Heartbreaker (Bad Angels)

by Inara Scott

  “She walks Chris Rosen’s dogs. I ran into her in the elevator and begged her to take me on.”

  “Begged, did you? And it’s a she?” Connor rolled his eyes. “Somehow, I doubt it came to begging.”

  Mason ground his teeth and pointed to the yellow pad. They were definitely not going to talk about Tess. He didn’t know why he felt suddenly, instantly protective of her, but there was no way he was going to let her be the butt of his partners’ jokes. “So what’s on our to-do list?”

  Nate’s steel gray gaze lingered on Mason for a moment, a question in their depth. When Mason ignored him, Nate turned to the file folders in front of him on the table.

  “We’ve got three prospects to discuss,” he said, “and now that you missed the chance to meet the fuel cell boys, we need to figure out our next move with them. Your dog really set us back on that one.”

  The dig, which he should have anticipated, caught Mason off guard. He rolled his eyes to hide his irritation. After all, the fuel cell boys had been his prospect to begin with. After hearing about the tech through his well-developed rumor network, he’d gone about six degrees of separation with contacts he had at Stanford to get the initial meeting. It had been his deal to start with, not Nate’s.

  “Maybe,” he said, trying to keep his voice light, “if you weren’t such a prick, you could go out to lunch with the potentials every now and then, and we wouldn’t have to rely on me to meet everyone.”

  Nate’s brows knit together in mock confusion. “What are you talking about? I’m not just a prick, I’m a mean prick. Angel of Death, remember? You don’t want me anywhere near the potentials.”

  Connor nodded solemnly. “That’s true. I can barely tolerate having lunch with him myself.”

  Mason tried for a laugh, but it stuck in his throat. Connor exchanged a quick look with Nate. “You okay, Mase? Nate is just being his usual asshole self. Missing the meeting wasn’t a big deal.”

  Mason forced his shoulders to relax, muscle by muscle, and then put on his best conciliatory smile. “Sorry, guys, I’m just tired. It’s that damn dog.”

  Nate’s silver eyes remained pinned on his. “Sure,” he repeated. “The dog.” He wasn’t buying it.

  Mason shrugged, knowing that Nate would file this away somewhere in his ridiculous steel trap of a brain. “You were probably right. Euthanasia would have been better.”

  “If you need a hand with that, just let me know.” This time, Nate wasn’t smirking, just studying. That was the unfortunate part about having a guy like Nate for a business partner. He didn’t forget things he found important. Ever.

  “I still don’t understand why you don’t just find a kennel.” Connor rubbed his hand over his chin, scratching his Sunday shadow as he looked back down at his pad. Unlike Nate, Mason knew that Connor would forget the interaction as soon as the tension cleared. “It’s not like it would hurt him to be on a farm in Marin for a few weeks.”

  Connor didn’t understand because he’d never had a sister, and he’d definitely never had a sister like Alli. Not to mention that Connor wasn’t the most emotionally astute guy in the world. He’d come a long way from his early college days when Mason had practically needed a crowbar to get him to go out, but he still understood books and computers far better than human beings.

  Mason sighed. He couldn’t stay mad at these guys. Not with Nate giving him that piercing gaze with just a hint of concern. Not with Connor’s brow half raised in confusion. Not when he didn’t even know himself why he was so annoyed. “The dog will be fine. I’ve got it all under control now. Let’s get back to work.”

  Chapter Four

  He got back to his place a little before eight. Once they got past the rocky start to the meeting, he and the guys had worked smoothly until seven, hammering out the details on a license agreement and reviewing three new prospects before turning to their quarterly financial review. Mason still found it a little unnerving to realize how much money they were working with and to see the numbers in his own bank account continue to grow. Unlike Nate, he tended to be conservative in his personal investments. After all, he hadn’t started out with a multimillion-dollar trust fund. Nevertheless, he had more than enough money, even at age thirty, to spend the rest of his days on a beach somewhere. They all did.

  He picked up an order of pad thai on his way back, and the smell tormented him as the elevator made its silent climb to his floor. The last thing he wanted was to return to that enormous, drooling mastiff, but he couldn’t deny a tingle of anticipation at seeing her again.

