She’d later found Danforth’s assistant, Stacey, cowering in the ladies’ room. Nothing could convince the woman to leave the sanctuary of the toilet and face him, so Pam retrieved Stacey’s purse and coat and sent her home, assuring her she’d take care of the matter.
When Pam approached Danforth with offers of assistance and some clever excuse for Stacey, he’d kept her locked in his office until almost midnight, poring over the document. She’d caught a couple of other errors and revamped several sections under his watchful eye. And all she’d gotten from it was a broken date with Jared, a dry turkey sandwich, and a stale cup of coffee.
No good deed goes unpunished, she mused.
As Brian resumed his chatter, this time about the crappy weather, a headache blossomed. She rubbed her temples, trying to determine the cause. Her blood sugar was good, and she had only a tiny sip of wine, so that couldn’t be it.
After a few minutes, she realized she couldn’t lie to herself any longer. Most likely, the headache was her body’s way of telling her this dinner date was a terrible mistake.
She’d done nothing remotely sexual with Brian and had no plans to. She just wanted to be around someone who wanted her. Someone who’d give her a little attention and didn’t ignore her needs. A person who would stop working so damn hard with his new security company and remember he had a girlfriend who got lonely sometimes.
The internal rant came to an abrupt halt when a sudden chill passed over her and her scalp tightened.
Strange.
Pamela rubbed her nape as discreetly as possible, but it did nothing to ease the building tension creeping over her shoulders and upper back.
She was gripped by an overwhelming need to survey her surroundings. No reason. Just an urge that was almost impossible to resist. She waited out the compulsion, not wishing to cave in to another one of her flights of fancy.
Soon, the need to check became torturous. No longer able to fight the irresistible pull, Pamela looked up.
Jared.
He stood thirty feet away, violent emotions emanating from him in powerful waves. His usually neat dark chestnut hair stood on end, and the black T-shirt and jeans he wore were his only protection against the bitter cold temperatures.
He’d left somewhere in a hurry.
For a sickening moment, the room spun and her vision blurred. Shaking her head, she struggled to regain some clarity.
It came all too soon. Jared’s piercing gaze locked on her face and then lowered to take in her plunging neckline. Glancing up, he regarded her with a cold intensity she had never, ever before seen.
No. That was a big fat lie. Jared had looked something like that two months before, when she’d been hospitalized with diabetic complications after catching a nasty case of the flu. He’d walked into her room right in the middle of an intern’s unjustified lecture about better managing her diabetes. Taking in her tearstained face, Jared stopped in the doorway and actually
growled
. That and a glance at Jared’s stony face convinced the young doctor to be somewhere else.
And that other time, when her lecherous super had knocked on her apartment door at nine o’clock at night, insisting he needed to check her kitchen sink for a leak she’d never reported. When Pam let him in, she thought the man would climb out of his skin when he spotted Jared in all his six-foot-four, muscled glory sprawled over her sofa, looking pissed. It was hard not to feel sorry for Mr. Peters as he performed what must have been a nerve-racking check on the perfectly functioning kitchen sink—while a seething Jared glared at him from the kitchen doorway.
So, yes, she had seen that daunting look before, but it had never been directed at
her
.
Pamela searched his face for any trace of softness. Nowhere in those granite features could she detect the faintest hint of the gentleness or teasing humor that had made her insides turn to mush for the past six months. No Bambi eyes. No bedroom eyes. And definitely no puppy eyes.
Instead, he had the hooded, unblinking glare of a predator. A hawk, she decided as she felt her heart trip and sputter. She took a cleansing breath, but rather than regaining its smooth, sure beat, her heart began hammering. Her hands started trembling and her palms dampened. She swallowed down the growing lump in her throat; instead of disappearing, it morphed into a knot and settled in her chest.
Sweet baby Jesus, she was going to die of heart failure. Right here, in this fancy-pants restaurant.
Her mind raced. How the hell had he found her? She’d suggested this place to Brian because it was way uptown!
Pamela scoured her brain for a way out of this nightmare. Maybe she could brazen it out if she plastered a smile on her face and introduced them. After all, Brian was a coworker. It could work.
