Swept Away by the Tycoon Page 3

“Should I get out my umbrella?”

  He looked up to find Curlilocks looming over his table. Even with his black mood, a rush of male admiration managed to pass through him. At some point during the day she’d corralled her curls into a high ponytail that controlled, but didn’t completely tame them. She must have walked a few blocks because her nose and cheeks were bright pink from the harsh winter air that had taken up residence in the city that night.

  “Little late for you to be roaming the streets, isn’t it?” It wasn’t like him not to notice her entrance. He wondered how long she’d been standing by his table. Long enough to witness his little meltdown?

  “Working late. Came here for a refuel, because the office coffee stinks.” For the first time, he noticed she was holding two coffee cups, one hot, one cold. She slid the hot one in his direction. “Here.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Call it a random act of kindness.”

  Ian stared at the white cardboard cup. Kindness didn’t suit him at the moment. “No, thanks.”

  “Seriously, go ahead. I owe you for spending your money on me this morning.”

  Right, because she thought him down on his luck and was probably worried that he didn’t have the money to waste. This morning he found her mistake amusing, but tonight it merely emphasized his current position, and the mistakes he’d spent the last eleven hours trying to amend. “I don’t need your coffee. You want to feel charitable, try the guy on the corner.” Someone who deserved the gesture.

  Her eyes widened, their chocolate warmth replaced by humiliation. Ian immediately regretted his response. “Look, I just meant—”

  “Forget it!” She held up her hand. “I was paying you back for this morning, is all. You don’t want the coffee, then you give it to the guy on the corner.”

  “Chloe—” A blast of cold air killed the rest of his apology.

  So much for the new and improved Ian Black. Why didn’t he go kick a kitten, too, so he could really be a jackass?

  * * *

  Chloe strode from the shop as fast as she could. You try to do a guy a favor. Jeez, she’d bought him a cup of coffee. No need for him to make a federal case out of it. What did he think she wanted to do? Save him? Only reason she bought him the drink was because the café was about to close, and he’d looked a little lost staring at his empty mug. He didn’t have to toss her good deed back in her face.

  What had caused his sudden mood shift, anyway? The guy had been happy-go-lucky enough this morning. Did the day just wear him down? Lord knows sitting alone in a coffee shop all day would do that to her. Such a waste of what looked like a strong, capable man. More than capable, really.

  Not that she studied him all that closely.

  The wind bit her cheeks, reminding her that, at the moment, she was the one braving the cold, not her slacker. She flipped up the collar on her coat. It wasn’t much protection against the wind, but at least she could bury her chin a little. With her eyes focused on the sidewalk, she dodged the sea of homebound commuters, wishing she could be one of them. Stupid slacker. It was his fault she was dodging anything. If she hadn’t wasted half her day wondering about his story, she’d be on her way home, too, instead of heading back to the agency.

  The attack came out of nowhere. One minute she was rushing down the sidewalk, the next her shoulder was being ripped backward. A pair of hands slammed into her back, hard, knocking the air from her lungs and her body off balance. Before she could so much as gasp she was pitching forward, face-first onto the sidewalk. Stars exploded behind her eyes as her hands and chin struck the cement.

  From behind her, she heard a shout, followed by the scrambling of feet and a second, deeper cry of pain. A second later, she felt an arm around her waist.

  “You all right, Curli? Damn, look at your chin.”

  “Wh-what?” Chloe was too dazed to answer. The arm around her waist felt warm and safe, so she leaned in closer.

  “Your chin,” her savior repeated, his voice soft and rough. “It’s bleeding.”

  She touched her face, flinching when she felt sticky wetness. The dampness trailed down her scarf to the front of her coat. She tried to look down, to see the damage, but everything was dark.

  “It’s mostly coffee,” he told her, but we should make sure your chin doesn’t need stitches. Do you have anything in your bag I can use to wipe the skin clean?”

  “I don’t think—my bag!” She sat up a little straighter. That had been the tug she’d felt on her arm. The jerk had stolen her pocketbook.

