Dirty Rogue: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance(6)

A hand on my elbow startles me out of my dumbfounded thoughts, and I jerk away reflexively, only afterward turning to look into the most gorgeous set of blue eyes I have ever seen in my entire life.

The sight of them sends a shiver down my spine and at once I find it hard to breathe.

I forget all about the suitcase.





Chapter 4

Christian





At first, I don’t see anything but how f*cking hot the woman is, how shapely her body is beneath her black tank top and yoga pants, how slick she looks in the rain, how her toned muscles flex as she tugs at the…

Is that a suitcase?

Damn. A woman who’s going to pull a suitcase like that anywhere in this city instead of hailing a cab has to be a badass.

She looks over her shoulder at something and her eyes widen in panic. I can see the whites even in the dusky light of this cloudy evening, and something inside me shifts.

What the f*ck are you thinking? Get off your ass and help her!

What the f*ck have I been thinking? Am I really that much of a douche? I scramble to the side of the car and push the door open, tuxedo be damned.

“Where are you—?” calls my driver, Louis, over his shoulder, but I just slam the door shut behind me and start running.

I’m too late.

Some * driving an SUV that’s obviously too much for him to handle makes a left turn with the light, but he doesn’t look long enough to see that there’s a gorgeous woman standing in the middle of the street. At the last second—holy shit, the last second—she jumps out of the way, but the suitcase gets nailed. Things go flying all over the intersection.

In typical New York City fashion, life moves on as soon as people realize that it was just a suitcase that got hit and not a human being. Its owner stands on the street corner, her mouth parted slightly, watching as people drive over the contents of the bag.

I don’t want to shout to get her attention, but by the time I’m close enough to speak to her, I can see she’s still in shock.

I’d be pretty out of sorts if my suitcase had just exploded all over a big city intersection. Then again, I can’t see that happening—I have people to take care of that kind of thing. I don’t handle my own luggage.

I reach out my hand and touch her arm, and she jerks away from me, surprised. Then, just as quickly, she turns to face me.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

It doesn’t matter that her hair is a mess, strands escaping from the bun on top of her head to stick against her face. It doesn’t matter that she’s not wearing any makeup, as far as I can tell. It doesn’t matter that it’s a f*cking dark and stormy night—her eyes are jade green, luminous, and the depth I see there takes the breath right out of my lungs.

My first instinct is to kiss her wet, full lips, but the feeling that comes right on its heels is that she’s dangerous. Fucking dangerous.

A woman with those lips, those eyes—she could do serious damage.

But I’m here to help, and so it only takes me a moment to decide what to say. Men like me are never caught off-guard, never threatened, we’re only confident and charming as hell.

I point down the street to where her suitcase is resting on the yellow lines. “Is that yours?” I grin at her like we’re conspirators, and pink color rises to her cheeks.

“Yeah,” she says with a small smile and a shake of her head. “That * destroyed it.”

“He did,” I say, surveying the intersection. “But you can salvage some of it. I’ll help you collect it when the light changes.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she says, but when I look back, I see she hasn’t taken her eyes off my face.

“I’m already out in the rain.” I pitch my voice a little lower, and damn if she doesn’t respond, her breasts rising underneath the tank top with her deep inhale.

“So is my stuff,” she says matter-of-factly. “It’s probably ruined. But I’m not going to leave it out here like a bunch of garbage.”

“If you wanted to leave it, I could send someone to pick it up later.”

Now her expression turns quizzical. “Send someone? Why would you do that? And—how?” She scans my clothes, and then her eyes lock back on mine. “Are you one of those ultra-wealthy men who has people for everything?”

I don’t bother lying. Most of the city knows me by reputation, if not by sight. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

She gives me a long look, then seems to make a decision. “I’ve got to at least get some of it.”

The walk signal turns back on. “Quick,” I say, “this is our chance.”

We dart out into the intersection, stuffing our arms with sopping clothes, flattened books, and mismatched pairs of shoes. When the light changes again, we both sprint back to the curb, where she bursts out laughing.

“This is a hell of a way to start things off.”

“What things?” I say, grinning at her pure, musical laughter.

“Living in New York.”

I put my armload of stuff onto the sidewalk and spread my arms wide. “Welcome to the city!”

“Damn right.”

It takes three trips to get the majority of her stuff back to the curb, and then I go after the suitcase. The zipper is busted, but it can hold her things for the time being. She piles it all in, then ties it shut with a pair of pantyhose.