  Which was ridiculous. Tess was definitely not his type. His type was straightforward: confident and successful, polished from head to toe. In fact, he had a date with a woman like that this Tuesday—a blonde bombshell he’d met at a tech convention.

  A blonde bombshell named…Virginia, maybe? Or Veronica?

  Shit. What was her name?

  Nate’s snide comment about the four-date rule rattled in his head.

  Vicki?

  He tried to remember what she did—PR maybe? Or was she in tech somehow? The black hole in his memory gaped. He had no idea. He had a date with a woman in two days, and he had no idea what her name was.

  It was more of a guideline in college, but there’s been a noticeable hardening in the past few years…

  He shook his head, trying to clear the sound of Nate’s voice. Even if there were a four-date rule, what was the problem with that? He wasn’t made for commitment. Everyone knew that. Neha, one of his classmates at Harvard and the last woman he’d dated for any length of time, had laughed when he’d brought up moving in together. She assumed he was joking because, as she put it, the chance of their relationship lasting was “exactly zero.” At the time, he’d been embarrassed and hurt, forced to save face by playing along with the joke. Now, he didn’t bother trying. Neha had just seen the writing on the wall before he had. And wasn’t it better—kinder—to be clear about that from the start? To avoid any kind of entanglements or confusion?

  He hesitated outside his door. Was he supposed to knock so he didn’t scare Tess when he came in? Feeling ridiculous, he listened, but there was no sound of movement inside. He pulled out his keys and unlocked the door, not sure what he was expecting to find. Admittedly, he had just handed the keys to his apartment to a total stranger and probably shouldn’t be surprised to return to a giant hole where his television had been, and Wick lying on the couch, looking guilty.

  Or maybe, even better, she’d stolen the dog, too.

  No such luck. Wick was on the couch in a position almost identical to the one he’d been in when Mason left, except his head now rested on the woman’s thigh. The tip of his tail stirred a lazy greeting. Tess’s supine body didn’t move. Her head was slumped against the armrest and her feet were stretched out in front of her. A pair of dark glasses sat on the coffee table, carefully folded, next to a half-full glass of water.

  She was dead asleep, her bow-shaped mouth still, rosy and full.

  He approached as quietly as he could, stopping beside the couch. In repose, she looked surprisingly fragile, her face was even smaller and more elf-like. She had high cheekbones and arched brows under those huge glasses. She still wore that oversized flannel shirt, but the neck had fallen open, revealing delicate collarbones and pale skin. The circles under her eyes were like faint bruises. He wondered what was on the computer that still lay across her stomach, where she lived, and how far she had to drive tonight. She’d said she commuted from outside the city, and he figured she didn’t have much of a choice. But now he felt responsible for her being on the road when she was exhausted—doubtless in some junker of a car, if her clothes, computer, and bag were any judge.

  He walked back to the kitchen with his takeout, not enjoying the sudden rush of guilt. If she’d cooked or made herself dinner, there was no sign. Trying not to make any noise, he pulled out two bowls, forks, and a handful of napkins and set them on the counter. When he opened the to-go container, the exotic smell
made his stomach rumble. The scent finally roused Wick, who rolled off the sofa and heaved his body into an enormous stretch before ambling toward the kitchen. His movement woke his new caretaker. As Mason watched, thick, dark lashes opened over coffee-brown eyes. She blinked sleepily, clearly disoriented, and he could almost see the moment she remembered where she was and what she was doing there.

  Startled, she lurched to sitting, almost knocking the computer to the floor. Just as quickly, she fumbled for her glasses and slid them on.

  Not fast enough, Mason thought. I know what’s underneath all those layers.

  He deliberately turned back to the pad thai. “Want some dinner?”

  She jumped up. “Nope. You don’t need me anymore?” She closed the laptop and set it on the coffee table. She pulled a phone out of her pocket and flicked it on, glancing at the screen quickly before shoving it back into her pocket and looking around—he assumed for her bag. “If not, I’ll hit the road.”

