Privilege (Special Tactical Units Division 2)

“Hey.”

He kept moving. He walked fast, his strides long, as he headed for the door.

“Hey,” she said again.

He turned and looked at her. “Just keep moving.”

Forget brusque. This was a growl. A snarl. Well, dammit, she felt like snarling, too. How had she been drawn into this mess? An evening in the company of a man with all the charm of a wildebeest. Dancing for what seemed like hours when she didn’t like dancing. And now this. Abandoned by her sister, sniped at by the wildebeest who was stuck with her, or maybe wildebeests didn’t snipe, maybe they were just unpleasant and unattractive, and why was Chay Olivieri the one but not the other? That would make life so much simpler.

They were at the door. He reached for her purse. They scuffled over it and, of course, Lieutenant God won.

“Give me that,” she said, breathing hard, more from anger than from the little battle over the purse. What kind of man all but made love to a woman when they were dancing and treated her like an enemy combatant when they weren’t?

“First put on my jacket.”

He held it out. She shook her head.

“I don’t want it.”

“I’m not asking if you want it. You’ll wear it until I get you to your hotel.”

“I’ll take a cab.”

“No, you will not. I brought you here. I’ll deliver you where you belong.”

“I am not a package,” she said, glaring up at him.

“You might as well be,” he said, “for all the softness that’s in you.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Beg all you like.” He draped the jacket around her again and caught hold of her arm when she tried to push it off. “We’ve played things your way long enough. Now it’s my turn.”

“What are you talking about?” she sputtered.

She was looking at him as if he were crazy. Hell. Maybe he was. The truth was, he didn’t know what he was talking about. He only knew that he was pissed. More than pissed. He was steaming, and he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. And, yeah, while a tiny, still-logical part of his head was saying, Dude, this isn’t her fault, the not-so-logical part insisted that it was.

He slapped open the door, pushed her outside ahead of him. She shivered. The night had turned chill. A salt-laden wind blew in from the sea.

r /> “I want a taxi.”

“I want to fly to the moon,” he said. “Neither thing is going to happen.”

He kept walking. And he was too big, too strong for her to stand her ground instead of getting dragged along behind him.

“Is deafness another of your qualities, Lieutenant? I said—”

“I brought you here. I’ll take you home.”

“Such a gentleman.”

“Just pick up the pace, Wilde. The sooner we end this charade, the better.”

What could she say to that when she agreed with it?

They reached the Harley. He handed her a helmet and put his on. Then he swung his leg across the saddle.

“Get on,” he barked.