Expecting...And In Danger. Eileen Wilks

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      The thought gave her courage. Maybe it was a fool’s version, born of anger and untainted by common sense, but she’d take what she could get. She straightened her shoulders. “I suppose you want to talk to me, but it will have to wait until my shift is over.”

      “No,” he said slowly. “I don’t think it will.” He took her hand and started for the door, dragging her with him.

      “Rafe.” She tried to pull her hand free. “Have you lost your mind? I can’t go with you now.”

      “Sure you can.” He didn’t slow as he wove through the crowded tables.

      People were staring. She set her feet firmly so he couldn’t keep tugging her along like a reluctant puppy, and for a moment it worked. He gave her a hard look over his shoulder and a sharp jerk on the hand imprisoned in his.

      She nearly toppled. It was either stumble after him or fall to the floor. He dragged her another few steps. “Dammit, you’re going to get me fired!”

      “Do you think I give a flying—”

      “What the hell is going on here?” Zeno planted himself in front of Rafe, glower firmly in place.

      Charlotte had never imagined she would see Zeno in the light of a savior. “This idiot is dragging me out the door!”

      “I don’t want any trouble here,” Zeno said, sparing her a condemning glance, as if it were all her fault this madman was trying to abduct her. “Whatever your problem with her is, you’ll have to settle things when she’s not working.”

      “She won’t be working for you anymore after tonight,” Rafe informed him calmly.

      “Yes, I will.” She gave one more hard tug, but only succeeded in hurting her wrist.

      Rafe went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “She shouldn’t be working here now, not in her condition.”

      “What condition?” Zeno demanded.

      Don’t tell him, Charlotte chanted mentally. Don’t tell him, please…

      Rafe’s eyebrows lifted. “You didn’t know that she’s pregnant?”

      “She’s what?” Zeno rounded on her. “Why, you lying little bitch. Is that why you’ve been wearing those puke-ugly sweaters?” He grabbed the hem of her sweater, pulled it tight, and put his hand on the bulge of her stomach.

      Rafe dropped her hand. And swung once, clean, short and sharp, his fist connecting with Zeno’s jaw with a solid thunk. The older man’s eyes opened wide in amazement just before he collapsed.

      Rafe rubbed his fist. “No touching,” he growled. Then he grabbed Charlotte’s hand and towed her out of there.

      Two

      “Have you lost your mind?” she shrieked as he dragged her out the door. “You just punched out my boss!”

      “Something tells me he isn’t your boss anymore.”

      It was fully dark now—as dark as this corner of the city ever got, at least. The air was cold, the night punctuated with horns and headlights. Neon draped its tawdry glitter over buildings, cars and faces. Those faces were fewer than before and their owners moved more slowly, the ones in groups laughing too loudly, those alone wary and watchful. Or simply empty. The women’s skirts were shorter, their lips brighter red. And none of the night people crowding the sidewalk seemed inclined to take exception to the man in a black leather trench coat who bullied his way through them, or the way he dragged his unwilling victim along.

      She tried again to reason with Rafe. “It’s cold. My coat…my things…you have to let me get my things.” Her backpack, especially. She couldn’t lose it.

      “My car’s just up the block. The heater works.”

      “You can’t just drag me off this way! It—it’s illegal.”

      “Yeah?” He stopped and turned so abruptly she plowed into him.

      She landed with her free hand bracing her against his chest, preventing her from falling up against him, body to body. The leather coat was cool and supple beneath her hand. His chest was hard. So were his eyes, and the sarcastic curl of his lips wasn’t a smile. She remembered the feel of that mouth on her and hastily pulled back.

      “If you think I’m doing something illegal, you should yell for a cop.” The curl grew into a sneer when she remained silent. “That’s what I thought. Come on.”

      How Rafe had managed to find a parking spot right where he needed one, she didn’t know. It was typical of the man, though. Luck, skill, karma—whatever force you credited, Rafe had more of it than any one man should. He had everything, from wealth and good looks to a successful career and a loving family. He should have been spoiled, shallow, dull. He wasn’t. He was fascinating. Unaffected, unconventional, outgoing, generous.

      The man’s sheer perfection was the most irritating thing about him.

      The hubcaps were still on his car, she noted as he shifted his grip to her arm and unlocked the door. But the car itself was not what Rafe Connelly was supposed to drive. He ought to have a dangerous, low-slung sports car, not a dark blue domestic sedan.

      That was the second most irritating thing about Rafe—he never did what you expected him to do.

      “Get in,” he ordered as he swung the door open.

      She sighed and did it. There was no point in arguing. He’d already gotten her fired, so she had little left to lose. They might as well get this over with. It wasn’t going to be pleasant. She knew that. But she’d made it through a lot of life’s unpleasant moments. She’d get through this one, too.

      His car might not be the sports car that fit her image of him, but it was new and expensive. And familiar. She passed a hand over the cool leather of the seat and tried not to think about the only other time she’d ridden in Rafe’s car.

      He slid behind the steering wheel, slammed his door and started the engine. Sound poured from the speakers—some kind of rock with screaming guitars, lots of bass and a pounding beat. Cold air poured from the vents. No doubt his car did have a great heater, but the engine wasn’t warm yet. She shivered and hugged herself for warmth.

      With a flick of his wrist, he cut the stereo off. Silence fell. He glanced at her, grimaced, flung his door open again in defiance of the traffic, got out and shrugged off his coat. He tossed it at her and climbed back in without saying a word.

      Charlotte drew the coat over her like a blanket. The lining held the heat from his body, and the warmth released scents that drifted up to tease her. Leather and man and memories… How unpredictable he was. First he dragged her along willy-nilly, then he gave her the coat off his back.

      His voice was quiet. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”

      He wasn’t talking about the coat. Charlotte closed her eyes, but that petty escape didn’t help. He was here, he was asking, and she had to face both him and the facts. “Yes.”

      He smacked the СКАЧАТЬ