtown Dallas.
Then she turned, and for the first time, she noticed two blankets and a pillow tossed on the sofa that hadn’t been there before. She stared at them oddly for a moment, wondering where they’d come from.
Then she knew. He had to have brought them out of the bedroom while she was trying to make her escape. She walked over and picked up one blanket, catching the scent of something soft and fresh. Drawing it to her nose, she inhaled. Fabric softener?
Then she saw the shirt.
Sticking out from beneath the pillow was a green flannel shirt. She held it in front of her. From the size of it, she knew it had to be his. She blinked at it dumbly for a moment before the reason he’d left it here finally dawned on her.
He was giving her something dry to put on.
She pulled the shirt against her nose and smelled the same fresh fabric softener. She could wrap herself in it three times over, but it felt so warm…
He was trying to be nice, and she’d called him a criminal. A couple of different kinds of criminal, in fact.
Suddenly she felt bad about that. No, he hadn’t told her exactly who he was, but it had been cold and sleeting, and not knowing how long she’d been out there, maybe he’d just wanted to get her warm again as quickly as he could. The blankets and the flannel shirt attested to that.
Now she felt worse than bad.
She glanced toward the room he’d disappeared into, her stomach churning with regret. She thought about knocking on his door to say she was sorry, but with her rapist-murderer accusation still rattling around inside his head, she didn’t think he’d want to hear anything from her right about now. Tomorrow morning might be a better time for apologies.
She went over to the wall and flicked out the light. By the faint glow of a streetlamp coming in through metal casement windows, she scurried back to the sofa, quickly peeled off her wet clothes and slipped into the shirt. It hung all the way to her knees, but what a feeling. Warmth.
She tossed the pillow at one end of the sofa, then spread out the blankets. She laid her wet clothes over a chair in the kitchen area and eased down on the sofa, tucking herself beneath the blankets.
In spite of the weird situation, she found her thoughts drifting to the man in the other room. He might have been big and scary and all those other things, but as she played the past half hour over in her mind, she realized that a knight on a white horse couldn’t have done a better job of rescuing her.
Yes, she thought sleepily. She had to tell him she was sorry. He deserved it. And on the selfish side, an apology might keep him from kicking her out the door first thing tomorrow morning before she had a chance to get her bearings.
Right now, her situation looked a little scary. Okay, a lot scary. She had no money, no car, no clothes. Nothing but the wallet in her pocket, which held maybe five bucks and zero credit cards. But she always landed on her feet, and this time wouldn’t be any different. That was what she told herself, anyway, to keep from bursting into tears.
You can’t do this. You’ve hit a dead end. Go home.
In the next instant, she slapped herself for that thought. She didn’t care if she had one foot dangling over a cliff with a seventy-mile-per-hour tailwind, she was going to hang on by her fingernails if that was what it took. Aside from her once-a-year holiday trips to see her family, she had no intention of going back to obscurity again. She thought about the factory where she’d worked for four years alongside her parents, her eight siblings and just about every other resident of Glenover, Iowa. It was just what you did when you graduated from high school. A regular paycheck. Sick days. Job security. Yuck.
She’d had bigger dreams.
When she was a senior in high school, she’d starred in Glenover High’s productions of Our Town and Bye, Bye Birdie, and for the first time in her life, she felt truly special. Raised in such a large family, the spotlight rarely made its way around to her, so those few magical nights had been intoxicating.
For the next four years, the thrill of it stayed in the back of her mind, until finally she couldn’t stand it any longer. She left behind the dreary, monotonous, unremarkable town where she’d been raised and headed for the bright lights of the New York stage, knowing in her heart that she was destined to become a star.
Three years, six dead-end jobs and eighty-seven auditions later, she realized she’d made a small miscalculation. In New York, they expected superior craft and exceptional talent and years of paying dues, so actors built careers with the speed of glaciers melting. But in Hollywood…
Now, there was a place where a person could shoot to superstardom overnight. Life was too short to wait around. Once the lightbulb had gone on and she’d realized the error in her thinking, she’d felt compelled to move on as quickly as she could, determined to make something happen now.
Through a friend of a friend, she’d managed to hook up with an agent who’d promised he could get her the contacts she needed, and she knew how to make the most of them. Talent wasn’t a list-topping requirement on the West Coast, so the fact that she was a pretty decent actress meant she was already ahead of the game. She had smarts, she had ambition and she had the right look. Or most of the right look, anyway. She could buy the rest of the appearance she needed just as soon as she found a way to get five thousand dollars back in her pocket again.
Wendy settled back on the pillow and closed her eyes, feeling exhausted right down to her bones. All she needed was a good night’s sleep, some morning light on her face and a cup of coffee past her lips. Once her brain was working, she could formulate a plan to get herself out of this mess and back on the road to Los Angeles, and everything would look rosy again. Her parents, her brothers, her sisters and every other resident of Glenover, Iowa, might be satisfied living as faceless human beings in nowhere jobs, but she’d never be content with that. 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 waited with extreme impatience and not a little bit of pain, and after a few minutes, she heard a flush. Thank God. It wouldn’t be long now.
Then she heard the shower. No, no, no!
Ten long, agonizing minutes passed as she waited for him to come out, the mountain lion on his bed giving her the evil eye the whole time. Finally the man emerged, a towel wrapped around him this time, and his dark, wet hair slicked back. But instead of moving aside to let her in, he slowly ran both hands up either side of the door frame, blocking the entrance, nonchalantly flexing those awesome biceps and chest muscles.
“Going somewhere?” he asked.
She stared up at him. “Uh…the bathroom?”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Silence.
She shifted uncomfortably. “Do you think you could let me by?”
“Uh-huh.”
