Mastered (The Enforcers 1)

“And apparently only beautiful people are allowed here,” she muttered under her breath but apparently loud enough that Maddox could hear, judging by the laughter brimming in his eyes. “I knew it was a mistake to come. I don’t belong here. I should have just stayed home.”

At that he immediately sobered, and he had that scary look back. He stared fiercely at her. His eyes narrowed as he studied her, disbelief reflected in his beautiful eyes.

“You don’t think you’re beautiful?”

Her mouth gaped open. “Duh! I don’t think. I know! You can’t change what is.”

He didn’t look at all happy with her statement, but before he could respond, the elevator opened directly into a darkened, spacious room. She had to blink to adjust to the lower lighting and realized the only light illuminating the room came from video monitors placed on the wall. Surveillance. So that was why someone had ridden to the rescue. Well, thank God for that, because it wasn’t as if any of the other customers were going to intervene.

Maddox cursed softly, shaking his head as he propelled Evangeline into the room. He’d opened his mouth as if to speak or respond to her statement but snapped it shut the minute the elevator opened. But he still looked pissed, which she was beginning to think was also a requirement of working here. Hot and perpetually pissed. She had to say, when not directed at her, the hot and pissed-off look was pretty damn hot.

“Her name is Evangeline,” Maddox said.

“Leave us,” a deep male voice sounded.

She glanced around, trying to find the source of the voice. She turned back to Maddox because suddenly Maddox didn’t seem to be so bad. And Maddox had been nice to her. Well, except for the kidnapping and not-allowing-her-to-leave part.

But Maddox had melted away, the elevator door already closing, leaving her alone with whoever the mysterious Mr. Donovan was.

Shit, shit, shit.

Realization struck her that she’d just jumped from the frying pan into the fire and there was no one to save her this time.

Evangeline glanced nervously around the room, shivering as a feeling of power surrounded her. She could swear she smelled the man, and it was intoxicating.

“Um, Mr. Donovan?”

Once again she glanced anxiously, trying to pinpoint his location.

And then she saw him. He stepped from the shadows of the far corner of the room, and her eyes widened in surprise and in pure female appreciation. Whoa. Now she got it. She understood the rules and who they were inspired by. If Mr. Donovan ran Impulse, it certainly made sense that someone as beautiful as him would surround himself by equally beautiful people.

She stared in fascination as he regarded her intently, his dark eyes raking over her, making her feel suddenly exposed and extremely vulnerable. She swallowed hard because she could swear she saw a flash of interest in his arresting liquid brown eyes. Maybe Eddie had hit her because clearly she was out of her mind. But it was a nice fantasy.

He wore his hair short, and he had a polished, sophisticated look that screamed wealth and power. His features were sharply defined, with a hard set to his jaw. He had a broad, muscled chest and shoulders, and was a lot taller than she was. She’d have to stand on tiptoe just to reach his chin!

Her gaze was drawn to his mouth. Over and over again, she came back. After checking out a different feature, her gaze flitted back to the hard line of his mouth, and she felt all tingly imagining what his mouth would feel like on her skin.

Heat scorched over her body followed swiftly by mortification for even entertaining such ludicrous thoughts. As if a man like him would even give her the time of day.

Then suddenly he strode forward, a determined, pissed-off look on his face, and she braced for the inevitable confrontation.

To her complete shock, he gently grasped the arm that Eddie had bruised, and turned it so he could inspect the extent of her injury. Fury blazed in his eyes, but he didn’t let go of her arm, though his hold was infinitely tender.

Chill bumps erupted and raced across the arm he was touching, and a peculiar sensation welled in the pit of her stomach. Her vagina clenched and her nipples tingled, suddenly hypersensitive, and became rigid points. She had the urge to cross her arms over her breasts because she was sure he could see the imprint of the puckered ridges through the thin material of her dress.

What the hell was happening here? Had she entered an alternate reality? This was so not her. She didn’t spaz and become a walking hormone around a man—any man. She didn’t have time for men, and the one time she’d made the time . . . well, it was obvious what that got her.