The Ruthless Caleb Wilde

Caleb nodded.

“Oh no,” she said quickly. “Really, that isn’t—”

“It is,” he said, softly but with steely determination. “I’ll take you to your door, make sure you’re safely inside, and then I’ll leave.”

She nibbled at her lip. He could almost see what she was thinking. Was he going to turn into her worst nightmare, too?

“Scout’s honor,” he said, holding up his hand in the time-honored Boy Scout signal because he couldn’t come up with any real way to convince her that his intentions were honorable.

Besides, giving things a light touch was better than giving in to the anger still boiling inside him.

Finally, she nodded. “Thank you again.” She turned, started to step into the limo. At the last second, she swung toward him. “I should tell you … I live in Brooklyn.”

From the way she said it, she could have been talking about Outer Mongolia.

“That’s okay,” he said as somberly as possible. “My inoculations are all up to date.”

She stared at him for a couple of seconds. Then she laughed. It was a wobbly laugh, still, hearing it made him feel good.

“You’re a nice man,” she said softly.

Him? Nice? Caleb Wilde, ex-spy? Caleb Wilde, corporate attorney? He’d been called smart, even brilliant. Daring. Hell, ruthless …

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it.

“You’re welcome.”

They smiled at each other. She cleared her throat.

“I don’t—I don’t like to think what would have happened if you hadn’t—”

“Then don’t,” he said quickly. “Don’t think about it, and we won’t even talk about it. Deal?”

He held out his hand.

Sage looked at it. Then, slowly, she put her hand in his.

His fingers and palm swallowed hers.

No surprise, Sage thought as she got into the limo. Her rescuer was big. Not just tall but big in the way of men who were physically fit.

She was tall, too. And she was wearing spiked heels. Still, she had to tilt her head back to look at his face.

And what a face it was.

He was incredibly handsome, not in the pretty-boy way of far too many men in this city but in a way that was ruggedly masculine.

Not that any of that mattered.

Big. Brave. Fearless.

And he’d come to her rescue when nobody else had even tried. Loads of people had seen what had happened, that a man had half dragged, half carried her into that storage room.

She’d fought and kicked and pounded her fists against her attacker but the people watching had either decided it was just part of some kinky sex game or they hadn’t wanted to get involved.

Someone had even opened the door, laughed and said “Hey, sorry to intrude!”

If this stranger hadn’t come along …

“Sage?”

She blinked and looked at him.

“Your address,” he said gently.

For a heartbeat, despite all the things she’d been thinking, she hesitated.

Caleb put his hand over hers on the smooth leather seat.

“I promise,” he said. “You can trust me.”

And Sage, who had been on this earth long enough to know better, smiled tremulously at her knight in shining armor and decided that she could.

CHAPTER TWO

TRAFFIC built as they traveled through Manhattan but it thinned again once they crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge.

Now the limo moved swiftly through the dark streets.

Sage was silent. That little laugh Caleb had managed to win from her was long gone. She sat huddled in the corner of the wide leather seat, her face turned to the window. All he could see of her was the back of her head and the rigidity of her shoulders beneath his jacket.

And her long, very long legs.

Hell.

He had no business thinking about her legs. Not at a time like this.

She’d had a terrifying experience. Somehow, thinking of her as a woman was wrong right now.

What she needed was … what?

He felt helpless.

She hadn’t wanted to call the cops and he understood that, but surely she needed … something.

Hot tea? Brandy? Someone to talk to? Someone to hold her? She’d let him do that but only for a minute.

He was a stranger. A male stranger. The last thing she’d want was to be in his arms. The trouble was that his every instinct told him to reach for her, draw her close, stroke her hair, let some of his strength leach into her.

She was too quiet. Too withdrawn. After that one little laugh at his pathetic attempt at humor, she’d told the driver her address and she hadn’t spoken a word since.

If only he could draw her out. Get her talking about something. Anything. He’d searched his brain for a way to start a conversation but “What do you think of the weather?” seemed woefully inadequate.