  “Dinner first,” Mason said. “Then one last walk, if you can stay for it?” He should have released her, but hell, he was paying her a ridiculous amount of money, and for some reason, he wasn’t dying to be alone right now.

  She paused, squaring her shoulders, and pasted on a smile. “Right. No thanks on dinner.” She sat back down on the couch and grabbed the laptop and opened it. “I’ve got a few things I need to finish, anyway.” Her attention was immediately absorbed by the screen.

  He frowned. “You don’t like pad thai?”

  She waved him off. “That’s nice of you, but I’m fine.”

  His frown deepened. For a female, she was paying him remarkably little attention. What was on that computer, anyway?

  “Don’t most people try to pretend like they want to impress their boss?” he asked.

  “I suppose some do,” she replied absently, tapping a few keys.

  “But not you,” he prompted.

  She tapped a few more keys, then frowned at the screen. Her brows knit together, and she tapped more keys, slightly more aggressively.

  “Not you,” he repeated.

  She muttered something under her breath, glowered at the screen, and then looked over at him. “Sorry, what?”

  He sighed. Clearly, this wasn’t his day. “Never mind.” He filled a plate and brought it to her. “Here.”

  She absent-mindedly took the plate, and then set it down on the coffee table and continued to work. Wick, who had followed from the kitchen with interest, inched forward, sniffing audibly, his head low and intention clear.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she warned, without looking up.

  Wick jerked back in surprise. So did Mason.

  “Lie down,” she said, snapping her fingers in front of the couch, close to the floor.

  Mason watched in amazement. Wick cocked his head, studied her for a moment, and processed the command. She did not repeat herself, but snapped her fingers one more time. Slowly, Wick slid into position in front of her on the couch. She murmured approval, reached into a pocket and withdrew something that she fed to him.

  “That’s either really impressive, or kind of creepy.”

  “Party trick,” she said wryly, eyes still fixed on the screen.

  He stared at her for another long moment, then went back to the kitchen to serve himself. He sat down next to her on the couch, plate of food in hand. Silence fell over the room, save the soft tapping of computer keys. The food was delicious, and he savored the bite of spice and lime. He examined her profile as he ate, speculating absently about what she was doing. Email to a client? Loan application to a bank? She seemed quite serious about it. What type of business would a dog walker have at eight on a Sunday night?

  Was it something more personal—a letter to a family member? Or a boyfriend?

  “Speaking of creepy…” she said a moment later, letting her voice trail off.

  It took him a moment realize she was talking about him. “What?” he said mildly. He finished his food and set his plate down beside her untouched one, crossing one ankle over his knee, making sure not to enter her personal space, but also making sure she couldn’t completely ignore him.

  At that, she seemed to lose her cool. She ripped her gaze from the computer and turned to glare at him. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

  “Not really,” he said, grinning. “What about you?”

  “Actually,” she indicated the computer, “I do have something to work on. So if you don’t mind?”

  He gave a loud, fake sigh. “Of course. My apologies.” He got up and made a small bow. “I’ll leave you alone.”

  She narrowed her gaze suspiciously. “Great. Thanks.”

  He went to the kitchen, retrieved a beer from the fridge, flipped off the top, and returned to the couch. With a sigh of pleasure, he spread his arm on the back of the sofa and relaxed into the cushion.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m not allowed to sit on my couch?”

  “I’m trying to work,” she replied through gritted teeth.

  “By all means,” he said, gesturing grandly. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  She whispered a bad word under her breath but turned back to the computer. He edged closer and leaned over, just enough to get a glimpse of some kind of document strewn with drawings of molecules, processes, and equations. He wasn’t able to get much of a view, just saw a lot of lines, capital letters, and numbers in geometric shapes before she whirled her body around to set her back against the arm of the sofa. She sat akimbo, tucking her feet, which were clad in thick gray wool socks, under her butt.

  He considered what he had seen. “Organic chemistry?” he guessed.

  “Ever heard the phrase ‘mind your own business’?” she replied sweetly, pushing her glasses more firmly on her nose. A thick lock of dark hair fell into her eyes, and she pushed it back behind an ear.

