Page 94 of Dominion
She gave him an up and down sweep, gaze traveling over the paint-splattered clothes, the tattoos on his arms, his unshaven face. He realized his appearance was in sharp contrast to hers—she wore a tight pencil skirt and silk blouse, like some kind of young professional. Was her lip curling with distaste?
He was well familiar with condescension, the scorn for an uneducated manual laborer who looked more like a criminal than Colorado Springs’ top real estate investor. For some reason, it bothered him this time, when usually he didn’t give two fucks what people thought of him or his tough-guy appearance.
She swallowed, then licked her lips. “Wolf?”
He nodded, taking her hand and tugging her toward the window. “That’s right, princess. Your wolf in shining armor. You jump, I’ll catch.”
Doubt scrambled her features. She glanced over her shoulder at the door, perhaps wondering if there was another way out. Her skin appeared ashen, but she nodded.
He jumped out the window, landing in a crouch on the grass below. When he turned to look for her, though, she stood frozen, looking down.
Shit.Come on.He wanted to yell up, but of course couldn’t risk making a sound. A sense of urgency washed over him, his instincts roaring danger, his need to protect a pack mate—even a new foster mate like her—kicking into high gear. No, his need went beyond pack mate. It had something to do with those big beautiful eyes and her delectable scent, but he couldn’t to dissect that now.
He gestured urgently.
Still, she remained, looking again to the door, then down at him.
Hell, if one of the assholes from downstairs walked in there, he’d have no way to protect her now—he wouldn’t be able to climb back up quickly enough. And he’d made a sacred oath to keep her safe.
Her head whipped back from looking over the door, eyes wild. Someone must be approaching. She squatted on the window’s edge.
He made a frantic motion for her to jump. She twisted toward the door again and gave a scream, then launched herself into the air.
A male shout cracked the air as she plummeted toward him, but he didn’t dare take his eyes from her falling body to see who had arrived. She dropped into his arms and he staggered at the impact, but then took off running, as fast as he could.
More shouting.
He made it to his bike and dropped her on the back of it, wishing he had a helmet for her fragile human skull. She looked horrified, her pencil skirt forced all the way up so she could straddle the seat, revealing creamy white thighs and pink lace panties.
Too bad, princess.
He hit the ignition button and the motorcycle spluttered. Dammit.
Two men ran out of the front door, waving guns.
The bike roared to life. He hit the gas and the back wheel skidded out behind them as they charged away.
2
Melissa screamed and wrapped her arms around her tattooed rescuer’s waist as the motorcycle nearly popped a wheelie tearing down the back alleyway. He grasped her arm, as if to make sure she wouldn’t let go.
“I’ll hang on, you put both hands on the handlebars,” she shouted, squinting her eyes as the blur of trees and houses whipped past.
His abs were hard as rock under her fists. In fact, she was pretty sure his entire body strained with solid muscle. He looked like he worked hard with his hands. The worn work jeans and stained t-shirt were sexy in that rough and scruffy kind of look that waswaytoo much her thing.
But she needed to get away from the ‘bad boy’ attraction. It had only landed her in trouble.
She twisted to look behind them and caught a glimpse of the blue car that had brought the mafia assholes to her apartment. “They’re onto us,” she yelled.
Her rescuer hit the gas again and they screeched around a corner, skidding out. He slipped between two buildings, around a corner. She couldn’t keep track of where they were going—the dumpsters and buildings flashed by too fast. She had to squeeze her eyes shut against the wind.
In another moment, he screeched up a driveway and leaned the bike all the way to the side, skidding under a garage door halfway in flight. In a flash, he dismounted from the bike and yanked her off. The garage door had already reversed directions to come down, shutting them in.
She wobbled on her heels and tugged her skirt down over her ass. Her heart rapped against her ribs in a painful rhythm. They were in a huge garage. More of a workshop, actually, with saws and a workbench. Shelves lined every wall, stacked with paint, solvents, tools, supplies of every kind. Was this his workplace?
Her rescuer stalked toward her. Everything about him screamed scary tough—the bulging muscles of his arms, the tattoos that sprawled from under his short sleeves and even decorated his knuckles, the five o’clock shadow on his sturdy, square jaw, the menacing snarl of his expression. Seriously—he didn’t look any more trustworthy than Jeremy or the assholes who’d been waiting at their place for him. Had she been right to leave with him?
She wobbled on her heels. “Who are you?”