Besides, she wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

The truth was, neither was he.

His jaw tightened. He was still angry as hell.

He’d let the piece of crap who’d attacked her get off easy. A man who’d force himself on a woman deserved to be beaten within an inch of his life.

Caleb let out a long breath.

Except, wiping up the floor with the bastard would only have upset her more. The best thing had been to get her out of there ASAP, and that was what he’d done.

He looked at her again. She’d drawn her legs up under her. And she was trembling.

He leaned forward.

“Driver? Turn off the AC, please.”

Sage turned quickly toward him.

“No, please. Not on my account.”

Caleb forced a quick smile.

“Heck,” he said, trying to sound casual, “I’m doin’ it for me. I’m freezin’ my tail off. You northerners must have a thing for goose bumps.”

Her eyes, wide and almost luminous in the shadowed interior of the limo, searched his face.

“Really?”

“Hey,” he said, doing his good-ol’-boy imitation for the second time that night, doing whatever it took to keep her talking, “Ah’m from Tex-ass.”

The gambit didn’t work. She nodded, said “Oh,” and went back to staring out the window.

Caleb gave it a couple of minutes. Then he tried again.

“So,” he said with enough false cheer to make him wince, “we’re in Brooklyn now, huh?”

It was a stupid question. It deserved a stupid answer. But she was too polite for that. Instead, she swung toward him.

“Yes.”

He nodded wisely. “What part do you live in?”

“It’s called East New York.”

“Interesting name.”

That won him the tiniest twitch of her lips.

“It’s an interesting neighborhood.”

“Meaning?”

“Have you ever been in Brooklyn before?”

“Does a housewarming party in Park Slope maybe seven, eight years back, count?” That won him a faint smile. He wanted to pump his fist in the air but he settled for smiling at her in return. “No, huh?”

“No,” she replied. “Definitely not. Park Slope is upscale. It’s full of lawyers and accountants and … What?”

“That’s who I was visiting that night,” Caleb said. “A lawyer buddy whose wife is a CPA.”

“You’re not going to tell me you’re a CPA!”

“You’re right, I’m not.” He smiled. “I’m an attorney.”

“I wouldn’t have picked you as either.”

“Why not?”

Why not, indeed?

Well, because lawyers and CPAs were supposed to be coolly logical, weren’t they?

But this man had acted on pure instinct. He’d protected her. Saved her. She hated the very concept of violence but seeing him put her attacker down had thrilled her.

His behavior was so masculine. Tough but tender. The sexiest possible combination. True, she didn’t know much about men, well, except for David, whom she adored, but it was impossible to imagine him taking care of her like Caleb.

She was pretty sure he was the guy who’d given her a hard time on the balcony, but when it came to basics, he was the only man who’d looked past her awful costume and come to her rescue.

Now, he was trying to get her to relax. That’s what these conversational forays were all about. She appreciated the effort but what she really wanted was to curl up in a tight ball and pretend she wasn’t here, the way she used to when she was a little girl.

He wouldn’t let her do that.

And he was probably right.

Pretending a thing wasn’t happening hadn’t worked when she was a kid. And it wasn’t working right now.

“… still waiting,” Caleb said.

Sage blinked. “Waiting?”

“Sure. To hear whether it’s good or bad that you wouldn’t have picked me for a lawyer.”

He was smiling. Her heart gave a tiny extra beat. He had a wonderful smile. And he was incredibly good-looking.

“That right hook of yours,” she said, shoving all that nonsense out of her head, “isn’t the lawyerly type.”

He laughed. “Thank you … I think.”

Caleb saw her lips curve in a little smile. Excellent, but the silence crept back in. Not good, he thought, as his mind scrambled for some way to re-start the conversation.

Talking had been good for her. She still clutched his jacket to her hard enough that her knuckles were white, but at least her posture was a little more relaxed.

Say something, Wilde, he thought, and cleared his throat.

“So, if Park Slope is upscale, where you live is …?”

The limo slowed, pulled to the curb.

