Flash of Death. Cindy Dees
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Hollings. That was it. She’d heard some of the other guys call him Trent.
“I’ll live,” he rasped. “You?”
“I’m fine. You broke my fall. I’m so sorry—”
He cut her off. “No need to apologize. Who was in that car?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see anything, and then those headlights were coming at me. I guess the SUV hit me and sent me flying into you.”
“Actually,” he murmured, sitting up carefully, his dark hair tousled and sexy, “I’m the only thing that hit you. I knocked you out of the car’s way at the last second. Had that SUV hit you, something that heavy moving that fast would have killed you instantly.”
She stared, stunned anew. He really had saved her life. For a man who’d just been knocked flat by a human-sized flying object, he popped to his feet with a speed and grace that shocked her. A hand materialized in front of her eyes. It was big and tanned and calloused in stark contrast to the pristinely starched white cuff and onyx cufflink above it.
She took his hand and floated to her feet.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, his voice deep. Rough with concern.
She looked down at her red silk gown ruefully. The side seam had torn from the hem almost all the way to her hip. Her slender leg was entirely exposed. “I’m fine. But I can’t say the same for my dress.”
He looked down critically. “I like it better like this. A woman with legs like yours should show them off.”
Her startled gaze lifted to his, and he smiled at her. But not just any smile, rather a sizzling hot one that promised a long night of steamy seduction if she was interested. She about fell off her three-inch stilettos in shock. Trenton Hollings was flirting with her? The hottest groomsman out of a whole batch of ridiculously hot men? No way.
He offered her his forearm, and she looped her hand around it in minor shock. The hard muscles beneath the soft Italian wool contracted sharply. “Ready to try crossing the street again?” he murmured.
“I swear, I looked both ways. I never saw that car coming. One second the street was clear, and the next, there it was, running me down.”
Trent nodded, frowning. “I believe you.” His frown deepened as they stepped gingerly back out into the wide boulevard. They managed to cross to the other side of the street without incident, although her escort did pause as they reached the far curb to take a long look back over his shoulder at the scene of her near miss.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked cautiously.
Her words seemed to jolt him out of his reverie and he gave himself a little shake. “Getting you up to your room in one piece and cleaned up is on my mind.”
She looked down at herself in alarm. Just how bad did she look? As if it mattered. She was darned lucky just to be alive, for goodness’ sake. They stepped into a hotel elevator, and in the small, enclosed space, her tall escort dwarfed her. She was not short herself at five foot seven, plus three inches of heels, but he still had several inches on her. He was muscular without being thick. His shoulders filled out his tuxedo nicely, and well-defined biceps flexed within his sleeves. No wonder the impact of him slamming into her had knocked her halfway across the street.
“Do you save women from being run down a lot?” she asked to fill the silence.
His mouth twitched in humor. “Not often.”
“What do you do when you’re not doing that?”
He shrugged. “I’m a bum.”
She blinked, startled. “You clean up pretty well for a bum.”
A full-fledged grin flashed her way, all but knocking her off her feet again. Nobody got teeth that perfect and white without expensive orthodontic work. And that tuxedo was no rental monkey suit. It was cashmere with Italian lines exquisitely tailored to his athletic physique. Not to mention Sunny’d told her how wealthy and successful all of Aiden’s groomsmen were, not so subtly hinting that Chloe should pick one and go for the gusto. The guys had all gone to college together, apparently. Frat brothers, in fact. And most of them worked with billionaire Jeff Winston at Winston Enterprises. Bum. Right.
“Tell me another lie,” she murmured.
“You’re ugly and not the slightest bit sexy.”
Her gaze snapped to his. “Excuse me?”
“You asked for a lie.”
Before she could think up a snappy comeback the elevator door opened and he reached an arm out to hold it open. His free hand came to rest lightly in the middle of her back as he shepherded her out. She felt surrounded by him, and it was the strangest sensation. Maybe it was because she was with men so rarely, or maybe it was because he was so freaking hot, but either way, her breath shortened disconcertingly.
As she exited the elevator, her heel caught in the door’s track and stuck momentarily, pitching her off balance. Instantly, Trent’s strong hand was on her elbow, steadying her. “I’m such a klutz,” she mumbled.
“Good thing for you I’m not,” he replied wryly.
She started down the hallway toward the snazzy suite Aiden had insisted on paying for. Chloe wasn’t penniless anymore, but she surely wouldn’t have wasted so much money on an extravagant hotel room that, outside of sleeping and showering, she’d spent about five minutes awake in each day.
She glanced sidelong at Trent. “Are you one of those athletic people who always manage to land on their feet and make the rest of us mere mortals look silly?”
He shrugged modestly.
She sighed. “That’s what I thought.” As she fumbled with her room’s key card, he lifted it from her shaking fingers. Wow. That near miss with the SUV must have rattled her worse than she’d realized.
“Let me get that.” He reached past her to open the door and then did a strange thing. He put a restraining hand on her arm. “Wait here.”
She frowned as he disappeared into the dark suite. He was back in a minute, flipping on light switches as he came. What was that all about?
“What are you standing out here for?” he asked.
“You told me to—” She broke off as she caught the glint of humor in his silver eyes. Dry sense of humor this guy had.
She followed him into the suite.
“When did you get into town?” he asked as he moved over to the picture windows and inexplicably pulled the blinds closed on a magnificent view of Denver’s night lights glittering in the rain.
“Three days ago.”
His brows flickered. “And you haven’t had time to unpack?”
She glanced around the suite, startled. “I am unpacked. Clothes in the closet, toothbrush in the bathroom.”
“Jeez. The room doesn’t even look occupied. Are you always this … neat?”
“Well, yes.” There was nothing wrong with order. It made life infinitely easier. She could always lay hands on exactly what she wanted when she wanted it.
“And what do you do for a living, Chloe?”
She winced at his question. She’d give anything to do something exotic and sexy that would impress this man. But she was who she was. She sighed and answered reluctantly, “I’m a forensic accountant.”
“What does that mean? You do dead people’s taxes?”
She smiled. “No. It means I take apart companies’ books and find the discrepancies they may or may not be trying to hide.”
“You’re some sort of auditor, then?”
“Not exactly. Forensic