But worse than that humiliation? The next day she’d discovered the real reason James Montesano didn’t want her.
He loved her sister.
Tears stung Charlotte’s eyes, tickled her nose. She sniffed them back. She was through crying. Done. It was time to move on. Back in the saddle and all that. But it grated—oh, how it grated—that she’d done everything right, every last damn thing, and still she’d failed in a stunning and spectacular fashion.
It wasn’t fair.
Not when she’d worked so hard, planned so well and considered each and every possible outcome.
She pressed her lips together, bumped her fist against her thigh with each step. Okay, so she’d considered every possible outcome except the one that had actually happened. She could hardly believe she’d been so naive. So stupid.
Never again.
No more lists. No more worrying about the future. No more plans. She’d learned her lesson. From now on, she was following her instincts. Being spontaneous. Taking the road not taken.
That road led here where, in a matter of minutes, she’d prove she was a desirable woman worthy of a man’s attention. Not just any man, either. A gorgeous, sexy man with a cool, hooded gaze, a hard body covered in tattoos and a perpetual smirk. A dangerous man. The kind who would induce panic in her mother, give her father nightmares and make all of her friends weep with envy.
The kind of man she’d sworn never to get involved with, had never before been interested in. The kind of man Sadie—her pretty, flighty, reckless sister—usually went for.
Biting her lower lip, Char stared at the warped wooden door. Behind it lay the key to her vindication.
Or her complete ruin.
She was putting her self-worth on the line here. Was tossing aside her morals and pride. He’d better be worth it.
She knocked, the sharp raps brisk and authoritative, as if her knees weren’t shaking. As if she weren’t terrified out of her mind.
When the door remained shut for the longest three minutes of her life, no sound of movement coming from behind it, she used the side of her fist to pound on the wood. Repeatedly.
His motorcycle was in the parking lot. He had to be home.
She wouldn’t have the courage to come back if he wasn’t, if she had time to think about this for too long.
The door was yanked opened, and there he stood. Not the man of her dreams—that title belonged to her as-of-yet-unknown future husband. No, the man before her was more like the star of her deepest, darkest, sexiest fantasies.
Well, look at him, she thought in exasperation. With a sharply planed face way too pretty for his—or anyone else’s—good, Kane Bartasavich was tall, broad-shouldered and, at the moment, barefoot and shirtless. His wild mane of golden hair tousled around his face, the ends brushing his shoulders. His chest was smooth and leanly muscled, his arms well defined.
He had the word savage—in flowing script—tattooed above his heart. A swirling tribal tat covered his left arm from shoulder to just above his elbow. His right biceps sported a flaming sword, his right side the word pride. Below his navel, three Chinese symbols formed a triangle, the bottom two disappearing under the waist of his low-slung jeans.
Jeans, she noted, her eyes widening, he’d zipped but not buttoned.
Oh. My.
Warmth swept through her, fast and furious, stealing her breath, her thoughts.
She wished it would take her inhibitions, too. Her doubts.
Averting her gaze to somewhere less...dangerous...she worked moisture back into her mouth. Then checked out the symbols once more. Honestly, they were like a magnet, drawing her attention again and again.
Heat still stinging her cheeks, she opened her mouth to say something clever and charming, only to cringe when all that came out was a croak more often associated with Kermit the Frog than a highly intelligent, confident woman.
She tried again, this time managing a breathless, “Hi.”
So much for dazzling Kane with her wit and tantalizing conversation. Good thing she wasn’t here to talk.
He looked beyond her as if searching for the reason she was there. Finally, his gaze settled on her, his green eyes giving nothing away. “You lost, Red?”
Red. That was the tired and unoriginal name he’d christened her with upon their first meeting a few weeks ago. She supposed it was better than Freckles. “No.”
“Then the building had better be on fire and you woke me to save my life.” The implicit threat in his low words wasn’t the least bit softened by the huskiness of his sleep-laden tone.
“It’s after noon,” she said. “Time to wakey-wakey.”
“I work nights. I don’t wakey-wakey until at least 2:00 p.m.”
“I worked last night, too. But I’m up and dressed. And pleasant.”
“This is you being pleasant?”
“I’m extremely pleasant,” she snapped before getting herself under control. She inhaled, counted to five, then exhaled slowly. “I realize we haven’t seen the best side of each other.” Only because he brought out the worst in her. The man was infuriating. How Sadie could even tend bar for him was beyond Charlotte. “But suffice it to say, I’m an incredibly nice woman.”
He stared at her, obviously not believing it. And he kept right on staring, as if he had all the livelong day to stand there.
She crossed her arms. Tapped her foot. Felt the minutes tick-ticking away.
Dropping her arms, she huffed out a breath. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Hadn’t planned on it.”
Un-freaking-believable. Taking matters into her own hands—the best way to get things done—she shoved open the door and brushed past him. “Anyone ever tell you you’re rude?”
One side of his mouth kicked up in a condescending smirk. “You’re the one who barged into my apartment without being invited, little girl.”
Little girl.
She stayed rooted to her spot, her scalp prickling, a lump forming in her throat. Sadie had called her little girl when they’d had their fight two weeks ago. It’d been a huge, ugly blowup. One Charlotte was afraid they might not be able to get past.
Then again, she was still mad enough she wasn’t certain she wanted to get past it.
And she wasn’t a little girl. She was a fully grown, competent, independent woman. Wasn’t she here to prove that?
She couldn’t let Kane get to her. Yes, he was an ass. An ill-mannered, overgrown rebel without a cause. He was everything she didn’t want in a man. Cocky. Arrogant. Snide.
She didn’t like him.
She didn’t have to. Not for this.
Kane walked into the tiny kitchen, granting her a view of the Aztec tattoo on his broad back—a large bird, its wings outspread across his shoulder blades. Black flames dripped from the wings, licked along Kane’s spine, which served as part of the narrowing tail. It ended in a sharp point between two fingerprint-sized indentations above the waist of his jeans.
She rubbed the pads of her thumbs against her forefingers. Wondered what it would be like to press them there. To have all of that skin, those lean muscles under her hands.
Wondered if she had the courage to find out.
She rolled her head like a boxer preparing for round one. Guess she’d soon know.
Charlotte set her purse on the table by the door, then joined