Except her boobs were on display in what must be the lowest-cut dress she had ever worn in her blighted existence. Not to mention she wore a pair of red four-inch fuck-me shoes. Not the attire for a business dinner.
Besides, she sucked at lying. Always had.
As the candles cast a romantic glow over the twin glasses of ruby-red wine, Brian lifted her hand to his slobbery lips and pressed a kiss to the sweaty palm. At that point, Pamela would have sworn on a stack of Bibles she could see the veins in Jared’s forehead throb.
What did Jared say when everything went wrong all at once?
Oh, yes. Clusterfuck.
Apparently, Jared had seen enough. He brushed past the hostess and headed toward Pamela’s table. The statuesque beauty watched him stride by with raised brows, although to her credit, her smile remained firmly in place.
Help, thought Pamela in desperation. Stop him, sister. Please.
At that moment, a distinguished-looking gent with graying temples touched the hostess’s arm and gave a small shake of his head. She nodded with studied grace and turned her attention to a couple walking up to her station.
Brian had released her lifeless hand and picked up his wineglass when Jared reached their table.
He loomed like an imposing mountain, casting a shadow on the scene. “Get up, Pamela,” he said tightly.
Nope.
“Jared, I can explain,” she whispered as a mocking voice in her head booed and hissed at the clichéd response.
“You heard me. Get. Up. Now.” His deep drawl remained measured and low, yet she couldn’t stop shaking like a criminal about to be guillotined.
She turned her most beseeching face up to him. “Please. Just listen.”
Jared took a deep breath, visibly fighting for control. “Not here, Pamela. We can talk once we leave. But not in front of all these people.”
Pam paused a moment. Well, that was new. Usually, Jared didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. More than likely, the only reason he was acting semicivilized was to spare her further embarrassment.
Brian, who had been watching the unfolding drama with openmouthed fascination, seemed to recall his role in the scenario. He shot to his feet, all puffed-up chest and righteous indignation. Seizing Jared’s arm, he demanded, “What the hell is going on? And who the f—”
Jared whipped around, dislodging Brian’s hand from his arm. “Sit the fuck down, asshole.” Then, placing a huge palm on Brian’s chest, he shoved her date into his chair with brutal force.
Pamela watched in a horrified daze as Brian slammed into the back of his seat, the oxygen rushing from his lungs with a whooshing sound.
Curious heads turned. But none of the staff intervened.
Jared kept his voice low, which did nothing to soften the dark promise of his words. “If you open your mouth again or make another move, I’ll rip out your fucking gonads, then break your neck.” He leaned toward Brian, eyes flashing, every muscle in his body tense and ready. “Jared Marlowe’s the name, and I’m taking my girlfriend home with me. Understand,
Counselor
Shuttleworth?”
Brian nodded, holding his hands up as if to ward off an intruder.
Jared presented him with his back, a sure sign of his withering contempt. Pamela surmised that, to Jared, Brian’s token resistance proved he had neither the courage nor the prowess to pose a serious threat. Even if an enemy turned his back.
As far as she was concerned, Brian earned some of that disdain. So much for protecting her. Not that she needed protection from Jared.
Did she?
No, but she wasn’t about to test him at this particular time.
Decision made, Pamela tried rising on shaky legs. After teetering on the godforsaken stilettos, she landed back onto the chair with a graceless bounce, nearly coming out of her dress. Jared’s scowl deepened as he scrutinized her barely covered breasts. A sudden, sharp intake of breath warned her he also had noted the dress’s snug fit and her brand-new fuck-me shoes.
Leaning over, he grabbed both her wrists and hauled Pamela to her feet.
Their gazes locked. Pamela met Jared’s imperious look with all the bravado she could muster. She tried glaring back, determined to regain equal footing. No way was she backing down. She was her mother’s daughter, after all. A feminist who brooked no nonsense. And a tough girl must go mano a mano with a foe. Like a warrior princess.
But she couldn’t do it. It didn’t seem right. Or natural.
Flustered, Pam looked down and caught sight of her FM shoes again. Tears blurred her vision as a crushing sense of shame overwhelmed her.
