The Perfect Victim

Realizing he seriously had the wrong impression about her, Addison snatched her bag off the desk and began throwing the contents back inside. "I'm not going to take this."

 

She refused to tolerate brutality, verbal or otherwise. As far as she could tell, this man was stark, raving insane. She started for the door.

 

Heavy footsteps thudded against the floor behind her. Even with her back to him, Addison knew he was coming after her.

 

"You're not going anywhere," he said in a rough baritone.

 

Not trusting her back to him, she spun and walked backward. "Don't come any closer." She raised her hands, knowing they wouldn't stop him. Her bottom connected with the door. Her hand shot to the knob. She tugged, but the door didn't budge. Locked, she thought, and realized what it must feel like to be a rabbit caught in the sights of a rifle.

 

"On the other hand a little striptease is hardly worth four hundred dollars." He peeled the purse from her shoulder and tossed it onto the desk behind him without looking at it.

 

Her legs went weak. "You're out of line."

 

One side of his mouth curled. A smile or a snarl, she couldn't tell which. "Stealing is out of line." He braced an arm on either side of her, effectively pinning her against the door. "I don't have much tolerance for thieves."

 

Addison told herself it was outrage that had her pulse hammering. But when his shirt parted, her eyes took on a life of their own and swept down the front of him. His chest was wide and rippled with muscle. A sheath of thick black hair tapered to a stomach that was hard and flat. The sight of such blatant maleness sent an uncomfortable awareness surging through her.

 

Incredulous that her hormones were about to betray her, she raised her head and found herself looking at a harsh, unshaven face. Prominent cheekbones and a nose that looked as though it had been broken and never properly set dominated his features. His mouth was sculpted and distinctly brutal. But it was his eyes that commanded her attention. They were haunted eyes. The kind that looked through people and saw all the way to their souls.

 

"So what's it going to be, Felicia?" He assessed her boldly. "You going to pay my brother what you owe him? Or are we going to have to find another way for you to make good on your debt?"

 

She could feel the heat of his gaze as surely as if he had touched her. The thought made her shiver. "There is no debt," she said. "And you're a thug."

 

"Yeah, well, at least I'm honest about it. I don't march around claiming to be something I'm not."

 

He was so close she could smell the musky male scent of him and the smoky tang of whiskey on his breath. A tremor of fear barreled through her when she realized he'd been drinking. "I'm going to scream," she warned between clenched teeth.

 

A cruel smile curved his mouth. "Why don't you just hand over the cash like a good little girl and we'll be done with this?"

 

Scant inches separated his mouth from hers. For a single, wild instant she half expected him to close the distance between them, lean close, and kiss her. She wondered if he would use his tongue, if the kiss would be ruthless or gentle ....

 

Thoroughly unnerved by the bizarre turn her thoughts had taken, Addison gave herself a hard mental shake and forced her gaze to his. "Unlock the door."

 

"We're not finished."

 

"Yes, we are."

 

"I'm not going to let you rip off my brother."

 

"Get out of my way."

 

When he made no effort to move, she braced against the door and pushed him with both hands. The sudden contact stunned her. His muscles were like warm steel beneath her palms. He stumbled back, catching his balance on the desk. She stared at him, trembling, every nerve in her body on edge.

 

Humiliation washed over her when tears stung her eyes. She wasn't prone to displays of emotion, but the outrage burgeoning inside her—and the fact that this man seemed to be enjoying every second of this—was too much.

 

She knew it the instant he realized his mistake. He went perfectly still. The intensity drained from his eyes, and he just stood there staring at her as if she had suddenly transformed into a rare and endangered species. It was her tears, she realized, that had finally convinced him she was telling the truth.

 

"I want my purse." Her voice shook, but she didn't care. God, she hoped he didn't try to apologize. An apology now would only make her angrier, and she didn't want to go another round with this dim-witted Neanderthal. "I'm leaving."

 

Lowering his head, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "I don't believe this," he muttered.

 

Addison choked out a humorless laugh. "We'll see how overcome with disbelief you are after my lawyer gets finished with you." It took all her concentration not to sway as she started for the desk to retrieve her purse. The last thing she wanted this man to know was that he'd shaken her down to the tips of her toes-and then some.

 

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