Swept Away by the Tycoon. Barbara Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ out a low groan, he scrubbed his hands over his face.

      It didn’t help that he spent the day writing letters of apology. A stack of envelopes sat by his elbow. One by one he’d addressed and ticked off names on the list Jack had supplied.

      So many names, so many people who hated his guts and probably—rightfully—danced when they heard he’d been ousted from Ian Black Technologies. As he’d told Curlilocks, nothing beat a healthy dose of karmic blowback. Curlilocks. Aiden said her real name was Chloe, but he thought the nickname suited her better.

      He probably shouldn’t be thinking of her at all considering the shocking number of women he finished apologizing to. So many wronged women. Some, like his ex-wife, were women he never should have gone near in the first place. Others were opportunistic bed partners who’d hoped to become more. But many were simply good women who’d offered their affection and whom he’d let down. Their names stung the most to read. Business casualties he could rationalize as part of the industry; personal betrayals showed how toxic a person he could be.

      Ian ran his finger across Matt’s name and felt an emptiness well up inside him. The head roads he’d made in this relationship weren’t nearly enough.

      To hell with waiting. Patience was overrated. He grabbed his phone and dialed. Voice mail again. He slammed it down on the table, the force causing his empty coffee cup to rattle.

      When he’d bought the coffee shop, the first thing he did was order new drinkware, replacing the cutesy china cups with sturdier, heavier stoneware. The kind that, when hurled, would leave their mark rather than shatter. What, he wondered, would happen if he tossed one right now? Would his employees duck in fear as they used to? The new and improved Ian Black vowed not to be a bully. But damn, did he want to heave something right now....

      “Should I get out my umbrella?”

      He looked up to find Curlilocks looming over his table. Even with his black mood, a rush of male admiration managed to pass through him. At some point during the day she’d corralled her curls into a high ponytail that controlled, but didn’t completely tame them. She must have walked a few blocks because her nose and cheeks were bright pink from the harsh winter air that had taken up residence in the city that night.

      “Little late for you to be roaming the streets, isn’t it?” It wasn’t like him not to notice her entrance. He wondered how long she’d been standing by his table. Long enough to witness his little meltdown?

      “Working late. Came here for a refuel, because the office coffee stinks.” For the first time, he noticed she was holding two coffee cups, one hot, one cold. She slid the hot one in his direction. “Here.”

      “What’s this?”

      “Call it a random act of kindness.”

      Ian stared at the white cardboard cup. Kindness didn’t suit him at the moment. “No, thanks.”

      “Seriously, go ahead. I owe you for spending your money on me this morning.”

      Right, because she thought him down on his luck and was probably worried that he didn’t have the money to waste. This morning he found her mistake amusing, but tonight it merely emphasized his current position, and the mistakes he’d spent the last eleven hours trying to amend. “I don’t need your coffee. You want to feel charitable, try the guy on the corner.” Someone who deserved the gesture.

      Her eyes widened, their chocolate warmth replaced by humiliation. Ian immediately regretted his response. “Look, I just meant—”

      “Forget it!” She held up her hand. “I was paying you back for this morning, is all. You don’t want the coffee, then you give it to the guy on the corner.”

      “Chloe—” A blast of cold air killed the rest of his apology.

      So much for the new and improved Ian Black. Why didn’t he go kick a kitten, too, so he could really be a jackass?

      * * *

      Chloe strode from the shop as fast as she could. You try to do a guy a favor. Jeez, she’d bought him a cup of coffee. No need for him to make a federal case out of it. What did he think she wanted to do? Save him? Only reason she bought him the drink was because the café was about to close, and he’d looked a little lost staring at his empty mug. He didn’t have to toss her good deed back in her face.

      What had caused his sudden mood shift, anyway? The guy had been happy-go-lucky enough this morning. Did the day just wear him down? Lord knows sitting alone in a coffee shop all day would do that to her. Such a waste of what looked like a strong, capable man. More than capable, really.

      Not that she studied him all that closely.

      The wind bit her cheeks, reminding her that, at the moment, she was the one braving the cold, not her slacker. She flipped up the collar on her coat. It wasn’t much protection against the wind, but at least she could bury her chin a little. With her eyes focused on the sidewalk, she dodged the sea of homebound commuters, wishing she could be one of them. Stupid slacker. It was his fault she was dodging anything. If she hadn’t wasted half her day wondering about his story, she’d be on her way home, too, instead of heading back to the agency.

      The attack came out of nowhere. One minute she was rushing down the sidewalk, the next her shoulder was being ripped backward. A pair of hands slammed into her back, hard, knocking the air from her lungs and her body off balance. Before she could so much as gasp she was pitching forward, face-first onto the sidewalk. Stars exploded behind her eyes as her hands and chin struck the cement.

      From behind her, she heard a shout, followed by the scrambling of feet and a second, deeper cry of pain. A second later, she felt an arm around her waist.

      “You all right, Curli? Damn, look at your chin.”

      “Wh-what?” Chloe was too dazed to answer. The arm around her waist felt warm and safe, so she leaned in closer.

      “Your chin,” her savior repeated, his voice soft and rough. “It’s bleeding.”

      She touched her face, flinching when she felt sticky wetness. The dampness trailed down her scarf to the front of her coat. She tried to look down, to see the damage, but everything was dark.

      “It’s mostly coffee,” he told her, but we should make sure your chin doesn’t need stitches. Do you have anything in your bag I can use to wipe the skin clean?”

      “I don’t think—my bag!” She sat up a little straighter. That had been the tug she’d felt on her arm. The jerk had stolen her pocketbook.

      “Right here.” The soothing arm disappeared from her waist. A second later, a brown leather bag appeared in her lap, minus the strap. Chloe fingered the jagged end where the mugger cut the strap free. The bag had been her twenty-fifth birthday present to herself. Now it was ruined. Because some thug had got close enough to...

      Her lower lip started to quiver. That made her teeth and chin hurt more.

      “Shh, don’t cry, Curlilocks. It’ll be all right.”

      No, it wouldn’t. “I—I was m-m-mugged.” The word hurt to say. She felt dirty and violated.

      “I know. I know.” His whisper reached through the cold, calming СКАЧАТЬ