Page 3 of His Tempting Angel

I need this job more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life. This has to work. This one interview could change my whole life.

I push the creaking car door open and then slam it closed, refusing to look down at myself.

If I do, I know there’s no way in hell I’ll go on this interview.

I put my head down and scurry away, checking the buildings and knowing that this is it. My last chance to stay here in Wildwood.

CHAPTER 3

Max

My heart hammers as the door to the bar opens and light pours in once again from outside. But then it slows painfully when another customer walks in the heavy door and waves at the person they’re meeting.

My shoulders slump and the permanent scowl I always have on my craggy face takes over again.

She’s late. Of course, we didn’t actually state a time so really, she’s not late.

I’m just going crazy here. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her and my heart is pounding, worried that she’s not gonna show.

She shouldn’t. She’s a young girl on her own and I told her to come to my bar. Immediately. I sound like a creeper. I’m not. But she doesn’t know that.

I said I saw her wish on the tree but I didn’t tell her that I’ve been watching her for days or that I was the one who bumped into her and growled.

Those eyes! I haven’t been able to forget those haunted lavender-blue eyes. They’re so clear, so pure. Like a child’s.

But that body is pure woman. Or it could be with a little meat on her bones.

I want to run when the door opens and my eyes lock on her again. She slinks inside and my heart catches at the wary look on her pale face.

I’ve seen that look before on my own face. Like she’s been kicked and ground down by life one too many times and she’s just waiting for the next blow.

I’ve had that same look myself. After the fire when I saw my scarred face for the first time. I never wore a beard and mustache as a firefighter but after the fire I grew a patchy one to hide the telltale scarring on my cheeks and lower jaw. There’s more than that on my face but the hair covers a lot of the worst of the pink. Except for where the hair wouldn’t grow. I look like some kind of freak and I’m afraid of what she’ll think when she sees me.

I hold my breath when she stops in front of the bar where I’m slowly wiping out a glass to keep my hands busy. My fingers itch to touch her, hold her, gently frame her cheek and feel her lean into my touch like an animal that’s hurting and needs touch to feel again.

I’ve been there. It took time but I’m better now. But this is where I start giving back.

She needs help and I need to give her everything she needs. Because she’s mine. I knew it as soon as I saw her skittering past me. But when her body touched mine?

It was like my whole world settled, the sky more blue, the air more pure.

She. Is. Mine.

And if it takes a hundred days, a hundred hours or a hundred seconds I will win her over.

I shouldn’t. Shouldn’t even look at such a pure soul. But the heart wants what it wants and my heart wants her.

“H-hi,” she stammers when I keep staring at her like a complete idiot. “I was called for an interview?”

I nod my head and clear my throat to keep from growling like a wild bear.

“Yeah,” I rumble, my voice rusty and strained. That fire hurt my vocal cords too. My voice is a harsh growl.

She jumps and I can see she wants to run and hide. “I-I’m sorry. Maybe it wasn’t here?”

She turns away but I sigh and put the glass down, throwing the bar towel over my shoulder. “It was me.” I clear some of the rusty out of my throat and she turns back warily.

“I’m sorry. My voice can only take a little bit of strain before it sounds bad.”

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