Page 70 of 2 Books in One Bundle

Her frown deepened. “Cabs are expensive.”

“Then I’ll get you one.”

The frown morphed into an expression of thunderous indignation. If he hadn’t been so irritated at her lack of critical thinking, he would have taken a moment to enjoy the vivid play of emotions across her face.

“Don’t you dare. I’m not paying you back for a cab when I have two perfectly good feet for walking.”

“It’s dangerous.”

She sighed as if he had annoyed her. He fought to keep his own annoyance under control. She had no idea who he was, that he could easily buy her a hundred cellos or a damned limo to ferry her around the city. How many people back at the gala would snort with laughter if they knew a musician had offered to pay back the CEO of Bradford Global for a cab ride?

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for one of those,” she said, her disappointed tone rubbing against his skin like sandpaper.

“One what?”

“A worrywart.”

“I am not a worrywart,” he replied, trying—and failing—to keep his own indignation out of his voice.

“Yes, you are.” She gestured to the lantern-lined road that ran through the southern end of the park. “I’m talking about walking down Center Drive surrounded by people, not dashing through the trees on some unlit path.”

A valid point, he inwardly conceded as people strode by. Couples walking hand in hand, a few families, cyclists and some tourists with cameras. A police car drove slowly down the lane.

But as she stood there, backlit by the lanterns and holding her ridiculously oversized cello case in her small hands, he didn’t want to let her out of his sight.

“Are you walking all the way home?”

“No.” She said the word slowly, as if she couldn’t believe his stupidity. “That would take me hours. I’m walking to Sixty-Eighth Street station. I decided I wanted to walk through Central Park because it’s nice outside, the park looked beautiful and, oh, yeah, because I wanted to.” One hand stayed clenched around the handle of her case, the other landing on her hip as her eyes narrowed. “Why a man I just met and shared one dance with needs to know all that, I have no idea. But now that you do, are you satisfied?”

Her last word rippled across his skin, rekindled the arousal she had stirred in the ballroom, then again on the sidewalk. How holding her in his arms, feeling her body lean into his with complete trust, had made him want to peel away that bulky black dress and trace his fingers over her naked skin. He had always left his previous lovers satisfied.

But with this woman, it wasn’t just courtesy mixed with male pride that had him wanting to see her lips parted on a moan of pleasure, her eyes glazed as he stroked and kissed and savored. No, it was something more primal. Not just a want, but a need.

No, he thought,I am nowhere near satisfied.

“I don’t like you walking through the park alone at night.”

“You don’t have to. Good night.”

And then she turned and walked away.

Damon stared after her, barely keeping his mouth from dropping open in surprise. No one walked away from him. Ever.

Part of him wanted to let her go. She didn’t want his help—fine. She was obviously used to doing things on her own without help from anyone.

The perfect opportunity to let her walk away, out of his life, and take temptation with her.

Except he couldn’t. He told himself it was because he couldn’t allow a woman to walk in Central Park alone, no matter how many strides the city had taken toward security and public safety. Told himself escorting her to the station was the polite thing to do.

He steadfastly ignored the rush of heat through his veins that told him there was something much more dangerous pushing him on and followed his cellist into Central Park.

Evolet cursed under her breath as her heartbeat sped up at the sound of his footsteps on the path behind her. She didn’t know which she had hoped for more—that he would follow her or that he wouldn’t. Judging by the slight hitch in her breath as he fell into step beside her and that sensual, rich scent of sage and wood, her body had hoped for the former.

Embarrassment at his questioning had made her irritation with her self-appointed protector more poignant, her tone sharper than she had intended. And even though she certainly didn’t need looking after, he was just trying to help. The women he associated with were probably waited on hand and foot by servants, chauffeurs and the like. He wouldn’t be used to a woman who had moved from house to house every year or so, her meager belongings shoved into a threadbare pillowcase as she said goodbye over and over again until she hadn’t been able to say goodbye anymore. Instead, she’d withdrawn into herself, become sullen and angry, ignoring the overtures of her well-meaning foster parents until they gave up and counted down the days until she was moved again.

No, her mysterious escort wouldn’t have experience with women like her at all.

Walking five minutes to the station nearest the hotel would have been the practical thing to do. But tonight, she didn’t want to be practical. She’d been practical for so long, shelving her fantasies for more pragmatic endeavors. Even her dream of becoming a professional cellist had evolved into something sensible, a goal to be achieved instead of a wish to be fulfilled. A subtle difference, but one that had left her a hollow shell of herself.

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