Page 6 of The Sinner’s Touch (Manwhore #2)

CHAPTER FOUR

Angel climbed into Kade’s SUV, grateful to be behind the tinted windows and away from the press.

They’d started shouting questions at her and snapping photos as soon as she stepped out of the bar.

Apparently, they already knew who she was and what she’d seen, thanks to some loudmouth.

It was the first time all night she’d been grateful for Kade’s presence.

He’d shielded her from the cameras and bullied their way through the crowd.

There was no way, come morning, the serial killer wouldn’t know exactly who she was. Her face would be all over the place. How had this happened? She’d been minding her own business and landed slap in the middle of a nightmare. With Kade added into the mix just to torture her. It wasn’t fair.

She glanced over when he slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door.

The overhead lights came on, and she saw the tired lines marring his face.

She could smell the whiskey on his breath and had half a mind to ask if he should be driving, but she was too tired to fight.

Kade never drove drunk. It was one of the things she remembered about him.

His little brother had gotten into a car accident, thanks to a drunk driver.

He’d told her it was something that stayed with him, thinking he’d almost lost the kid because of someone’s irresponsibility.

“Where do you live, Angel?”

“A few blocks from here. Just turn right out of the parking lot then drive through three lights. Turn left on the fourth light. I live above the bakery on that street.”

The first fat drops of rain hit the windshield as they pulled out into traffic.

The hard splat of the rain was the only sound as they drove.

A bright flash of lightning lit up the road ahead of them.

Angel could almost laugh if the situation weren’t so dire.

The end of a truly horrible night would end in rain.

So cliché, but so very appropriate. Perfect end to a perfect day.

She rubbed a hand across her face, trying to dispel some of the weariness.

All the adrenaline had finally worn off, and she started to feel the effects of so much stress.

First the serial killer, then Kade…it had been a hell of a night.

Not to mention he’d somehow corralled her into agreeing to letting him take her home.

Ass in the air. She wanted to laugh, but it would only encourage him, and that was the last thing she wanted. Kade could go to hell and stay there.

It had been raining the first time she’d met Kade. The sound of the storm outside, along with his scent surrounding her, brought back those unwanted memories.

Peter had given her a car for her sixteenth birthday, a red 1969 Chevy Camaro, but the upkeep was up to her. Their parents died when she was fourteen, and Peter had stepped up at eighteen and raised her. He’d fought social services and won. No one was raising his little sister but him.

She’d taken auto shop in high school so she could learn to work on the car.

Peter was clueless when it came to auto mechanics.

He took his own car to the shop. She did not have the luxury of doing that.

The part-time job she’d had in school barely covered insurance and gas, so she did the only thing she could. Angel learned how to work on cars.

What she wouldn’t give to go back in time and warn her nineteen-year-old self to run fast and far in the opposite direction of Kade Alexander Kincaid.

That day, March 3, 2009, she woke up to pouring down rain.

It beat against the tin roof so hard it sounded like gunshots.

She still lived with Peter in the small house they’d both grown up in.

She’d planned on going over to the community college this morning to enroll in their summer semester, but the rain had given her one more excuse not to do it.

Peter kept arguing with her about college, nattering on that their parents wanted better for her than working nights at a strip club.

She should be honoring their memory and getting the education they wanted her to have.

If he thought he could shame her, he was wrong. Some nights, she made a grand, easy. Most nights she came home with at least five hundred in tips. There wasn’t another job around that paid nearly as well. Peter would just have to suck it up.

College, she’d eventually do, but first she wanted to live a little, have some fun, and the job at the strip club made it possible.

Sure, men she didn’t know saw her boobs and grabbed at her ass, but what did she care?

Her mother always taught them to use their God-given assets, and for her, that happened to be her body.

Probably not what her mother had in mind, but hey, it was Angel’s biggest advantage, so she used it.

Rolling out of bed, she showered then made herself a bowl of cereal, contemplating what to do for the rest of the day.

She didn’t have to be at work until eight, and with the rain killing her plans for the day, Angel found herself bored.

