Free Wounded Angel (The Earth Angels) by Stacy Gail Page B

conversation and not even looking at what you were doing. It was second nature to you.”
    A fine line of perspiration appeared along her dark hairline. “Who are you?”
    “The question is, who are you ? Are you really Ella Little, or could you possibly be...Gabriella Littlefield?”
    For a moment he thought she might faint. Then without warning, the heel of her hand shot out toward his solar plexus. On instinct he dodged it, her movement drawing out in his eyes until she was caught in slow motion while he rocketed around the punch that would have otherwise caved him in two. Her look of stunned dismay registered even as he used his momentum to spin toward the door, which he opened with a flourish. No need to make her feel trapped now that he had her well and truly pinned.
    “I’ll take that as a yes.” Something broke free inside him, a wild thing that raged his triumph as he regarded the woman he’d feared he’d never find without his inner compass. “We can do this a couple of ways, Ella.”
    Her face was so tight her skin stretched over her cheekbones and her bloodless lips pulled back in a snarl. “We’re not doing it any way. Get the hell out of here.”
    “Can’t do that. One,” he added when she took an ominous step toward him, no doubt to try and persuade him to leave by any means necessary, “you can continue to try to beat the shit out of me, which I hope you realize by now would be a complete waste of time. Or two, you can calm down. Once you do that, we can have a nice, quiet chat over a cup of coffee or an early dinner someplace public so you’ll feel comfortable and not threatened by me. You choose the place—on me, of course.”
    The universe seemed to quiver with the rage that boiled around her like a living thing. Her hands curled into fists, her paper-white face a frozen death mask torn between fury and an anguished agony he couldn’t begin to comprehend. A stab of remorse cut him; he’d brought this to her doorstep. But there was no getting around it. This had to be done.
    Then she nodded once, a rusty jerk of her head that was so stiff it all but shrieked in silent pain. “Fine. There’s a restaurant around the corner within walking distance, so let’s just get this done. But make no mistake—after today I never want to lay eyes on you again.”

Chapter Six
    Antony’s Ristorante was all but empty, as most nine-to-five wage-slaves were just beginning to shuffle their way out the door. Settled in a booth across the aisle from a mahogany bar populated by a bored bartender idly flipping through channels on the plasma TV overhead, Ella clamped her jaw tight and tried not to throw up. She didn’t want to be here. With all her heart she wished she was safely tucked away in her tiny pitched-roof cottage with its peeling lavender paint and barred security doors and windows. Instead, she was sitting across from a man who had been nothing more than a living, breathing lie from the moment he’d approached her in kickboxing class.
    And she’d thought that after all her training and mental barrier-building, no one could get to her. God. What an arrogant idiot she’d been.
    And what a heartless ass he was.
    Bitter betrayal curdled her blood until her eyes stung with it. It was a reaction that made no rational sense, but there was no way she could stop it. She’d been aware of this man’s existence a grand total of three days, a fact that landed him in the category of acquaintance. There should be no emotional attachment to someone who was barely more than a stranger. Yet she was on the verge of throwing her glass of water in his face. He’d hunted her from the beginning, the bastard. He’d come across as charming and charismatic—hell, he’d flirted with her. She didn’t know what else to call it when a man went out of his way to bring her attention to the size of his feet .
    But it hadn’t been real. The manipulative jerk had just been trying to sneak past her defenses to pull the rug