“What are you doing?” she demands indignantly, and I can almost feel her heart racing in her chest. Fuck me, mine is too.
“You can’t grab me and throw me in your vehicle,” she exclaims.
I turn to face her, and damn she’s prettier every moment I look at her. And she smells good, like the flowers at the side of my parents’ house my mother frets over. “I was saving you, woman. It’s a mad downpour out there. But if you want me to let you out, I will.”
Thunder crashes again and she jumps, eyes squeezing shut a moment, then lifting to study me studying her. “Well?” I challenge softly, willing her to stay.
“You’re still an asshole.”
She’s adorable and as she stares at me, I feel the heat between us. She doesn’t want to go. And I damn sure don’t want her to go. My lips quirk. “Does that mean the fair maiden wishes to remain in the shelter of my fine vehicle?”
“I should be afraid of you right now.”
I arch a brow. “Are you?”
She blinks, seemingly as distracted and confused right now as I am. I am not a man who gets obsessed with a woman, at all, let alone in five flat seconds. “Am I what?” she asks.
“Afraid of me,” I supply.
“I should be,” she repeats.
“Why are you out at this time of night alone?” I ask, curious about her, and also eager to make sure she isn’t meeting a man. Not that I’d back off. I wouldn’t.
“Why are you?” she snaps back.
“Why not? Who do you think a bad guy would attack? You or me?”
“Depends on which one of us has the biggest gun.”
I laugh again, more intrigued by this woman by the second. “Do you carry?”
“Yes. And I know how to use it,” she adds.
“You’re a fierce one,” I comment, amused, aroused, distracted by a stranger, and it’s a welcome distraction I might not be able to afford, but I just don’t care.
“You’re an arrogant one,” she rebuts.
“I’m not arrogant,” I assure her, unable to keep some of the dark energy that description stirs in me from my voice. My father is arrogant. My father who I both idolize and hate, true hate, the kind no man should feel for his father. “A smart-ass, yes. Arrogant, no.”
“Parking too close to me wasn’t you being arrogant? Just a smart-ass?”
My mood lightens instantly and I grin. “Yep. How’d I do?”
“Perfectly.”
“Glad to hear it,” I say. “I’m Rick Savage, by the way, but most people call me Savage.”
“They call you Savage? Are you supposed to be making me feel better?”
“Savage can have many meanings, sweetheart,” I assure her, a wicked suggestion in my tone and eyes when I look at her. Her cheeks heat, a blushing, shy beauty that I do not expect, after her confronting me, but I damn sure love the contrast of character.
“Shy, are you?” I tease.
“I’m—not, actually. Not really.”
“You did come at me like a freight train, I’ll give you that. Call me Rick.” I offer her my hand, aware that if I touch her again, I’ll kiss her. Her eyes flicker with apprehension, nervous energy, but there is more in their depths; there is that mutual attraction. Tentatively she reaches forward and presses her soft palm to mine, our grips light. But light or not, even this small touch is ridiculously arousing.
“Candace Marks,” she says softly, and when she tries to pull back, I close my hand around hers, I hold on, but gently enough that she knows she can pull away.
“Nice to meet you, Candace,” I say, my eyes warm on her face.
“I’m not sure if it’s nice to meet you or not yet, Rick.”
My lips curve, and I am thinking about her pretty little mouth painted mauve, and how much I want it on mine. But she tugs her hand, and damn it, I have to let her go. Reluctantly, so damn reluctantly, I release her. There’s regret in her expression, as if she didn’t want me to let her go, and fuck. I want to pull her back to me. But she turns away, facing the window as hail pucks down against the glass. And suddenly, or not so suddenly at all, I want to know more about her, and not just how she tastes. “What brings you here so late and in a storm?” I ask.
She shifts to face me again, a bit more relaxed now as if conversation eases the awkwardness of a kiss we didn’t share. “School and work,” she says.
“What are you studying and/or working on?”
“Architecture. I’m interning right now under a rather famous architect. It’s a bit intimidating but exciting.”
She’s smart. Creative. Owns a gun and smells good while looking pretty. I’m all in. I’m never all in with a woman, but for some reason, with Candace, right here and now, I am. “Interesting choice of career. What do you want to build?”
“Everything. I have so many dreams. The tallest building in the world that reaches well into the clouds. The most unique building in the world. The most secure building in the world. The most impressive homes on planet Earth.”
“That’s what I call passion,” I say, and I recognize that passion because it’s what I feel for medicine. “Are you following in someone’s footsteps?”
“No. I think it started with a fascination with the pyramids and morphed into architecture. What about you? Why are you here late at night?”
“Med school. I’m a surgical resident at Fort Sam where my father’s an instructor.”
“Impressive. It is, after all, considered the most important military medical training facility in the world. My father’s at Fort Sam, too, but he’s not part of the medical division. He’s the commander for the North. Are you military?”
“I am, in fact, military.”
“Our fathers might know each other.”
He gives a nod. “I’m certain they must.”
“I thought soldiers were pack animals and yet you’re here, alone. It’s dangerous out alone, you know,” she teases.
I don’t laugh. She’s hit a nerve and I cut my stare, gripping the steering wheel, my forearm flexing with the tightness of my grip. Normally alone is exactly where I want to be and that’s exactly what I wanted tonight. Until I didn’t. “Sometimes alone isn’t the best place to be,” I say and I look at her, without even trying to hide everything I went through tonight. The little girl who died despite how fucking hard I worked to save her. My father, who didn’t act fast enough, in my book, because he was in his office drinking. “Now is it?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “No, it’s not.” She hesitates and adds, “Especially not tonight.”
It’s a confession I believe I’ve inspired by being honest. And I want to know more.
“Why not tonight?” I ask.
“You don’t know me. You don’t need to pretend to care.”