She flipped through Star Magazine , but the lives of celebrities did nothing for her today.

Restless. That was the word she’d use to describe her mood.

She felt restless, like she was waiting for something but not sure what.

After a good two hours wasting time on Gossip Girl reruns, she’d finally decided to change the oil in her car.

It was due, and she’d put it off long enough.

Changing into a pair of old jeans and one of her brother’s t-shirts, she went into the garage and jacked the car up enough so she could get under it and work.

She’d just finished draining the oil when she heard the garage door spring to life. She jumped and sloshed a little of the oil out of the pan she’d used for the old oil. Dammit. This was one of her favorite shirts, and now she’d have to spend all day babying the stain to get it out.

“Angel!” Her brother’s voice was loud in the small space of the garage.

Did he really not see her feet sticking out from under the jacked-up car?

“Is that her?”

Now, that voice, she didn’t recognize. It was deep and rich, with an accent. Russian, maybe? It was hard to tell from under the car.

“Angel, get your butt out here and meet Kade.”

Leave it to Peter to bring people over when she was greasy.

Not that any of his friends were cute, anyway.

Well, a few were, but she didn’t like the way they leered at her.

Just because she worked as a stripper didn’t mean she was a whore.

She’d only slept with one guy in her life, and that was her high school boyfriend of three years.

It ended when he went away to college over the summer.

She scooted out from under the car, the bowl balanced haphazardly on her chest. Someone grabbed it before it tipped over, and she looked up to say thank you, but the words froze in her throat.

This was not a cute guy. No. This was a man. A very sexy man. She blinked slowly, trying to sort out what she was seeing. He winked at her, his grin sporting dimples. Dimples. It was the only thing her brain was capable of focusing on. He had dimples.

“Angel, are you drunk?”

“Drunk?” she murmured, still unable to tear her gaze away from the sexiest piece of man candy she’d ever seen.

“Yeah, drunk.” Her brother’s sarcasm was hard to miss, but she ignored it. The view was too good to let his bad mood spoil it.

“No, I’m not drunk.” His short cropped dark hair reminded her of rich, dark fudge. Broad shoulders hinted at a football player’s physique. Good Lord, but he was tall. He towered over her brother, who was six feet. He’d dwarf her.

“Then why are you still lying on the ground staring at Kade?”

She blinked, and her face flamed up. Shit. She was lying here like an idiot, staring. She sat up and scratched her nose, which had taken to itching. Something it tended to do when she was embarrassed.

Peter sighed, but the stranger winked at her again. “You’ve got something just there, on your nose.”

What? She reached up, but before her fingers could touch her face, she saw the oil on them. Sweet baby Jesus. She’d smeared oil on her nose. Her face burned hotter, and she ducked her head, getting up faster than if her ass was on fire.

Without a word, she ran from the garage and slammed the bathroom door behind her once she’d made it upstairs. Her reflection confirmed her worst fear. Her face was splotchy red, and her nose had a big old oil streak down one side.

She looked ridiculous with motor oil on her face, not to mention the double plaits she’d done her hair in.

Why had she decided to do that? Her mom used to braid her hair like that when she was twelve.

Shit, shit, shit. What was his name? Kade.

That was what Peter called him. Kade had to think she was just a kid the way she looked today.

She’d heard them laughing as she’d fled.

Peter probably told him some snarky joke about his kid sister.

Dammit.

No way in hell was she going downstairs until they left. She’d embarrassed herself enough for one day, but she couldn’t erase Kade’s dimpled grin from her mind. It stayed with her all day.

Angel could no more stop the small smile from creeping in thinking about the past than she could stop the dawn from breaking. There were still a few good memories left of their time together.

Kade glanced over at Angel as he turned at the red light.

He’d watched her from the corner of his eye the entire time they’d been in the car.

She’d been lost in her thoughts. Maybe thinking of their past?

He couldn’t stop thinking about it either.

Memories had broken past the dam he’d built around them and flooded his mind the moment he’d locked eyes with his Angel.

While he hated to interrupt whatever thought made her smile, he slowed and asked, “Is this the place?”