She said it like she might’ve said, “If you like gold…”
“What sort of danger? Does his dad’s secretary wave a sharp pen around?”
Sam tsked. “He carries a gun for one, smarty, and so do his friends. For two, he’s in a gang. He’s the leader.”
“A gang?” Charity couldn’t help the disbelieving smirk.
She’d seen gang members. Guys so hard their eyes screamed murderer from twenty yards away. Brutal killers with the smarts to stay out of jail. They’d gun down a kid to get even on a drug score.
This guy was not in a gang.
Except…
Her gaze frisked the crew as they drew closer. There weren’t any telltale bulges in the usual places street thugs hid weapons, at least none she could see in the dim light, but the way these guys (and one girl) held themselves, with their shoulders pointed her way, loose and easy, their posture screaming readiness, it was clear they could handle themselves. There’d be one helluva tussle if she met one of them in a dark alley.
Or a dark, one-lane road deep in the trees…
“We should keep going, probably,” Charity said.
Samantha stopped just before the rear end of the Range Rover and rolled down her window, her chest still pushed out prominently, which looked really awkward in the car.
“This is the opposite of what I said you should do,” Charity murmured.
“Hey,” Samantha said as Devon straightened up.
He walked closer with a swagger born of infallible confidence. Broad shoulders sported lean muscle, and his white T-shirt stretched over a flat stomach. He stopped by the car but didn’t lean down toward Sam, something not many men would have passed up, given all the boobage on display.
“Why are you guys down here?” Samantha said in her sex-kitten voice. “Isn’t the house up there a ways?” She pointed to the private road ahead.
“It is, yeah,” he replied, sounding unimpressed. “We’re not going. I hear those parties can be pretty dangerous. You should head back.”
Sam laughed, breathy and overdramatic. She was laying it on a little thick. “Dangerous?” she asked, “For you?” She laughed again. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”
His large hand touched down on the side of the door as he finally bent toward the open window. His intense gaze came into view, banging into Samantha. “Dangerous, even for me. I hear those guys spike drinks. If you go, you should stay away from the punch. I’d get out of here, if I were you.”
Sam leaned toward him, her lips curling in pleasure. “Don’t you want to come and keep me safe?”
“Good Lord,” Charity murmured, half wanting to cover her face so it was clear she wanted no part of this.
That was when his gaze darted toward her, as hard as steel and just as ruthless. Wildness lurked in those eyes, coiled and ready to be unleashed.
Charity’s chest tightened, and a cold trickle worked up her spine. For the second time that day, one word slithered through her thoughts.
Predator.
Pretty boy had teeth.
“You should turn back,” he told Charity directly, his voice rough. “That party is no place for you.” His eyes darted from her clothes to her shoes, which should’ve been hidden by the darkness, then to her wrists and her neck. Her face. A furrow creased his brow as he took in her lack of jewelry and her dusting of makeup. All Sam had lent her was the dress and shoes, asserting that no one would notice or care that Charity didn’t have bling. Given that Charity preferred not to be frosted like a cake, she hadn’t pressed.
But Samantha had been wrong—this guy noticed, and with his not-so-subtle gaze, he was telling her that she didn’t belong. She was a hobo tramp in an expensive outfit.
Usually she didn’t care what douchey rich kids thought. She laughed it off. Why not? She was proud of how far she’d come. But for some reason she didn’t understand, his intelligent gaze poked her uncomfortably. It cut through her defenses and jabbed at the core of her. The real her, where she hid her secrets and vulnerabilities. The place without any armor.
“You should go,” he said again, his tone commanding. Urgent. “Turn around. Trust me. Go home.”
“Oh my gosh.” Sam brushed his fingers with her own. He flinched back. “You’re so silly.” She pouted, complete with a protruding lower lip. “I RSVPd that I’d go. They’re counting on me.” The pout turned into a sexy smile, and Charity had to applaud Sam’s facial gymnastics. “But I promise I’ll be careful.”
“They’re not going to change their minds,” one of the guys near the Range Rover said.
Devon bent once more, looking at Charity. Appealing to her. He must’ve known, hell or high water, Samantha would go to that party, but he clearly thought Charity might heed his warning.
She didn’t understand why he cared.
“Why are you skulking around down here if you’re not going?” Charity asked him.