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fault.
     
     

Chapter Four
     
    It was an uneventful ride until they turned the corner onto her block and met the flashing lights of a cop car. A fire truck was parked across the street, in front of her building. Ben's driver came to a halt and lowered his window.
    "Looks like a problem, sir," he called into the back seat.
    Rain made the road glisten as if someone had overturned a truck load of sequins, but the danger was something they couldn't see. Tape was being used to cordon off a section of brownstone, including the steps to Bryony's building.
    A cop trotted up to the car and told them to turn around. "Gas leak." The entire street was being evacuated and he had no estimated time of when it might be safe to return. "Crews are working on it, buddy," he assured them mechanically before splashing off into the rain, hand raised to halt another car.
    "Shit," she exclaimed, hunched in her corner of the seat, arms folded.
    There was no hesitation from her companion. "You can come back to my place."
    She felt her scowl deepen. "I could just check into a hotel."
    "Don't be ridiculous." Sliding back into the seat, fingers spread over his knees, he looked at her. "You're coming home with me."
    Bryony sucked on her lips and turned her face to stare out of the window. It had gotten colder just in the short time they were in the car and the rain began hitting the glass harder as it transformed to pellets of ice. If it was that cold outside, why was she hot?
    The city would be a mess in a few hours. It was winter and she should be prepared for massive inconveniences, but still the first storm of the season always seemed to take her by surprise.
    "I'm not dumping you at a hotel," he added. "Wouldn't be chivalrous. My grandmother would never forgive me."
    Hopefully it would only be a few hours, she thought. It was nine thirty now. She gave him a quick glance over her shoulder. He was humming a tune, fingers tapping his knees. Of course an ice storm wouldn't bother him much. He never had to rely on public transportation to get anywhere. If he didn't feel like going in to work tomorrow he didn't have to. The beauty of being his own boss.
    She said nothing and he didn't wait for any agreement, just told his driver to take them home to his apartment. And as she stared at the window again, catching her reflected expression, she knew what the night held in store. It was readable there in her eyes, large print.
    Where he'd held her waist earlier she still felt the warmth of his hand, the strange possessiveness she'd never expected from him, never experienced from anyone. The night was passing like a weird dream where things were only normal on the surface. Underneath it all, nothing was really quite the same. She ought to pinch herself, she thought, quirking a little smile at her reflection.
    It made her look naughty. Wicked.
    Bryony Mulligan, are you going to get laid tonight?
    Yes, sir. If I have my way.
    What the hell was she thinking?
    She quickly shook her head, straightened her lips. It was not going to happen. She couldn't let it.
    Numbnuts? She must be crazy. So she'd had a crush on him years ago. Maybe—just maybe— she could admit that now. Because she was over it, right? Her tastes had matured since then. And as Helena said, she knew what he was. The Casanova of Manhattan and various international locations.
    He could have any woman in New York and frequently did if the rumors were true. Just because he'd looked at her in a heated way and touched her waist, she'd let her mind wander off into absurd porno territory. Maybe it had simply been too long for her since her last boyfriend.
    She stole a quick glance sideways and saw his fingers still tapping idly on his thigh.
    Damn it, Mulligan, don't look at his dangerous hands.
    Too late. There was nothing she could do, was there? In her head she worked out an excuse to give Helena. The peckerhead had practically kidnapped her. She couldn't open the door and leap out could she?
    Tap,