“We’re here, sir,” the driver said.

Caleb looked out the window. He stared at the street. At the buildings that lined it. Then he stared at Sage.

“This is where you live?”

Wrong tone to use. She stiffened, this time with indignation, but how else was a man to sound when he delivered a woman to her door and that door turned out to be in the middle of what could be called a slum only if you were feeling particularly generous?

They were in front of a four-story house. A charitable soul, or maybe a Realtor, might have said it was part of a historic-looking group of brick buildings.

Caleb wasn’t feeling charitable, and he sure as hell wasn’t a Realtor.

The building was one in a string of identical structures, strung together like beads jammed on a chain. He saw boarded-up windows. Rusted iron bars. Sagging steps that led to sagging stoops.

The street itself was long. Narrow. A couple of the streetlights were out.

The place looked like an ad for urban blight.

What he didn’t see were people.

It was late, sure, but this was the city that boasted that it never slept.

“Thank you,” Sage said.

Caleb swung toward her. The driver was at the door, opening it. She was getting ready to step out of the car.

“Wait a minute.”

“This was very kind of you, Mister … Caleb.”

He caught hold of her arm.

“I said, wait a minute!”

She hissed, jerked against his hand. Wrong move, dammit! He could almost see what she was thinking.

Carefully, he let go of her.

“I only meant … Are you sure this is the correct address?”

Her expression changed, went from fearful to defiant.

“Very sure. This is where I live.”

Caleb thought of a polite way to tell her that her surroundings were dangerous, but surely she already knew that.

It didn’t matter. She read his mind.

“Not quite Park Slope,” she said with a thin smile.

To hell with being polite.

“No,” he said bluntly, “it sure as hell isn’t.”

The faint smile vanished.

“Am I supposed to apologize because you don’t approve?”

“No. Of course not. I only meant …” He stopped, took a long breath, let it out and started again. “Where’s the subway?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying to picture you making this trip each night, that’s why!”

“I—I usually walk home from the subway with a friend.”

“She works with you?”

“No. But our work schedules are similar.”

“Yeah, well, where would she have been tonight?”

It was an excellent question, and a complicated one, starting with the fact that “she” was a “he” named David.

Sage was definitely not in the mood to answer it.

“Look,” she said, “I admit that this is—it’s not exactly a great neighborhood. And, thanks to you, I didn’t have to deal with the subway. So thank you again, here’s your jacket, and—”

“Keep it,” he said gruffly.

“At least give me your address so I can—”

“You can give it back to me after I get you to your door.”

“No. That isn’t nec—”

Caleb got out of the limo and walked around it.

“No arguments. I’m seeing you inside and that’s that.”

“Do you always get your own way?”

“I do when it matters.”

He could almost see her weighing his words. Finally, she sighed. Some of the belligerence went out of her expression. Caleb held out his hand.

Sage hesitated, then took it.

His hand was warm, his grip powerful. She fought the desire to wind their fingers together.

The truth was, she’d run out of bravado.

His reminder that without him she’d have been walking home alone had done it, especially when she knew there’d been a recent string of assaults in the neighborhood on women who lived alone.

Not that she lived alone.

Not exactly.

The bottom line was that there was nothing to gain by pretending she didn’t appreciate his help.

“Thank you,” she said, as they climbed the steps to the stoop. “Again.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for. I’m glad to be able to help.” When they reached the front door, he held out his hand. “Your keys.”

She shrugged, as if it wasn’t important. “The lock’s broken.”

He wanted to say something. She could see it. But he didn’t. Instead, he nodded, opened the door …

And said something low and unpleasant.

She couldn’t blame him.

She felt the same way each time she stepped into the dark, dirty entryway, inhaled the stink of beer and pee and marijuana, saw the banged-up doors that lined the hall and the wooden stairs that rose into the gloom.

Say something, she told herself, say anything.

“Well,” she said brightly, “this is it.”

He looked at her as if she were crazy.

“My apartment is on the fourth floor.”

