The Ruthless Caleb Wilde

Caleb thought of a polite way to tell her that her surroundings were dangerous, but surely she already knew that.

It didn’t matter. She read his mind.

“Not quite Park Slope,” she said with a thin smile.

To hell with being polite.

“No,” he said bluntly, “it sure as hell isn’t.”

The faint smile vanished.

“Am I supposed to apologize because you don’t approve?”

“No. Of course not. I only meant …” He stopped, took a long breath, let it out and started again. “Where’s the subway?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying to picture you making this trip each night, that’s why!”

“I—I usually walk home from the subway with a friend.”

“She works with you?”

“No. But our work schedules are similar.”

“Yeah, well, where would she have been tonight?”

It was an excellent question, and a complicated one, starting with the fact that “she” was a “he” named David.

Sage was definitely not in the mood to answer it.

“Look,” she said, “I admit that this is—it’s not exactly a great neighborhood. And, thanks to you, I didn’t have to deal with the subway. So thank you again, here’s your jacket, and—”

“Keep it,” he said gruffly.

“At least give me your address so I can—”

“You can give it back to me after I get you to your door.”

“No. That isn’t nec—”

Caleb got out of the limo and walked around it.

“No arguments. I’m seeing you inside and that’s that.”

“Do you always get your own way?”

“I do when it matters.”

He could almost see her weighing his words. Finally, she sighed. Some of the belligerence went out of her expression. Caleb held out his hand.

Sage hesitated, then took it.

His hand was warm, his grip powerful. She fought the desire to wind their fingers together.

The truth was, she’d run out of bravado.

His reminder that without him she’d have been walking home alone had done it, especially when she knew there’d been a recent string of assaults in the neighborhood on women who lived alone.