  “You really know how to party on a Sunday night.”

  She sighed. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got to get this done by midnight and I’ve got a ton left to do.”

  The stress in her voice was no joke. Neither was the tense way she held her neck and shoulders. “You weren’t supposed to fall asleep, I gather?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “If it helps, you’re welcome to spend the night here.”

  She snorted. “That sounds about as appealing as repeating this class.”

  He liked the way she revealed things about herself without thinking. Clearly, she would make a horrible spy. He stood and walked over to the front door where Wick’s leash sat on the table. He whistled softly. “Want to go out, boy?”

  It wasn’t a slam dunk. Wick raised his head, considered, and then lifted his enormous bulk off the floor. His claws tapped a slow rhythm as he walked over to the front door. Tess bit her lip and leaned forward. “Can you just hang on one minute? I just want to finish this one thing before I go.”

  “Jesus, do you think I’m a complete asshole?” he asked. “I’ll take him. Don’t worry about it. You can stay and finish that.”

  She shook her head. “No way. You’re paying me to be at that dog’s beck and call. If anyone is walking him, it’s me. Besides, you have no idea how to put that leash on him. You’ll undo all the training we worked on today.”

  He looked down at the tangle of webbing in his hands. She’d replaced his old, straightforward leather strap with something that looked like it would require a manual to operate. “You may be right about that.”

  She muttered something under her breath and closed the laptop. “Don’t worry; I got it.”

  …

  Why did he have to be so damn big? His shoulders took up half the elevator, and the warm, male smell of him took up the other half, until she could barely move or breathe. She tried to focus on organic chemistry. Alkanes and cycloalkanes. It was no use. She kept stealing little glances at the mesmerizing line of his jaw, and those damn golden-flecked eyes.

  She was in an elevator w
ith a freaking lion. If her body wasn’t singing in delightful anticipation—of what? Crap, she had no idea—she would have laughed the whole thing off as a ridiculous joke. But here she was.

  And here he was.

  He radiated a kind of masculine energy that she’d never experienced. No wonder he was pictured with a different woman every other week. When she’d sat there on his couch hours earlier and Googled everything there was to Google about him, she’d been a little baffled by all the women who seemed to fall for his playboy routine. They came from every walk of life—he’d been pictured with high-powered lawyers, a pediatrician, models by the dozens, entrepreneurs, and investment bankers. Now she understood. She felt like he could look over at her, crook his little finger, and she’d melt into him, all boneless desire and need.

  Her cheeks felt hot. What the hell was she thinking? She didn’t need anything. Or anyone. Need was a dangerous thing, she’d discovered early in life. She’d needed the affection of the high school dropout who’d gotten her pregnant and left her alone in a motel room to deal with the consequences. She’d needed help from the doctors and the system that had failed her grandmother and left her dying because she couldn’t afford her medications.

  Her mother had trailed after men for years because of need—both the emotional and drug-induced kind—ready to do just about anything to keep their attention.

  Yes, need was a dangerous thing. It made you vulnerable to untold pain.

  Tess had dispensed with need years ago. Desire, on the other hand, was harder to leave behind. After her grandmother passed away, she’d tried a few times to date, but with her crazy schedule it was almost impossible. Besides, desire could be satisfied on her own, with much less fuss and zero potential for heartache.

  No matter what her hormones said, she was definitely not going to desire Mason Coleman.

  She glanced down at Wick, who sat at her side. It hadn’t taken long to get his measure. Sweet. Lazy. Undisciplined. Little in the way of training, but not aggressive, thank goodness.

  “You didn’t have to come,” she forced herself to say again to Mason, trying to sound off-hand. Like she didn’t care that he was standing right next to her. Like she didn’t remember the way it felt when he sat next to her on the couch. He’d been careful not to touch her, and she appreciated that; she’d had some clients who had given her the creeps and she’d dropped them like hot potatoes. Still, his presence had warmed the space between them, making it impossible to focus on anything else. But she had a job to do, and he was paying her a lot of money to do it. It was money she desperately needed, and the last thing she was going to do was screw it up by acting like a sex-starved teenager. “I’m still on duty.”