  “Right here.” The soothing arm disappeared from her waist. A second later, a brown leather bag appeared in her lap, minus the strap. Chloe fingered the jagged end where the mugger cut the strap free. The bag had been her twenty-fifth birthday present to herself. Now it was ruined. Because some thug had got close enough to...

  Her lower lip started to quiver. That made her teeth and chin hurt more.

  “Shh, don’t cry, Curlilocks. It’ll be all right.”

  No, it wouldn’t. “I—I was m-m-mugged.” The word hurt to say. She felt dirty and violated.

  “I know. I know.” His whisper reached through the cold, calming her. “If it’s any consolation, they’re hurt worse than you.”

  “They?” There were two? She started to feel nauseous. “I didn’t see them.”

  “That’s how it works. They find someone who’s not paying attention and grab the bag from behind.”

  Fingers brushed the hair from her face. Tender fingers, but they made her tremble nonetheless. “You stopped them,” she said.

  “Right place, right time.” The fingers found their way to her jaw. Tilted her face until she could see his pale blue eyes. Under the streetlight, his stubble looked more blond than red, the freckles across the bridge of his nose more prominent. “We really need to treat that cut,” he said. “Do you have anything in your bag?”

  Chloe shook her head. “Afraid not. I cleaned the thing out this morning.” Thank goodness, too. Any heaver and the force of it being ripped away might have dislocated her shoulder.

  “Lucky for you, I’m good at improvising.” Before she could ask what he meant, he’d shed his jacket and begun peeling the sweatshirt over his head.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Relax. The shirt’s fresh from the laundry.” He mopped at the cut with one of the sleeves.

  Chloe caught his wrist. “You’re ruining your sweatshirt.”

  “A sacrifice for a worthy cause,” he replied.

  By now, they’d attracted curiosity and several people had stopped to check on them.

  “We’ll be fine,” the slacker told them. “Doesn’t need stitches.”

  “How do you know?” She hated to admit it, but with the gentle way he was dabbing at her wound, she wouldn’t care one way or the other.

  “Let’s say I’ve seen my share of cuts and wounds. How are your hands?”

  She turned them over. Road burn marred her palm. “I’m betting your knees match,” he said. “Come on, I’ll take you back to the coffee shop and clean you up properly. We can call the police from there, too. Chances are there’s not much they can do at this point, but you should file a report, anyway—just in case.”

  Chloe could do little more than nod. The way her insides were shaking, she couldn’t think straight if she tried.

  Meanwhile, the slacker took charge, effortlessly. Letting someone else carry the load for a change felt good. When his arm returned to her waist, and he helped her to her feet, she couldn’t help curling into his body. He smelled of coffee and wood. Strong, masculine, solid scents that filled her insides with a sense of security.

  “I don’t even know your name,” she said, realizing that fact almost with surprise. “Slacker” definitely no longer applied.

  He paused a moment before answering. “Ian Black.”

  Ian Black. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t figure out why. Didn’t matter; her rescuer finally had a name. “Thank you, Ian Black,
” she said, offering a grateful smile.

  “You’re welcome, Chloe.” Hearing him use her proper name only made her smile wider.

  They held each other’s gazes, not saying a word. Finally, Ian stepped back, his arm slipping away from her waist. “What do you say we get you cleaned up?”

  Right, her chin. Unbelievably, Chloe had forgotten.

  “I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t happened along when you did,” she told him as they walked slowly back.

  With the immediate drama over, adrenaline had kicked in, causing her legs to shake. She was afraid her knees would buckle beneath her if she moved too quickly. Ian kept pace a few inches from her elbow, not touching, but close enough to grab her should something happen. He held her bag tucked under his arm. The big leather satchel looked ridiculous, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  “I’m only sorry I didn’t arrive a minute earlier. I might have spared your chin,” he said.

  Which throbbed. To make walking easier, Chloe had taken over the job of pressing it tight. She was pretty sure the bleeding had stopped long ago, but Ian insisted she maintain pressure. “I don’t care about my chin.” She’d suffered worse playing college ball. “I’m more bummed out about my bag.”

