Page 1 of Caging Liberty

1

Angel

My eyes close as I breathe in the cool night air.

If there’s one thing I love about New York City, it’s the atmosphere. Crisp. Cool… With the sound of traffic and the office lights that act as stars.

It’s a change of pace from my usual life that I find peaceful. Like an escape from paradise, something only those who live on a sunny coast could ever understand. The constantly warm sun and salty, moist air can get old.

I open my eyes and lean over the stone railing to watch the people forty stories below shuffle like ants. The charity event my business partner dragged me to is being held on the top floor of who-knows-what-building, and it’s currently taking place behind me with only a set of double doors separating the grand hall full of guests from the balcony. The doors were open when I walked out here, but with a kick of the stopper, I’m left alone.

I push myself away from the railing and roll my neck. My hands tuck into my slacks’ pockets, and I feel the sleek metal of the cigarette holder I’ve carried with me for a year. I quit smoking, but I still carry the holder with one lonely cigarette and a lighter inside. It’s probably nothing more than a masochistic game I play with myself, but I like to think of it as mastering temptation. I’m stronger for it … and at the same time, weaker.

I open the cigarette case, still in my pocket, then roll the cancer stick between my fingertips, thinking about how good the smoke would feel in my lungs. Blowing out my nose.

I pull the cigarette out and study it pinched between my fingertips.

My jaw clenches as the door behind me opens. I turn to face the intruder, intent on telling whoever it is to leave, but the woman rushes to the ledge several steps away from me and leans over while she tries to catch her breath.

My head tilts and jaw relaxes as I watch her back quake and take in her heavy breathing. The ruby red dress she’s wearing extends to her ankles while still showing plenty of skin. It’s backless and has a slit up the side that provides a nice, teasing view of her thighs.

Her brunette hair is pinned up, and a pair of diamond earrings dangle halfway down her neck.

My annoyance fades, and I glance through the open doors. Noise filters onto the balcony, and I consider closing the doors, but the click of the woman’s heels draws my attention back to her. She steps out of the stilettos, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth as her breathing returns to normal.

“Are you all right?” I ask, staring at her curiously.

She startles and snaps her head to face me, her hand flying to her chest. Our eyes meet, and the blue of her irises pulls me in. The color reminds me of the ocean view from my bedroom balcony, only on her, it’s like I’m seeing it for the first time.

I’m struck for a moment, but she’s too startled to notice.

She lets out a humored sigh and lifts her red-painted lips into a smile. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” I say because it sounds appropriate.

“No.” She swats to brush away my apology. “I just didn’t see you there.”

“You seemed preoccupied.”

Her polite smile falls, and she brushes a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. She chuckles and paints the smile back on. “Right. I, uh...” She pauses to take a breath. “I just needed some air.”

“Were you having a panic attack?” I rest my forearm on the railing and casually lean against it while planting one shoe in front of the other.

She squares her shoulders and shakes her head. My lips tug at the lie I suspect is coming.

“Of course not. Like I said, I just needed some fresh air. It’s stuffy in there.”

I raise my brows and slowly nod. “I can agree.” I allow my eyes to trail down her body for a moment. She’s easily the most beautiful woman here tonight.

When I bring my gaze back to her face, she’s glaring.

“Right,” she deadpans, tugging her dress up to cover spilled cleavage.

“You’re not used to these events, are you?” Looking her over, I already know the answer. The women who belong at these things walk with their shoulders back and their noses tilted toward the ceiling. They have smiles plastered on and laugh at almost anything. This woman is trying, and her shoulders are certainly squared, but she doesn’t belong here, and she knows it. Thus, the panic attack.

Is she a hooker?

I allow myself another look, then brace for her wrath. She has the body of an upscale escort. One I’d personally pay top dollar for.