Still nothing from him. Or—wait. There was … something. A tiny glint in his blue eyes.

“What in hell are you doing in a place like this?”

She thought of half a dozen answers. Any one of them would tell him things far more personal than he needed to know.

“I live here,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster, and she started toward the stairs.

She didn’t get very far before his hands closed on her shoulders and he swung her toward him.

“Dammit,” he said gruffly, “cut the act! It’s a good routine, pretending you’re tough and street-smart, but I was there an hour ago when the price of that act got too high.” She gasped as he lifted her to her toes. “Anything could happen to you here.”

“Nothing has.”

“Really? Is that what you call what went on tonight?”

“That had nothing to do with this.”

“You work in a dangerous place. You live in a dangerous place.”

“It’s called doing what I can to keep a roof over my head.”

“Don’t you have anyone who can help you?”

“I’m doing just fine on my own.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I can see—”

One of the apartment doors swung open. Two men stepped into the hall. They were big and ugly; half of one’s face was a blur of homemade tattoos.

Sage had seen them before. They made a habit of saying things to her, ugly things; one always made a clicking sound with his mouth when she walked by.

They scared the hell out of her.

“Whoops,” the one with the tattoos said. “We breakin’ up the party?”

The other grinned, two front teeth gleaming gold.

“Sure looks like it’s gonna be fun.”

“Sure does. You think maybe they want company?”

Caleb’s hands dug into her shoulders. She could almost feel the tension radiating through him.

“Caleb,” she murmured. “Don’t.”

“Kay-Leb,” the tattooed one said in a falsetto, “don’t!”

Oh God!

“Caleb,” Sage said sharply. “Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, man. You goin’ with her or not? ’Cause if you ain’t—”

Sage twisted free of Caleb’s grasp, grabbed his hand and all but dragged him to the stairs.

He tried to shake loose. She wouldn’t let him. She hung on with fierce determination and he knew that the only way he’d be able to loosen her grip would be to hurt her, and he’d sooner have slit his throat than do that.

“Dammit,” he growled, “I’m not going to run away from those—those—”

They reached the first landing. She moved close to him and put her finger across his lips.

“There are two of them,” she whispered. “And one of you.”

He laughed. It was a hard, terrible sound and she knew that the pair downstairs could never be his equal in a fight.

Still, she couldn’t let him run that risk for her. He’d already done enough, more than enough, to keep her safe tonight.

Sage acted on feminine instinct. “Yes, but what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.”

“What if you are?” she insisted. “What happens to me then?”

He looked at her.

And the downstairs door slammed shut.

The breath whooshed out of her. She went boneless with relief.

Caleb cursed softly, wrapped his arm around her and she slumped against him. She could feel his heart thudding; his body felt as if it had been forged out of steel.

Then, slowly, he let out a long breath.

“It’s okay,” he said softly.

She nodded, turned her face into the curve of his neck. It was okay, now that he was holding her.

What if he hadn’t been here?

She gave a little mew of distress. He held her closer. They stood that way for long minutes. Then she drew back.

“I—I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“I mean, how many times can one person say thank you?”

He bent his head to hers, brushed the lightest of kisses on her mouth. There was nothing sexual in the gesture; she knew he’d meant it to be reassuring, and it was.

What would it be like if he kissed her differently, if he kissed her in a way that meant something more?

“Sage? Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said, a little breathlessly. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he said briskly. “Three more flights and you can get me out of your hair.”

They climbed the remaining stairs; she stopped on the fourth-floor landing and pointed at the door ahead of them.

“That’s me.”

He held out his hand. “Your keys.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming,” he said dryly, “the lock on this door works.”

She nodded. Gave him her keys. Their hands brushed; hers trembled.

His eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

She shook her head. What could she tell him? Not the truth, that once she stepped through that door and he left, she’d be alone—and that, despite the deal they’d made, the promise she’d given that she wouldn’t think about what had happened at the club, she knew the scene would play and replay in her mind.

“You’re frightened,” he said bluntly.