  “Pocketbooks can be replaced.”

  “Not at that price,” she muttered.

  “Then on behalf of your bag, I’m sorry I didn’t move faster.”

  “You showed up. Better than nothing.”

  Why did he show up, though? He’d been sitting at his table when she’d left. She started to frown, only to have pain cut the expression short. “Were you following me?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Oh.” At least he scored points for honesty. She scooted an inch or two to the right. “Why?”

  “To apologize,” he told her. “I had no business being so rude to you earlier. You bought the coffee to be nice. I was wrong to bite your head off.”

  Had all that taken place tonight? The exchange seemed like eons ago. “Be pretty rude of me not to accept now, wouldn’t it?”

  “You wouldn’t be the first person.”

  It was such a strange response, Chloe couldn’t help frowning again. “What do you mean?”

  She didn’t get an answer. They’d rounded the corner to the coffee shop. A Closed sign hung in the window. “Shoot,” Chloe muttered. “I’d hoped we’d get here before they locked up for the night.”

  “No worries.”

  There was a female barista wiping down the counter. Ian rapped on the window to draw her attention. Her chin must have looked pretty bad because the woman immediately stopped what she was doing and unlocked the door.

  “Oh my God, what happened?”

  Once again, Ian took charge, steering Chloe straight to the table in the corner. “We’re going to need the first aid kit, Jesse.”

  Now, Chloe knew she had to be a mess, because the woman obeyed without a word. On the other hand, Ian’s demeanor didn’t exactly invite discussion.

  While the barista disappeared into the back room, Ian made his way to the sink behind the coffee bar. Reaching into an upper cabinet, he retrieved a fresh towel. Then, grabbing a stainless steel bowl that was drying on the counter, he filled it with water.

  “You look pale,” he said when he returned. No surprise there. The shaking in her legs had spread to the rest of her body. Took all she had not to fall off the chair.

  “Hold on.” He crossed the room again, this time to help himself to a bottle of water from the display case. “Here. Drink some of this.”

  “Thank you.” Drinking and keeping the sweatshirt pressed to her chin proved difficult, especially with her free hand trembling. Some of the water dribbled past her lips and onto the shirt.

  “You’re really making a mess tonight, aren’t you Curli?”

  Chloe was about to comment when she caught the twinkle in his eye. A smile tugged the corners of her mouth. “Good thing you didn’t give me coffee. I might have stained your sweatshirt.”

  “Heaven forbid. Coffee’s such a bitch to get out.”

  As opposed to blood. “I hope this wasn’t your favorite shirt.”

  “A worthwhile sacrifice,” he said again, then ran his index finger down the bridge of her nose before giving the tip a playful tap.

  Fighting to keep to the color from flooding her cheeks, Chloe looked away. Maybe it was the change in temperature after being outside, but her chill had begun to fade, replaced by an odd fluttering deep in her muscles. Like shivers, only more intense and without the nervous edge.

  “Here’s the first aid kit. I can’t vouch for the contents. Been awhile since we’ve had to use anything in it.” Jesse’s return removed some of the electrical charge from the moment. “I grabbed some plastic bags, too. In case you want to make an ice pack.”

  “Good idea. Could you make me a couple? You might want them for your knees,” he added to Chloe.

  As soon as he mentioned them, she lifted her skirt for a peek. Sure enough, both knees had quarter-size scrapes right below the kneecap. Dark red marred the outer skin, the beginnings of what would be large purple bruises. The cuts didn’t hurt now, but they would soon. She looked around for a way to prop her legs so she could balance the ice bags. Finding none, she left her feet dangling. She’d ice the bruises later.

  Meanwhile Ian was sorting through the first aid kit. “I see what you mean about the contents,” he said tossing a half a roll of gauze on the table. “Better make an extra ice pack for her chin, too.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Boss? The sweatshirt pressed against her chin was the only thing keeping Chloe’s jaw from dropping. “You work here?” she asked Ian.

