Handled by Angela Graham Page B

over Lucy’s subsequent snarling blaze out of the room. My jaw drops, heart racing as I grapple for another light switch and watch the covers go flying, exposing the bare upper body of a large, well-built man.
    I scurry back, mentally devising my “get to and grab gun mission,” but only manage to less-than-tactically trip over something. Whatever it is wraps around my left foot, and before I can stop myself, I’m falling. I tense and squeeze my eyes shut, arms out, braced for the impact that never arrives. Instead, firm, capable hands grip onto my hips and steady me.
    “Whoa, easy girl. Never had a chick run away so damn fast before,” the owner of said strong hands jokes.
    “Let me go!” I swat at his grabby paws, my heart pounding, breathing rampant…but not so much in panic anymore. One stolen peek at his lighthearted slate eyes reveals amusement, arrogant challenge, and an obvious ego—but no danger. Also pretty telling? It’s been a good three minutes and he’s yet to bust anything over my head, strangle, suffocate, and/or attack me in any way.
    “How ‘bout trying thank you ?” He drops his hands and lifts a brow, head cocked to the side.
    Brain still sputtering, adrenaline washing away, I roll my eyes and take a needed minute under the convenient excuse of unwrapping the jeans wound around my ankle. All the while, his rich chuckle reverberates behind me. Once I’ve got my shit somewhat together, the possibility of death no longer pending, I peer back at him, eyes slanted in contempt.
    “Who the hell are you?” I throw the jeans, which I assume are his, at his smart-ass face. “You’re so not Amelia’s type! Which, I’m guessing,” I glance about sarcastically, “is why she’s not here?”
    Everything about him, from his formidable presence to his mischievous aura and the glint in those eyes, reeks of danger and sex. Throw in the black hair, disheveled in that way most men strive for but rarely attain, massive arms, impressive shoulders, and abs cut like a warm knife through butter…damn. My tongue darts out, wetting my lips despite the specific mental command I just issued to remain unaffected.
    “You ‘bout done lookin’? I’ll let ya touch, sweet thing, if you bring that fine ass over here.” He winks, his long, dark lashes sending out a ripe gust of confidence. “And I’d be more than happy to show you a thing or two about a thing or two while we’re at it.”
    Despite the heat settling across my cheeks, I don’t stare a moment longer, conveying a challenge of my own. This smug asshole just met his match.
    “Tempting.” I twist my lip and mock-ponder at the ceiling. “Copious rendezvous with possible vagabond in my missing cousin’s bed. Hmmm.” I tap my chin, then again meet his eyes with my own. “Nah, I’m gonna go with door number two, if you don’t mind. Where’s Amelia?” I might yell the next part, hands perched on cocked hips. “And if you’re dating her, I’ll help her kick your ass for hitting on me!”
    That infuriatingly sexy “I’m enjoying this” sound he makes comes out again as he stands, unashamed, a pair of black boxer briefs the only stitch worn…too damn well. He takes the few steps between us and stands directly in front of me, but I don’t budge, holding my own.
    “Amelia’s too sweet for me.” The back of his hand strokes down my cheek, but I rob him the satisfaction of any reflex. “I like my women rough around the edges.”
    Now I react, smacking his hand away with a scoff. “Fascinating, really. Hey,” I feign excitement, “know what’d be super sweet? Her whereabouts. As in you tell me ten minutes ago!”
    His lip curls up into a wicked grin, the effect as devastating as he meant it to be. “I like that mouth of yours. Let me know when you want to do more than just run it.” He winks and brushes past me, the heat of his body pressing against mine sparking a flame I struggle to extinguish.
    I only steal a couple seconds to