Page 4 of High-Priority Asset

“Hey, there.” The stranger handed Isabel her irreplaceable purse. “Are you all right?”

Yes. No. Maybe. She settled for nodding and taking a deep breath.

“Care for a little assistance?” He gestured to the glass and her bare feet.

“Uh, yes. Please.” She clutched the bag to her chest. “Thank you.”

He swept her up from the sidewalk and into his arms like she weighed nothing. But Isabel wasn’t a skin-and-bones type of woman. She loved carbs. Jogging only burned off so much and her curvy figure showed it.

“Where to?” he asked. His mesmerizing brown eyes bored into hers, and an entirely new feeling enveloped her.

“The Kismet art gallery down the block.”

Tucking her close against his body, he took long strides toward her shop. He smelled powerful and sensual and safe all at once—an arresting mix that had her relaxing in degrees. She wrapped her arm over his shoulder.

“I can’t believe that jerk tried to mug you.”

“Me either.”

“You’ve got a great arm. You threw that bottle like an ace,” he said, and she picked up his accent. Not West Coast. Something distinctive. She’d guess Boston, New York or Chicago. “You clocked him good. That’ll teach him a lesson.”

“Thanks.” She smiled and pain bloomed in her cheek. “Ouch.” Holding her purse, she pressed the back of her hand to her face.

“Did he hit you?”

“Yeah.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve kicked his butt up and down Santa Monica Boulevard.”

To that she wasn’t sure what to say. White knights weren’t her thing and she never wanted to be treated like a damsel in distress. But she had needed help and appreciated his.

“Better yet, I could’ve held him for you while you did. The way you were chasing him down, man, that was something. You strike me as a fierce woman who can take care of herself.”

Fierce? Nobody had ever described her that way, especially not her overbearing uncle, who was determined to coddle her like a child. She would’ve smiled at the compliment if it wouldn’t have hurt. “I’m just glad you intervened. Thanks, again.”

At the door, he set her down gently, and she winced. He bent, grabbed her keys and shoes from the ground and gave them to her.

Isabel unlocked the door and when she opened it, the alarm sounded.

The stranger whisked her inside. “Where’s your security panel?”

She pointed to the wall behind the front desk.

He carried her to it and shifted so she could access the keypad. “Go on. I won’t look.”

Turning his head away, he didn’t glance back.

A guy with physical prowess and sex appeal and integrity. He was a mythical creature lost in California.

Still, she held her purse at a strategic angle, shielding the keypad while she punched in the code, shutting off the alarm. One could never have too much paranoia.

He set her down in the chair at the front desk. “Do you have a medical kit?”

“Um, I think Brenda, my assistant, keeps one there.” She pointed to the bottom drawer closest to him.

He opened it, pulled out the kit and took a knee in front of her.

Serious, intricate ink was tattooed on his arms, adding to his already hard-and-gritty edge.