Page 3

The convertible's top is down, and time slows to a crawl. A man in an expensive charcoal suit grips the wheel, his mirrored sunglasses reflecting my frozen form. His jaw clenches. The muscles in his forearms flex as he wrenches the wheel right.

The car's tires screech past me, so close the wind whips my hair across my face. The scent of burning rubber fills my nose. My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape.

Metal crunches. Glass shatters. The sound pierces my ears like physical pain.

The driver's body launches through the air in a graceful arc that seems to defy gravity. His sunglasses fly off, catching the sunlight for one brilliant moment before his head connects with the telephone pole with a sickening thud.

He crumples to the ground like a broken marionette.

My legs give out. The rough concrete scrapes my palms as I hit the sidewalk. Bile rises in my throat.

"Oh God." The words barely squeeze past my lips. "He's dead. He has to be dead."

My chest constricts. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision. This is my fault. If I hadn't chased Goliath into the street...

My feet won't move. I should check on him, but what if... what if he's... The image of blood and broken bones freezes me in place.

"Sir?" My voice comes out as a squeak. "Are you... alive?"

A groan answers me, followed by the tinkle of glass hitting pavement. The man shifts, brushing shards off his suit like they're nothing more than lint. He slides off the crumpled hood with the grace of someone stepping out of a limo.

My jaw drops. Not a scratch on him. Not even a hair out of place.

He straightens his tie, then pats his face where his sunglasses should be. His head snaps up, scanning the area until his gaze locks onto something behind me.

I turn. His sunglasses are embedded in the telephone pole like some weird modern art installation.

"My com-glasses." He sounds more annoyed than injured. "Those were one of a kind."

The car's front end is wrapped around the pole like a metal pretzel. Smoke curls from the engine. Yet here he is, fussing over designer sunglasses.

My brain short-circuits. This can't be real. People don't just walk away from crashes like that. They don't shrug off hitting telephone poles with their heads.

I tug at his sleeve. The fabric is impossibly smooth under my fingers, and the arm beneath is like steel. He turns, and suddenly I'm in shadow. He towers over me, blocking out the sun entirely.

"Um, excuse me." I have to crane my neck to look up at him. "But don't you think you should go to the hospital?"

A cloud drifts across the sun, and my breath catches. Without the glare, I can finally see his face clearly. My knees go weak. He's... he's beautiful. Not in the pretty-boy way Jason was. No, this man is all sharp angles and dangerous curves, like a weapon wrapped in designer cloth. But it's his eyes that freeze me in place - pure, molten gold that seems to glow from within.

Those eyes lock onto mine, and the world tilts sideways. His nostrils flare, like a predator catching a scent. Then his gaze drops, dragging over my body with such raw hunger that my skin burns in its wake. Heat pools low in my belly as his eyes linger on my curves, my throat, my lips.

Oh. Oh no.

The look in his eyes... I know that look. It's the same one the heroes in my books get right before they throw the heroine against a wall and... and...

My face flames. We're in the middle of the street, for heaven's sake! There are people watching! And he's looking at me like he wants to devour me whole, like clothing is just an inconvenient barrier to be torn away.

"I'm fine." His voice rumbles through me like distant thunder, and something deep inside me quivers in response. "I don't need a medivac."

"Medivac?" The strange word snaps me out of my daze. "Don't you mean ambulance?"

My heart's still racing, but now it's from frustration rather than... whatever that was before. "You need medical attention. That crash was serious."

He glances at his mangled car, and something flickers across his face - worry? Fear? The wail of approaching sirens cuts through the air, and his shoulders tense.

"No, I didn't." His golden eyes dart around like he's searching for an escape route.

"What do you mean 'no'? I watched you hit that pole!" I jab my finger at the splintered wood where his sunglasses are still embedded. "With your head!"