He’d probably take one look at her torn dress and shredded hose and figure she’d run afoul of a particularly nasty john.
Boy, did she know this guy’s type.
Well, in all fairness, Bree didn’t know if Josie’s brother even liked to gamble, but Mr. Rich and Powerful had worn his custom tux that cost more than the down payment on her town house like a second skin. Even without the expensive suit, his attitude had flashed like neon.
I’m way beyond bored with my high-powered lifestyle, expensive toys and all those rich-bitch women throwing themselves at my feet.
Now he’d obviously heard the noise from her fall, and with the same arrogant self-assurance that had impressed her across a banquet hall, he strode to those French doors to find out what was happening in his sister’s backyard….
Bree blinked. Again.
Mr. Rich and Powerful wasn’t wearing an expensive tux tonight. He must have been taking a shower, because he wore nothing but a towel to cover some seriously toned, tanned and dripping wet skin.
Adrenaline had already been working a number on her. Now her heart started throbbing again. Her pulse rushed too fast, and Bree could only stare as he reached the doors and raised an arm to the lintel—to flip a lock, presumably—gifting her with the sight of shifting neck muscles, gathering biceps and rippling tummy. The towel slipped enough to reveal a lean hip and smooth skin angling down toward the telltale bulge of the goodies he kept hidden beneath the plush cotton.
Honestly, the man was entitled to parade around in the wee hours dressed in anything he chose. Bree couldn’t blame him because she found herself in his bushes.
She could, however, blame him for flipping off the light. Not only had he ended the show that was diverting her from her aches and pains, but he’d left her with a problem. She’d been staring into the light and was now nearly blind.
Had he already called the police?
When the door creaked open, Bree decided to play it safe.
“Mr. Josie’s Brother from California,” she called out. “I surrender. I’m not here to rob the place. I just sort of…dropped by for an unexpected visit.”
Her voice echoed eerily through the darkness. Blinking furiously to adjust her sight, she crouched in the shrubs like a sitting duck, unable to hear a thing above the sound of the wind rustling through the branches of an overhead tree and her own aching pulse.
And just when she could finally differentiate the outline of the hedge behind the strings of solar lights, Bree found herself blinded yet again by a wickedly bright flashlight.
Suddenly the man himself appeared, and she hadn’t even heard him coming.
“You’re one of the twins who live in Number One.”
“Guilty.”
He lowered the beam from her face, and she could almost make him out—lots of bare skin and chiseled features. Even half-blinded, she could see the man was even more striking up close than he’d been from far away.
“So what did I do to deserve a visit from such an illustrious person at this time of night?” he asked.
“Illustrious? What did I do?”
“Found the captain’s treasure.”
And here Bree thought she’d made an honest impression. “Actually, my sister found the treasure.”
“Still part of an illustrious family.”
Bree inclined her head. No lie there. “Bree Addison, descendent of Gabriel Dampier, captain of the privateer ship Crescent.”
He shifted the light over the gold spangles littering the ground and grabbed her hand with a strong grip. “Lucas Russell. Number Sixteen. You weren’t kidding when you said ‘dropped by.’”
“Unfortunately.”
He chuckled, and the deep, throaty sound rippled silkily through her.
Surprise, surprise. Adrenaline must be doing all sorts of screwy things, because under normal circumstances, Bree wouldn’t have given this guy a reaction no matter how attractive he was. Not a man who was a carbon copy of those she catered to at work.
With Lucas Russell’s solid grip providing leverage, she cautiously extricated herself from the shrubs. She swallowed back a groan when every muscle in her body throbbed in protest and spangles showered the ground at her feet.
She tried not to think about how she must look with foliage in her hair, in her clothes, in her shoes.
All things considered…Bree had fared remarkably well. No broken bones. One very handsome savior, whether she was interested or not.
Things were looking up.
Lucas helped extricate her from the tangle of her coat and steadied her against him, bringing her up close and personal to a whole bunch of naked man. She found herself distracted from her aches and pains long enough to notice shoulders so broad she couldn’t see around them.
He towered above her, and she wasn’t exactly short. But even more striking was the strength she felt in the hand he kept locked around hers, the warmth of his skin. After all the shocks she’d gotten tonight—both good and bad—Bree shouldn’t have had any energy left to react to this man.
But she was reacting, big.
Especially when he raked his gaze over her. The darkness hid the color of his eyes, but he was clearly inspecting her for damage. She must have looked as bad as she felt, because his eyebrows knitted in a frown.
Lucas, however, looked as good as he felt. At this close vantage, his face was all cut lines and chiseled angles. He was handsome in a very aggressive, male way.
She should have been immune. Damn adrenaline.
“You’re bleeding.” The flashlight beam traveled down her leg.
One glance at the carnage of tattered hose stained with blood and she did groan. “So I am. Guess I’ll say thanks and be on my way. It was a pleasure.”
She moved to extricate herself from him, but Lucas didn’t let go. “Come inside. Let’s take a look at your leg.”
“I appreciate the offer, but there’s no need. Just a few scratches. I’ll live.”
“I’m trained in emergency first aid.”
“Really? Josie said you were the king of a software empire. Do your subjects get hurt working with the keyboard and mouse?”
“I write law-enforcement software,” he said drily. “I spend a lot of time consulting with various national agencies and participating in training so I can target their needs.”
Great. Jude Robicheaux was back in town and she’d run for cover to a man with law-enforcement connections.
Why had she thought she’d been dealt a decent hand tonight again?
Raking her gaze down all that yummy skin, she tried to assess the threat. Any man who rescued a lady from treacherous shrubbery wearing only a skimpy towel couldn’t be all bad, could he?
“Can you walk or shall I carry you?” he asked.
Yummy or not, Lucas was determined to get his way. It was in his almost amused tone, in the grip that assured her he had no intention of letting go.
No surprises here. “Really, this isn’t necessary.”
“It is. I’m not dressed to walk you home.”
“I’d argue. The neighbor ladies would love watching you parade through the court in your towel.”
He blinked in surprise, and under any other circumstances, Bree might have laughed.
Not tonight.