  “Something like that.”

  “Define something.” She’d caught the look Ian and the barista exchanged. Either he worked there or he didn’t. Why the evasive answer?

  Ian didn’t reply. “We’re going to be here awhile, Jess,” he told the other woman. “Will you be all right getting home?”

  “I’m meeting my boyfriend up the street for drinks.”

  “Be careful. We don’t need a second incident.”

  Chloe waited until Jesse said goodnight before resuming her questioning “You could have told me you were an employee here.” Might have saved her an afternoon of speculating if she’d known there was a perfectly logical reason for him to be hanging around. Not to mention saving her from being mugged.

  “Could have, if I was an employee.”

  “But she called you boss.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The answer hit her like a ton of bricks. Good Lord, but she could be dense, “You’re the new owner.”

  “Guilty as charged. Ow! What was that for?”

  She’d kicked him in the shin. If her knees didn’t hurt, she’d kick him someplace else. “For making me think you were down on your luck,” she snapped.

  “I didn’t make you think anything. You drew your conclusions all on your own.”

  “You still could have said something. Do you have any idea how much—” Time I spent thinking about you? Thankfully, she caught herself before the rest of the sentence left her mouth. The hole she’d dug herself was deep enough, thank you. “Why didn’t you correct me?”

  “Let’s say I found the misconception entertaining.”

  “Glad I could amuse you.”

  “Trust me, Curli, you did.” His eyes met hers, their sparkle so bright and smug Chloe would have glared in return had her stomach not chosen that moment to do a somersault. She felt like an idiot. Her and her big grand gesture. “No wonder you told me to give the coffee to the man across the street.”

  “Figured he could use the warmth more than me.” Moving closer, Ian lifted the sweatshirt from her chin. The fabric tugged the skin where the cloth had dried in place, causing her to wince. “Sorry,” he said, tossing the garment aside.

  “For the chin or for misleading me?”

  “Both. Now, tip your head back so I c
an clean you up.”

  Although annoyed, Chloe did what she was told. A second later, Ian’s fingertips brushed across her throat. She jumped, her frazzled nerves making the touch feel far more intimate than it was.

  Ian sensed her discomfort. “Shhh.” His thumbs stroked her pulse points. Again, intimate, but soothing. “I need to see how deep the cut goes.”

  As he spoke, he leaned in tight. Once again, Chloe found herself breathing in coffee and wood, strong, manly scents that calmed her nerves. His hands were softer than she expected. Given his gruff exterior, she would have guessed them to bear signs of exposure and hard labor. These fingers, however, had the surface of silk, with a touch to match. Hard to believe they belonged to the same strong hands she’d seen gripping a coffee mug this morning. Until he fanned his thumbs along the base of her throat, that is. Then she felt every ounce of their strength thrumming below. Controlled but ever present.

  “You know,” he said, his breath ghosting warm across her skin, “that was one of the reasons I ran after you. I wanted to set the record straight.”

  The sting of a wet cloth pressing against her cut kept her from responding. “Wasn’t fair to keep stringing you along the way I was, especially after you made such a nice gesture.”

  “Nice, but irrelevant.”

  “Being irrelevant doesn’t erase what you were trying to do.” He rinsed out the towel and began dabbing at her chin again. “Good intentions should be acknowledged.”

  His answer brought back the odd fluttering sensation from earlier. She wanted to press her hand to her stomach, but their position made doing so impossible. Somehow, while cleaning her cut, he’d moved so close his knee had wedged itself between her legs. Or had her legs parted for his knee? She felt the seam of his jeans pressing against her flesh, making annoyance increasingly difficult to maintain.

  “One,” she said suddenly, grabbing the first distraction that came to mind. “You said setting the record straight was only one of the reasons you ran after me. What was the other?”

  “I already told you, I wanted to apologize for being a jerk. I had no business biting your head off.”

  “Why did you?”

  The only sound was that of water being wrung from the towel. “Long story.”