Her expressive eyes snapped at him. ‘What exactly are you saying?’
Gael stared at her as the car slid into traffic. ‘I mean your options aren’t looking very good right now. So perhaps a little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss. I might decide you’re not worth the effort and leave you to your fate. Is that what you want?’ he asked, watching her closely.
‘I’ve just been attacked. I’m within my rights to be wary,’ she replied.
‘Yes, but I think you trust your instincts too—which is why you’re here, no?’
‘You think you know me?’ she enquired, narrow-eyed.
‘I think my assessment is right. Instinct first, then after that you let other...urges guide you.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? What urges?’
His mouth twisted. ‘You tell me.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. And if this is the way our supposed business meeting is heading perhaps I’m better off cutting my losses right now.’
Gael sighed. ‘While you decide on that will you allow me to put your seat belt on for you? I wouldn’t want you to suffer another injury en route to what you imagine is your gruesome end.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re mocking me?’
He reached for the seat belt. ‘I’m trying to find a way to have a conversation without getting disagreed with at every turn.’
She inhaled long and hard, her gaze going from the buckle in his hand to his face. When he cocked an eyebrow she nodded and pressed herself back against the seat. Moving closer, Gael wondered whether his offer had been a good idea. Underneath the distinctive smell of her intimate acquaintance with alley concrete he caught the scent of apples and honeysuckle. And at close quarters he saw her pulse racing at her throat, her skin flushing when he drew the belt between her breasts.
The stirring in his groin wasn’t surprising—he was a red-blooded male, after all—but he cursed its presence all the same, especially when he cradled her hip for a precious few seconds before the lock slid home and his blood heated up to discomfort levels.
When he finished the task and sat back it wasn’t without a modicum of relief.
He was almost glad when she cleared her throat. ‘So, what do you want to talk to me about?’
He brought his mind firmly back to task. To business. ‘I have a proposition for you. If you’re agreeable we’ll get you cleaned up first, then we’ll talk, sí?’
CHAPTER THREE
GOLDIE TRIED TO FOCUS as the sleek, luxurious car rolled down Columbus Avenue and turned on to Central Park West. She didn’t think she’d hit her head when that horrid brute had wrestled her purse away from her. And yet a hazy sensation, as if she’d fallen down a rabbit hole, swirled all around her, making her wonder if her faculties were intact. Making her wonder if she’d heard him right.
What had this unfathomably riveting stranger said? A proposition.
She wanted to snort under her breath. Nothing good could come out of a proposition from a man like that. A man with the face of a fallen angel, hell-bent on practising his sorcery on unsuspecting women. A man with a voice so hypnotic she wondered if he’d practised that precise cadence and for how long before he’d attained that perfect sizzling-you-to-your-toes note that accompanied each faintly accented word.
He was the kind of man who was everything her mother had always yearned for and never achieved. The exact type of man Goldie had sworn off after witnessing time and again the way they used their God-given attributes mercilessly.
Goldie didn’t hate all men. But she drew a particular line at playboys with enigmatic eyes and captivating faces that defied adequate description and bodies to match. Throw in the type of wealth and raw power this man next to her exuded and her warning bells clanged loud enough to be heard on the Long Island Sound.
So what was she doing in his car?
Goldie frowned, then answered her own question. Circumstances had forced her into it. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still in control. Of her mental faculties and of her body. That zing she’d felt when he’d secured her seat belt had been a temporary aberration. The whole last hour had been a surreal sequence of events she intended to put behind her as soon as possible.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. When she was certain his phone had absorbed his attention, she turned and stared at his profile.
Seriously, he was like a Roman statue she’d once seen at the Museum of Natural History when she’d visited with her mother. Their trip had occurred on one of the rare times when her mother had been sober and coherent enough to make the visit. They’d stared at the statue for what had felt like an eternity, absorbing its unspeakable beauty. Her mother had sighed wistfully before her eyes had filled with tears.
Goldie had known what those tears were about. What they were always about. Wishes unfulfilled. A past thrown away because she’d made the wrong choices. The biggest one of which had been letting Goldie’s father get away. A lump had risen to Goldie’s throat as she’d watched her mother stare hard at the statue, wishing it was flesh and blood.
It had been a fruitless wish, of course.
Except Gael Aguilar was a living, breathing version of that statue.