Page 208 of Hell Hath No Fury
He snorts and smiles softly.
Fuck.
Of course he can see right through my posturing.
I push through my anxiety and turn to look at him, but I’m struck in awe at how handsome he truly is. His chiseled jaw with a neatly trimmed beard, that short, textured salt-and-pepper hair with a low fade, buff arms barely contained in that Colbert of his, the intricate tattoos snaking up from his hand all the way to his wrist hiding underneath his clothes, and those piercing blue eyes with a smoldering gaze that reminds me of the moon in the night sky.
Simply breathtaking.
Those eyes will make me do things I’ll regret.
A blush spreads on my cheeks, and I quickly look away again.
He must be twice my age.
My hands tighten across my waist. I cannot let my guard down, no matter what.
“It’s okay,” he says.
Suddenly, I feel a tickle near my neck. Gently sliding across my skin, his finger pushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Most people are intimidated by me.”
I shudder against the lavish leather seat.
His hand leaves my skin, and so does the warmth that filtered through my body, goose bumps erupting all over.
I throw another glance at him. I don’t even know what I’m thinking going along with this. But I was in such a low place there that I couldn’t resist taking him up on the offer when he took my hand, even though I know it’s dangerous.
My mother taught me to be wary of any and all men.
Especially the ones who make too many promises.
But what value do her words have now that she threw me out onto the streets?
“I won’t hurt you,” he says. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not,” I lie, glancing over at him once more, even though his killer looks make it so damn hard. But I can’t afford to look weak, despite my obvious low. If there’s anything I know about this world, it’s that people love to take advantage of those in a bad spot.
“If you want to stop the car, you can tell me, and I’ll drop you off. No questions asked,” he adds.
“I’m fine,” I reply, licking my lips. “I just want to know why you would take me with you?”
A coarse, thin smile forms on his face. “Because I saw you hunched over in that alley. Crying.” His fingertips reach for my face, but he stops right before he touches my cheek. “I can’t resist helping occasionally.”
“So you do this often? Take in girls off the streets?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Not often, no. But I have helped people before.”
People. I wonder who.
Judging from the brand of this car, the suit he’s wearing, and the driver in front of us, he’s got loads and loads of cash to dish out. Which means he’s either a businessman or a criminal. Knowing my track record, probably the second.
But can I really say no to help when I have nothing at all and no one else to go to?
“I’ve given you my name, but you still haven’t told me yours,” he says, breaking my train of thought.
“I, uh … Emilia.” I don’t want to give my last name just yet.