“No,” she said quickly, “I’m fine.”

“To hell you are. And I don’t blame you.”

“Caleb. Really. I’m okay.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he undid the lock, then blocked the doorway with his body.

In his old life, he’d learned never to walk into a place that could prove dangerous without being vigilant. This was the USA, not Iraq or Pakistan, but anything was possible—and after what had happened at the club, what had almost happened downstairs just now, all his adrenaline was flowing.

“Home sweet home,” she said with a little laugh.

You could see all of it from where they stood but there was nothing sweet about it.

A shoebox of a living room. A bedroom. A bathroom. A minuscule kitchen. The place held old, tired-looking furniture but everything was scrupulously tidy.

“Stay here,” he said.

He went through the rooms, one by one, and finally came back to her.

“It’s clear.”

He knew this was the time to say goodnight but he couldn’t get the words out. And when she said, “I know it’s late but—would you like some coffee?” he said yes, absolutely, coffee was just what he wanted.

It was obviously the answer she’d wanted, too. She let out a long breath.

“Good.” She shut the door, set the locks. “To be honest—”

“You know what they say,” Caleb said, smiling. “Honesty’s the best policy.”

She gave him a hesitant smile. “I don’t—I don’t think I could sleep just yet.”

He put his hand under her chin and raised her face to his.

“You’re safe now,” he said softly.

“I know.” She smiled again. “That’s one of the dangers of being an actress. Having an overactive imagination, I mean.”

“Is that what you are? An actress?”

“Uh-huh. That’s why I work nights. At the club. It leaves me free for auditions.”

“Would I have seen you in anything?” he said, and they both laughed, knowing it was the most clichéd of clichéd questions.

“Lately? Well, there’s a commercial for Perrier and if you look really fast, I’m shopper number four at the checkout.”

Caleb grinned. “Shopper number four, huh?”

“I tried for shopper two because she gets a line, but the director thought another actress was better for the part.”

“His mistake.”

She grinned back at him. He wanted to cheer.

“When I get my first Tony or my first Oscar, I’ll point that out in my acceptance speech.”

They both laughed again. Then their laughter faded. Time seemed to stretch; the room filled with heavy silence.

And with awareness.

Her awareness of him.

His, of her.

He could hear his pulse beating in his ears.

He took a quick step back.

So did she.

“Coffee coming up,” she said brightly. “Just give me a minute to change, okay?”

He cleared his throat.

“No problem. I’ll just—I’ll just …” What would I just? Nothing sane, if I’m not careful.

She was gone five minutes, which was fine. It gave him time to get control of himself.

And to wonder what she was changing into.

Images flashed through his head. The kind he should have been ashamed of because there was nothing sexual about any of this, and she confirmed that when she reappeared wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, her face scrubbed clean, her hair loose.

How could she be even more lovely without any artifice?

“… jacket.”

He blinked. She held out his suit jacket.

“I said, I’m afraid your jacket is creased.”

“Oh. It’s nothing. Just—just forget about—” He took the jacket, laying it over the back of an upholstered chair that had seen better days. Dammit, why couldn’t he come up with a coherent sentence? “Uh, I’ll just wash up, if that’s okay.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll put on the coffee. Do you think the driver would want a cup? I could take it down to—”

“He has a thermos. Drivers from that company always—” He shook his head. Amazing. After all that had happened to her tonight, she could still think of someone else’s needs. “But I’ll tell him you thought of it,” he said. “He’ll be pleased.”

Somehow, he made it to the closet-sized bathroom.

Caleb turned on the cold water.

He had to get his head together.

Sage was a good-looking woman. Hell, she was beautiful. Bottom line. So what?

She lived in a bad location. Worked in one, too. But he wasn’t her protector. He wasn’t her guardian.

And he didn’t want a one-night stand with her, either.

She wasn’t the kind of woman meant for casual sex.

He cupped his hands under the water and splashed it over his face.

“A cup of coffee,” he told the mirror. “And then you’re out of here, dude.”