Read The Burning Point for Free Online

door and marched down the stone steps. The chilly air gave her pause. Now what? She didn't even have her handbag.
    There was no way she'd meekly return to the ball for the rest of the evening. Her heart cried out for a grand gesture, even if she froze to death in the process. She wrenched off the tight kid gloves, popping the tiny pearl buttons, and crushed them in one hand before hurling them into the wall. Then she strode down the street. She should have cooled off by the time she reached home. No, not home, she'd go to Rachel's house. It was a small rebellion, but the best she could think of at the moment.
    She'd walked only a few steps when a male voice with an East Baltimore accent said, "Can I help you, miss?"
    She turned and saw the gorgeous parking valet, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome himself, wearing a gold-trimmed jacket and a frown. The streetlight illuminated vivid blue eyes and crisply chiseled features that could give him a career in modeling if he wanted it, though he might have to cut the dark hair pulled back in a neat little ponytail. Loose, it would make him look a little too much like a Hell's Angel.
    Under other circumstances, she would have stopped to admire the view. This time she just said curtly, "I'm fine, thanks," and continued walking.
    He fell into step beside her. She guessed that he was about her age, but seemed older. Tough and a little edgy, he also looked sharply intelligent, like a man who could handle himself equally well talking or fighting.
    "You shouldn't be walking alone in this neighborhood." He glanced at her bare, goose-bumped arms. "Especially without a coat."
    His words made her aware of how much the temperature had dropped in the last two hours. She told herself that it wasn't really cold, probably not much below forty degrees. "By the time I get to Ruxton, I'll be warm."
    "Ruxton! All the way out in Baltimore County? You'll freeze to death."
    "Then I'll hitchhike! Look, I appreciate your concern, but beat it. You've already gone above and beyond the call of duty. Go park a car or something."
    He caught her wrist, his grip light but uncompromising. "Honest, this is not a good idea. A smart-ass cousin of mine used to hitch home from school every day, until she got raped. Go back inside and I'll call a taxi." He glanced at her empty hands. "And lend you the fare."
    "I am not going back to that blasted ball!" An involuntary shiver went through her. "I'll take my chances with rape and pneumonia."
    Exasperated, he unbuttoned his elaborate jacket and dropped it over her shoulders. "At least wear this."
    The garment was warm with his body heat, and scented with some nice, piney aftershave. She slid her arms into the sleeves gratefully. The jacket fell halfway down her thighs. "Thanks. This will stave off deathly illness. Don't worry, I'm quite capable of walking to Ruxton."
    "Not in those shoes," he said with a glance at her high-heeled satin slippers. "They're cute, but no good for hiking."
    "I'll manage." She fastened the brass buttons on the jacket. "What's your address so I can send this back?"
    Instead of giving it to her, he said, "I can't let you do this."
    "I've had quite enough of men telling me what I can't do! I wouldn't take it from my father, and I darned well won't take it from a perfect stranger!"
    "I'm not perfect." He gave a smile that invited her to join in. "And my name is Donovan, so I'm no longer a stranger."
    Trying to resist the power of that smile, she asked, "Donovan what? Or rather, What Donovan?"
    "Just Donovan." His smile faded. "Fighting with parents is a bitch. What did your old man do that was so bad?"
    For a kid who looked like he'd be more at home in a bar brawl than at the cotillion, he had remarkably kind eyes. Needing to tell someone, she said, "All my life, I've wanted to go into the family business. It's the only thing I really want to do. And tonight...tonight..."--she blinked hard as she felt the blow again--"my father said that the only way I'd ever