Chapter 2
Beating Heart
Gemma
A TONED MALE body with a firm chest and six-pack abs is holding me in place; sending white-hot shivers down my spine.
It takes me a minute to come to my senses and find my voice. “What the hell are you doing sneaking around here like that?” I finally snap. “You could have killed me!”
Narrowing his gaze, his lips twist in the unfriendliest way. “You shouldn’t have been that close to the edge to begin with. It’s dangerous. And for the record, I saved your life.”
Scoffing, I glare at him. Somehow, I find myself occupied by his full lips, which aren’t far from my face, and his warm breath, which brushes across my cheeks. Both of which seem to be causing my pulse to beat everywhere—my eyelids, my throat, and even between my toes.
He’s the dangerous thing.
Taking a small step back, I release his hold on me and at the same time, put some much-needed space between us. When I do, his electric gaze flashes—beware.
Quickly peeking behind me, I assess my situation. Like this, my back is against nothing but empty space and air. The cliff is so close to my high heels—just one push could send me tumbling over the edge and crashing onto the rocks.
This is a dangerous thing.
Electing to occupy the space of his big, tall body, I step forward and look up to meet his chiseled features. “Thank you, then, I suppose,” I offer tersely, not entirely sure if he’s right or if I am, but for once, not really caring.
Annoyance shines in his face and his jaw tenses when he hisses through gritted teeth, “What the hell are you doing out here, anyway?” He speaks in a voice that is low, deep, and smooth, and like his eyes, the inflection flashes danger.
“I’m waiting to get into the event. Not that it is any of your business,” I answer.
With a quick glance over his shoulder, his body stiffens. It’s almost like he just noticed there is a bustle of activity taking place not too far from where we stand.
When he turns back, our gazes lock once again. His eyes are a mystic shade of green. Almost the color of the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz. They are bright, crystal clear, and piercing in the most alarming way. And then there’s his mouth. Although his lips are twisted into a scowl, I can see they are full and firm. There’s also his tall, lean frame. It’s unassuming and demanding at the same time.
Damn him.
Hard features carved from granite coupled with that explosive stare are the perfect complement to his tight black shirt and pants. If his face shouts defiance-and-trouble, then his body screams don’t-mess-with-me. “You should be up there then, not out here, alone.”
His words ignite my irritation.
How dare he!
Is there no place a person is allowed to be on this estate? It’s rather ridiculous if you ask me. I’ve honestly had enough of all this.
His glare is fierce.
Forced to speak, I say, “I know, I know.” I can’t contain my eye roll as I continue. “I shouldn’t have left the confines of my car. The area hasn’t been cleared yet. But really, I’m nowhere near the art or the tent, so what does it matter? And besides, I’ve gone through hoops just to be where I am right now,” I tell him saucily, crossing my arms to make my point. “So I’m not moving.”
I’m so done being bullied.
Those broad shoulders appear to go even wider when he closes the remaining few precious inches between us. “Who are you?” he snaps.
My heart gallops in my chest. I might have pushed things a little too far. I don’t want to get kicked out before the party even starts. I open my mouth to speak, to tell him who I am, but he silences me with the flare of nostrils.
This man is intimidating. “It doesn’t matter who you are,” he barks. “You still shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“Why?” I find myself adding fuel to the fire when I know better, but I just can’t help myself. “Because I’m a woman?”
He cocks his head to the side, saying nothing.
The silence he gives me means yes, of course, that’s why. Absofuckinglutely because I’m a woman.
After rolling my eyes once again, I drag them up his fit torso and then back down. Sure, he looks similar to the other security guards—dressed in black from head-to-toe—but there’s something different about him. He isn’t big and bulky like them. Sure, I can see the definition of the lines of his muscles through his tight t-shirt, but he’s leaner than the other six men. Hard, long, and lean. Not a muscle head or beefcake.
I find myself licking my lips.
There’s something else that’s different about him, as well, I just can’t put my finger on it. A sudden pang of fear whispers up my spine. “You do work for Mr. Cruz, don’t you?” I ask.
If he moves any closer to me, he’ll be pressing his hard, muscular chest against mine.
Intimidating me again isn’t going to work. This time I raise a brow. “Well?”
He raises one back, as if asking a question, especially that question, isn’t permitted.
Okay, so yes, he outshines me in the intimidation department, hands down. The tension in his entire body is so intense, it’s nearly palpable.
Well fine, since he, like everyone else, wants me to wait in my car until Mr. Cruz gives the green light, I can only assume he does work here, which means he can’t be that much different from the others.
On second thought, at least he’s speaking to me. The others merely pointed their silent order to remain in my car with their fingers, and only after I’d been cleared through the gate because I insisted on witnessing the transfer of the art. It is my job after all.
The man before me grunts, and the sound is insanely sexy, breathtakingly so. It’s a grating whisper against my bare skin. I shake the feeling off. I’m delusional after all the soda.
“Fine,” I say in a huff. “I’ll go back to my car.”
He steps aside, and I step forward.
We’re shoulder to shoulder.
So close, so dangerously close.
I take another step, and another, one more and then I turn back. He’s already turned around and watching me. It’s in that one moment that our eyes lock, that I realize he isn’t wearing an earpiece. I notice this because his hair is shaven close to his head, showing off his high cheekbones and steely gaze.
The glow of the moon is hitting his eyes just so, and they look silver—beautiful, striking, and dangerous all at once. “Hey,” I say, “why are you here?”
The way his stare slides over me hungrily pierces me to my very depths. Butterflies swarm in my belly as if wanting to take flight. With my pulse throbbing out of control, I don’t care that he doesn’t respond.
He’s dangerous.
I know I should keep walking. He’s ordered me to leave and I should for my own safety, yet I’m frozen in place, and so is he. It’s like an invisible rope is holding us both in place.
As he opens his mouth to speak, his cell phone rings and the magical spell binding us together is broken. The trance lost. The moment gone.
He quickly answers it. “Fucking get me out of here, like fucking now.”
Out of here?
Is there an evacuation taking place?
Alarmed, I look ahead, but see nothing out of the ordinary.
“Yes, fucking do it!” His voice is a hybrid of elongated California vowels with a smattering of good old-fashion profanity—a lilt punctuated by f-bombs. It’s a delicious combination that solidifies the sexy-rebel vibe I’ve already gotten from him. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and resumes his stare. My breath hitches at the pure raw sight of him.
“Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?” I raise both of my brows in question, not in the least bit worried that this man is dangerous because I already know he is.
I also know he isn’t going to hurt me.
He presses back a smile as he strides toward me. Standing only inches from me, his eyes shift to my neck, and for a moment I assume he’s going to snatch my necklace. But only for a moment because then I notice he’s looking at it in more of a curious way and not an I-must-have-it-now kind of way.
Again, I’m not scared, but I probably should be. Primarily because of the way this man’s tight body breathes sin and oozes sex.
He’s dangerous.
When he extends his hand, and his fingers outline the heart shape, my entire body quakes. “Beautiful,” he whispers.
“I think he went this way,” I hear a voice shout in the distance.
The eyes of the man in front of me flash toward the sound, and so do mine. When I snap my head back, he’s already running, but where? There are only a few remaining feet before—
I gasp in shock as I watch him leap forward and jump.
Jump.
Over.
The.
Edge.
He jumped over the edge.
Oh my God!