Tame Me. Caroline Cross

turn any woman’s head. But it was the self-assurance, the surety of purpose, the wicked intelligence that held her gaze.

      She felt the pull of his appeal clear to her toes. It didn’t mean anything, of course. She was simply experiencing the ever-present hum of awareness she felt whenever she was near him.

      And if perhaps there was something more? If, as their gazes meshed in that moment of shared humor, she inexplicably felt connected to him?

      An illusion, she told herself sharply. One she couldn’t afford to indulge. Lifting her cup to her mouth, she used the movement as an excuse to look away. “Why were you waiting for me tonight, anyway?”

      There was a moment’s silence. “I came to give you this.” Pulling out his wallet, he extracted two hundred-dollar bills and three twenties—the exact amount of the money order she’d sent him to pay for the locksmith—and held it out.

      “Then you wasted a trip,” she said, making no move to take it. “I’m grateful for the thought, but as it happens I recently received an unexpected windfall so I can afford to pay for—”

      “No.” For a second his mouth tightened with exasperation, then his expression smoothed out. “I’m not taking your money, Mallory. Not for a meal I coerced you into ordering. And certainly not for hardware and labor—” before she could stop him, he picked up her purse, opened it and tucked the cash into an inside pocket “—for a job you didn’t have any control over.”