Emily: Sex and Sensibility (The Wilde Sisters 1)

“You th-think I’m crazy.”

One of them was. And yes, it was probably she. In fact, why not? Like most big cities, New York had more than its fair share of the walking wounded.

&nb

sp; “Not at all,” he said carefully, “but if there is a physician you would like me to contact—”

“I’m not cr-crazy. I just d-d-don’t want your heh-heh-heh—”

Jessalyn’s angry voice cut through the woman’s stammer.

“Jesus H. Christ, Marco,” she snarled, “she sounds like Elmer Fudd! Would you give it up?”

The woman’s gaze swept past him to the open car door. He cursed under his breath but decided he might be able to use Jessalyn’s cold interference to his advantage. He had to do something. That stutter was not a good sign. Unless it was natural, it was an indication of just how cold she really was.

“My date,” he said calmly. “Surely that should make you feel safe.”

The woman made a chattering sound. A laugh? Well, he couldn’t blame her. In today’s world, the presence of another woman wasn’t a guarantee of anything.

Still, he had to admit that, for once, Jessalyn had said something intelligent. It was ridiculous to stand in a downpour, trying to rescue a woman who didn’t want rescuing.

Va bene. He was out of ideas and out of patience. One last attempt. After that, she was on her own.

“I am,” he said, with what he hoped was a disarming smile, “harmless.”

She raised her hand and pushed her hair away from her face, giving him a first clear view of her features.

Nice.

Delicately arched brows. Aristocratic nose. Full mouth. Thickly lashed eyes, light in color. Blue? Green? It was impossible to tell, and what did it matter?

Ending what had become a stalemate was what he wanted.

“Let me amend that,” he said, trying to maintain a light touch. “I am completely harmless to puppies, kittens, small children and drowning females.”

Her chin rose. “V-v-very amusing.”

So much for light touches. He could feel his composure slipping.

“My aim is not to amuse you, signorina. It is to make you see reality.”

“You try s-s-seeing reality. Go a-a-away!”

“Marco! It’s late and I am freezing to death back here with the damned door—”

He reached back, his expression grim, and slammed the door shut.

“This,” he said, “is absurd. I have offered assistance. You have refused it. Fine.” He dug in his pocket, took out his iPhone and held it out. “Take it. Call someone. Or I’ll call someone. The police. An ambulance. Madre de Dio, woman!” His voice rose to a roar. “I would not abandon a dog on a night like this.”

Or a tigress.

She didn’t move.

OK, he decided, basta. Enough was enough. Moving fast, he whipped off his jacket. The woman gasped; the silly tube of lipstick fell to the sidewalk as he grabbed her and wrapped the jacket around her. She aimed a fist at his jaw and missed, missed again, and he swung her around and shouted for Charles.

Charles must have been waiting for the call.

He was out of the car in a flash, marching briskly toward Marco, holding a furled black umbrella by his side.