He hadn’t deserved this.
She let out a shuddering breath, managing to raise her gaze to the middle of Jared’s chest. But she could go no farther.
Instead, she waited.
Jared’s hand drifted to her waist and he turned her toward the restaurant’s exit. It seemed a mile away. But she took some comfort as his warm palm pressed with gentle insistence on the small of her back, guiding her around the tables in the packed dining room. Pamela held her head high, allowing him to lead her away from the whispers and stares of the other patrons.
* * * *
Jared glanced over at Pamela, trying to gauge her mood. She sat huddled against the car window, leaning as far away from him as could be managed. She hadn’t uttered a single word since they left the restaurant—preferring to peer out into the bleak winter night rather than face him.
He’d been in his newly leased offices working on proposals when the call came in. The owner of Donatello’s had a hell of a memory, having recalled a five-month-old conversation in which Jared had confided his deep interest in a curvy paralegal with black curls and luminous gray eyes. When a woman fitting that description strolled into the restaurant on the arm of some jerk with a stick up his ass, Marcello had gone on full alert.
Even so, Marcello wanted to make sure this was Jared’s girl. A quick check of the reservations revealed the esquire attached to her dinner companion’s name. A lawyer, then. After a bit of probing, the maître d’ admitted he’d overheard Shuttleworth calling her Pam. And it was then Marcello remembered her full name. Pamela Abernathy.
He decided then that a discreet phone call was in order.
Jared wasn’t surprised with his friend’s deductions or his decision to take action. The other Dom had assumed this lady was special since Jared didn’t make a habit of discussing his women. Also, Jared hadn’t attended the local BDSM club they both frequented for a good six months, a sure sign he was now in a committed relationship.
He slowed down a little as a light snowfall began to slicken the road. He had sensed a growing tension in Pam in recent weeks, but when he asked what was troubling her, she always insisted everything was fine.
Jared silently berated himself for believing her. Any man worth his salt understood that when a female declared, “I’m fine,” in
that
tone of voice, she wasn’t. Instead of pursuing the subject and finding possible causes for her moodiness, though, he’d taken the path of least resistance.
Fuckup number one.
To make matters worse, Pamela had grown particularly withdrawn these past couple of weeks. Jared hadn’t seen her in all that time, due in part to a killer workload, but had sensed the shutdown. He called her as often as possible, reassuring himself that for now this was enough, and he’d make it up to her. When she did answer his calls, Pam claimed to be either busy, tired, or eating. If he tried drawing her out, she changed the subject and mentioned something like an early morning meeting.
His woman had been avoiding him, but being wrapped up in his growing business and its daily dramas, he’d ignored the warning signs of a bad situation swiftly heading south. Whatever the issue, he’d failed to face it head-on and let it turn into a crisis.
Fuckup number two.
Pam was so furious she had sought out the company of another man. A towering rage rose and threatened to consume Jared, but he tamped it down with a sheer force of will, reminding himself a temper tantrum would serve no purpose other than to frighten Pam or drive her further away.
Neither outcome was acceptable. He would never deliberately scare or bully her. Nor would he let her go.
Jared knew Pamela belonged to him. She was his soul mate. He’d known from the moment he had laid eyes on her six months back in that bookstore.
She’d been curled up in an overstuffed armchair, nibbling on a forbidden candy bar and reading some old-timey romance with an überbuff Viking on the cover. He tried sending out the sexy vibe to her while pretending to search for a book nearby. After a few minutes of being ignored, he conceded he was no competition for chocolate and erotic romance. Both had her full attention, so he settled into a chair across from her and waited for his chance.
Instead of noticing him, she’d fallen asleep. And slept like a rock for eighty-seven minutes. Forty-two minutes into the lengthy nap, she shifted. Her silky black curls slipped out of their loose knot, spilling across her smooth shoulders and over the arm of the chair.
Jared had hidden his massive erection behind a hardcover volume on Mesoamerican art and artifacts.
She wakened with a start. After noting the time, she leaped up, tossing odds and ends into her backpack. To his dismay, she never even glanced in his direction before rushing toward the exit.