Tragic Beauty (Beauty & The Darkness #1)(7)

I stand frozen, not sure what to do, the fear still in me from the last time I came across a man on the side of the road. The longer the car sits there, rumbling, the more that fear wants to get a hold of me. I think of making a run for it, but then the music cuts and the door opens. A dark figure emerges, but I can’t see anything more than the outline of a body, the rain and lights choking my vision.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” a deep, angry voice shouts.

I shrink back when I hear the tinge of a beast. I’m already moving backwards when he slams the door, his car still idling, and storms towards me.

“I asked what the hell are you doing out here?”

He’s in front of me now, the fear so strong I can’t move, because through the glare of lights I can see he’s a big man, tall, with wide shoulders. Not a man I can likely get away from. I blink when I see what he’s wearing—a tuxedo. I’ve never seen a man in a tuxedo before.

Then I see a whisper of something else. Something that not even the shadows can hide. I see it in the hard line of his jaw, in the glint of his angry eyes. He’s handsome. The kind of handsome that has me staring, like I’m under some kind of spell.

He narrows his gaze, running it up and down my body, like he can’t figure out who or what I am. “What’s the matter, you fucking deaf?”

The spell is broken and I take a step back, but glare at him. “My car broke down.”

“Fuck,” he swears, running a hand through is soaked hair. “You’re supposed to stay in the car. Call a tow truck. Not fucking walk on the side of the freeway, at night, dressed like a—”

He waves his hand at my clothes and I hug myself tighter. My dress is so short, you can barely even see it. Yeah. I know what I look like. That had been the whole point.

“Don’t you have a cell phone?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“You don’t have a—?” His mouth hangs open and he mutters something about his own cell being dead. “Jesus. Tonight of all fucking nights.”

He spins and marches to his car. “Get in!” he snaps over his shoulder.

I do nothing but stand there.

He turns around. “I said get in! I don’t have time for this shit.”

I ball my hands into fists and storm past his stupid fancy car. Through the heavy pounding of rain I hear a loud string of cursing behind me, but I keep moving, more determined than ever. Still, I can’t help the fresh tears that begin to fall.

Then he’s there, striding past me, blocking me.

“Go away!” I choke, my body shaking so hard I think I might fall.

The stranger stands there for a moment, our faces merely shadows in the dark. “Look, I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, but I’m not about to add leaving a woman stranded in the rain on the side of the freeway, to the list. Now please, I’m asking nicely. Get in the goddamn car.”

Something in the way his voice has softened calms me down. I stare past him at the darkness that waits, then turn back to him, doing my best to size him up when all I can see is his outline. He isn’t happy at having to stop for me, so probably doesn’t have abduction or something worse on his mind. And there’s something in his voice…something I want to trust.

So I turn back. When I get to his car, he’s already opening the door for me. The dome light comes on and I notice the finely stitched, black leather seats. I look down at my wet clothes and hesitate.

“In,” he snaps.

I sink into the leather and he closes the door. Seconds later, he’s sliding into the driver’s seat. It feels intimate, nothing but the lights of the dash illuminating the interior. It smells of new car and expensive cologne. I hear him breathing, as though he’s trying to control it, slow it down. I force back the tears and sit quietly, shaking. He must notice, because he reaches over and turns on the heater.

“Where to?” he asks.

I look down at my hands. “I’m…not sure. I’m not from around here.” My voice is so small I wonder if he heard it, but I know he did, because his hand shoots to his forehead and rubs at his temple.

“The nearest gas station,” I say quickly, the only thing I can think of.

Without a word, he checks the side mirror and pulls on to the road. Moments later we breeze past the Lexus.

“That it?” he asks.

I nod.

We drive in silence while I stare out the window, catching glimpses of a stormy ocean as it blurs by. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“For what?”

I look over at his tux—his drenched tux.

He looks down at his clothes and shrugs.

“And now you’re late,” I say, knowing he probably had somewhere to go, all dressed up like that and as mad as he was at having to stop for me.

“Worse things have happened.”

I turn back to the window, watching the rain streak across the glass.

More silence.

“Where are you from?” he asks.

“A little ways north.”

I catch his gaze drift to my legs, almost obscene beneath the jacket. “Where were you headed?”

The implications of what he asks aren’t hard to miss. Dressed like that, is what he meant to add.

“Doesn’t matter now.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t press. The rest of the drive is quiet. Eventually, lights come into view and he takes an exit, where a rickety looking gas station sits at the end of the off-ramp. There’s nothing else in sight. It’s the very outskirts of Goleta, a northern suburb of Santa Barbara, and still mostly surrounded by open space.