Page 71 of Angel Eyes

Tossing a final glance over my shoulder, I climbed into the car.

“Oh, my God, this is so good, I could die.”

Approximately three minutes after leaving the department store, my stomach decided to make itself known again with a hair-raising growl. Before I could mutter an apology, Cristian simply laughed and asked if I wanted to make a pit stop, which is how we found ourselves in fast-food heaven, otherwise known as McDonald’s, with me stuffing my face with hot, salty french fries.

“Well, you may get your wish.” Cristian eyed my half-empty tray. “Undoubtedly, your arteries are closing as we speak.”

I sneered at him, but with the amount of food in my cheeks, I couldn’t quite pull it off. I tossed a fry at him instead. “Don’t be such a food snob.”

“I run a Michelin-starred restaurant. Being a food snob is practically in the job description.”

Rolling my eyes, I hid my grin behind a paper napkin. “Fair enough. And thank you, by the way. For coming to my rescue.”

“It was my pleasure, Ms. Chandler.”

“Why did you though?” I chewed on the straw of my soda. “I mean, you hardly know me. What reason could you have to rush out in the middle of the night to help me?”

“It’s hardly the middle of the night.” He chuckled, but his expression dimmed when I pressed my lips together. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

“Should I? I mean, you just lied to my friends without even batting an eye.”

“Would you have preferred I told them the truth? When you called, I knew I might need a cover story, so I did a quick scan of your professional profile. Impressive background, by the way.” He reached over and plucked a fry from my tray, popping it into his mouth.

“But that’s exactly what I don’t get. Why go out of your way in the first place?”

His silver gaze slid toward the window. “Believe it or not, I am a gentleman. And you are an American in a city with which you are unfamiliar. That’s why you called me, no? If you and your friends had been able to get out of that unfortunate situation on your own, suffice it to say, I would not be sitting here.”

“It still seems strange.”

“No stranger than the fact that you called me instead of your non-boyfriend. Gabriel, wasn’t it?” I stiffened as Cristian’s lips curled. “Yes, very strange indeed.”

My hands balled into fists in my lap. “We’re not talking about him. We’re talking about you. And you’re deflecting.”

“On the contrary. You want to know my secrets? Fine. But trust goes both ways, sweetheart. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

A flush of heat crawled up my neck. Who did this guy think he was? Sure, I was grateful for his help, but that didn’t give him license to act like an asshole.

I pushed to stand. “You know what? I’m out of here.” Shoving my chair back, I headed for the exit, maneuvering around some teenagers loitering in the entrance. Outside, I hung a quick left, darting around the building in the direction of an empty side street. Before I even made it halfway down the block, I heard footsteps behind me.

“Juliet, wait.”

“Leave me alone, Cristian.” I picked up my pace, passing beneath the glow of a street lamp.

“Would you wait a second?” A firm hand closed around my biceps, and I whirled, nearly crashing into him.

“Why, so you can keep taunting me about Gabriel? I told you about him in—” I almost said in confidence, but bit off the word because it sounded ridiculous. But I had, hadn’t I? Something about Cristian during our first meeting had lulled me into a false sense of security, making me trust him when I had no reason to. Obviously, that had been a mistake.

“No, that’s not—” He dropped my arm. “Fine, you were right, I was deflecting. You asked me a question I wasn’t comfortable answering. I know I gave you the impression when we met that I’m an open book, but I’m not. I don’t make a habit of oversharing.”

“Cool, thanks for clearing that up.” I turned to leave, but he stepped in my path.

“But maybe this once, I’ll make an exception.” I tucked my hand into the crook of my elbow, more than a little agitated. “Please,” he added softly.

“Fine,” I huffed, plopping down on an empty bench. “What do you want to say?”

He followed, lowering onto the seat beside me and resting his elbows against his knees.

“Before, when you asked me why I came to your rescue tonight, what I told you was true. I do consider myself to be a gentleman. But it was also because …” He paused, furrowing his brow in concentration, as though he was struggling to voice whatever was on the tip of his tongue.

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