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‘So you can call your friends in the police and get them to throw me in jail?’
She shouldn’t have vandalised the car, since as a rule she liked to keep a low profile—less chance of coming to anyone’s notice that way. But she’d been followed on her way to the little alley where she’d been hoping to bed down and, since being a woman on her own at night could be a problem, she’d attached herself to the crowd of homeless teenagers she’d been with earlier. They’d been out vandalising stuff and she’d had to prove herself willing to do the same in order to stay in their company. So she hadn’t hesitated to pick up the spray can.
To be fair, she hadn’t minded targeting this man’s limo. The rich never saw the people on the streets, and she rather liked the idea of forcing her existence to at least be acknowledged in some way. Even if it did involve the police.
‘No.’
His voice was very deep, with a warmth curling through it that made a part of her shiver right down low inside. There was a lilt to it, too...a faint, musical accent.
‘But you were vandalising my car. Your name is the least you can give me in recompense.’
Leonie frowned. What had he done with her knife? She wanted it back. She didn’t feel safe without it. ‘Why? Don’t you want money?’
He raised one perfect black brow. ‘Do you have any?’
‘No.’
The man shrugged one powerful shoulder in an elegant motion and she found her gaze drawn by the movement. To the way his shirt pulled tight across that shoulder, displaying the power of the muscles underneath.
How odd. She’d never looked at a man that way before, so why was she doing so now? Men were awful—especially rich men like this one. She knew all about them; her father was one of them and he’d thrown her and her mother out on the streets. So no wonder she’d taken an instant dislike to this guy—though maybe it was more hate than dislike.
Hate was the only word strong enough to describe the disturbingly intense feeling gathering inside her now.
‘Then,gatita,’ he said, in his dark, deep voice, ‘your name it will have to be.’
‘But I don’t want to give you that.’
Her jaw tightened. Resistance was the only thing she had on the streets and she clung to it stubbornly. Resistance to anything and everything that tried to push her down or squash her, grind her into the dirt of Paris’s ancient cobbles. Because if she didn’t resist then what else did she have? How would she even know she existed?
By spraying rude words on a limo?
Yes, if need be. It was all about the fight. That was all life was.
He gave another elegant shrug, as if it was all out of his hands. ‘Then sadly I must be recompensed for my inconvenience in other ways.’
Ah, of course. She understood this, at least. ‘I’m not paying you in sex. I’d rather die.’
His mouth twitched, which she found disconcerting. Normally men got angry when she refused them, but he didn’t seem angry at all. Only...amused.
For some reason she didn’t like it that he found her amusing.
‘I’m sure you wouldn’t,’ he said lazily. ‘I happen to be very good at it. No one has died having sex with me yet, for example.’
Leonie ignored the way her stomach fluttered. Perhaps that was hunger. She hadn’t eaten today, and although a day without food was fairly normal for her, she didn’t usually find herself chucked into a limo and kept prisoner by...whoever this man was.
‘But,’ he went on before she could argue, ‘I know what you’re talking about, and rest assured my recompense won’t be in the form of sex. Though I’m sure you are, in fact, very desirable.’
She gave him a dark look. ‘I am, actually. Why do you think I carry a knife?’
‘Of course. What man wouldn’t want a feral kitten?’
His mouth curved and she found herself staring at it. It had a nice shape, firm and beautifully carved.
She shook herself. Why was she staring at his mouth?
‘You’d be surprised what men want,’ she said, dragging her gaze to meet his, though quite frankly that wasn’t any better.
His amusement abruptly drained away, the lines of his perfect face hardening. He shifted, sitting back against the seat. ‘No. I would not.’
