Page 7 of Noel
They’re the kind of shadows that hide things.
Okay, Holly.Breathe.Just get in the car, lock the doors, and drive?—
“Excuse me—whoa!”
The deep male voice comes out of nowhere.
I spin, heart leaping to my throat, and before I can think, instinct takes over.My purse becomes a weapon, swinging hard and fast toward the threat.
“HELP!HELP!”
“Easy!Hey—don’t you know not to yell help in New York?”
The man’s voice is sharp, commanding, a growl that vibrates through the cold night air.Then he’s there—close, too close—catching my wrists mid-swing.
“Let me go!”I shout, breath hitching as his grip closes around me.
“Not until you stop trying to knock me out with your purse,” he snaps, lowering his head until we’re face to face.
And wow.Big mistake.
Because holy hell—he’s huge.
Broad shoulders under a dark leather coat, hair short, but thick and impossibly dark, eyes the color of good whiskey, and a perfectly chiseled jawline.
He’s the kind of man who looks carved from shadow and muscle, every inch built for control and sin.
“Who are you?”I demand, jerking against his hold.“I don’t know what you want, but you better leave me alone or I’ll?—”
“You’ll what, Tinsel?”
The nickname throws me off just long enough for him to loosen his grip—but not step back.
His mouth curves slightly, not quite a smile, more like a challenge.
My pulse skitters.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Then stop hitting first and asking questions later.”
He lets go slowly, carefully, like he knows I’m one flinch away from bolting.
Then he reaches into his coat pocket, movements deliberate.
“I’m going to show you something?—”
“No thank you, buddy.I’ve already seen one!”
He makes a face and shakes his head.
“Really?Look, I’m going for my license.Don’t swing again, yeah?”
I hesitate, watching as he pulls out a leather wallet and flips it open.
A badge gleams in the dim light.
Sigma International Security.
