Angels and Outlaws

She glared. “I was going to say rash.”

“This is way past rash and well on the road to foolhardy.”

Cass sniffed. He was right, but she didn’t have to admit it. “Apparently we don’t share the same value system.”

“Hell,” he said. “I don’t think we even share the same solar system.”

“Be that as it may,” she said snippily, “I did come out here and now I’m too nervous to climb back in, so if you’d be so kind as to please go find a nice fireman or policeman to come rescue me, I’d appreciate it.”

“I am a policeman.”

“You don’t look like a policeman.”

“I’m a detective. I don’t wear a uniform.”

She groaned inwardly and rolled her eyes. Just her luck. She’d drawn a cop who was a bad dresser with an attitude to match.

He held out his hand. “Come back in.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Every time I try to move I get dizzy and start to lose my balance.”

He eyed the ground and then cussed under his breath.

What? Panic shot through her. Did he know something she didn’t?

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why are you cursing?”

“If it weren’t for you I’d be having Starbucks and Krispy Kremes right about now.”

“Shoo,” she said, but didn’t dare motion with her hands. She’d already moved around too much. “Go on. Go shoot your cholesterol through the roof. Sorry to ruin your day.”

“Hang on. I’ll come get you.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“Tough. You’ve got it.” With that, he grimly thrust himself out the window and onto the ledge.

She felt his movements vibrate straight up through the concrete precipice and she tensed. He had a pragmatic way about him, the aura of a man doing his duty whether he liked it or not.

She didn’t like being his duty.

He came toward her as casually as if he were walking his dog in Central Park instead of traversing a ledge no wider than a shoebox. She stood in awe. Where had he acquired such utter self-confidence? He looked as if he owned the world and everything in it.

Including her.

Hell, it had even stopped raining.

He wasn’t at all like the well-bred, well-dressed men she normally hung out with. Cass’s breath escaped her lungs in a sharp, inexplicable gasp. A shiver slipped down her spine and she had no idea if it was due to the danger she was in or to the man heading for her.

His face was rugged, chiseled. His mouth determined. His eyes incisive. He was the sort of man who made a woman feel safe.

Since when have you ever opted for safe?

Uncontrollably, her gaze fell to the street. Since now. Her knees weakened.

“Look at me, Cass,” Sam, the sexy detective, commanded.

The fire trucks were a swirl of red, the crowd a muddle of melted faces. Her fingers cramped from holding on to the wall and she felt as if she was coming unraveled at the seams.

“Look at me.”

Slowly, she raised her chin and met his eyes.

“Atta girl. Hold on. I’m almost there.”

She’d never been attracted to rough-hewn, macho types before. Give her suave and debonair any day. Except right now, she was mighty glad to have him.

To distract herself she imagined him in a tuxedo at one of Isaac Vincent’s exclusive parties, drinking champagne and making idle chitchat with supermodels and fashion designers.

Cass was creative, but no matter how hard she tried that was one image that refused to be conjured. This guy belonged at a bar called O’Malley’s or MacDougall’s with a mug of warm beer in front of him and a knot of buddies chalking pool cues and making off- color jokes about the waitresses.

But she could see him as a proud Scottish pirate at the bow of his sailing ship gazing out at the new land he was about to pillage. Suddenly, in her mind’s eye, she was a maiden in that faraway land being captured by her conqueror and made to service him in so many shameful, pleasurable ways.

A vision of their entwined bodies muscled out her fear. She pictured Sam’s heavy, potent hands caressing her heated skin with tender urgency…his clever gunmetal gray eyes assembling secret knowledge about her body. He noted what his touch did to her, what made her arch her back, what caused her to moan. In an intense and surreal flash of awareness Cass saw his hard-muscled body covering hers, guiding her to a fevered pitch time and time again.

A warm tingle gripped her and her mouth filled with moisture.

Was she perverted? Or was this a perfectly natural response to hovering on the verge of death? Perhaps it was preferable that one’s last thoughts should be centered on a marvelous sexual fantasy rather than the gruesome alternative.

By the time Sam reached her they were both breathing hard and when his eyes met hers, she could have sworn it was the devil himself peering deep into her.

The air around her solidified with a thick, masculine heat and Cass fought off the urge to squirm.

“Take my hand.”

She hesitated. Not because she didn’t want to be rescued, but for a split second there, she didn’t know which was more treacherous. Touching him or staying out here on the ledge.

His grip was hot and reassuring. She looked him in the eyes. His smile was tight, the outline of his lips white. He’d made the trip down the rain slick ledge look easy, but it was not.

Her legs, strained by the high heels, the cold wet wind and a big dose of fear, quivered precariously.