Shattered: by Janet Nissenson Page B

The gaze he sent her way was positively smoldering, and she was left speechless by what he said next. “Because if the answer had been no, we’d be heading to the closest hotel right about now. The way I intend to fuck you tonight Angel – well, let’s just say that bed of yours had better be up for the task.”

Chapter Four
    She’d been prudent to warn him about ducking his head upon entering her tiny studio apartment, for he definitely wouldn’t have cleared the doorway otherwise. Angela intentionally didn’t look at him once he shut the door and began to inspect the small space, likely with the same eagle-eyed attention to detail that he’d looked her over with earlier this evening. She didn’t particularly want to see the expression on his face when he took in just how small the room was, noticed how sparsely furnished it was, and that except for the bed – which she’d insisted on buying new – the other few pieces of furniture were well-used hand-me-downs culled from a variety of family members.
    But when her curiosity couldn’t be contained any longer, she glanced over at Nick as he continued his slow, careful inspection of her place. He stopped and gave a very thorough look at the one quality piece of artwork she owned – the seascape somewhat small in size but beautifully framed and exquisitely painted.
    “Is this really a Benoit?” he asked incredulously. “I’m not sure I could even begin to estimate how much it’s worth if it’s the real thing.”
    “It is the real thing,” she assured him. “And I’ve got a pretty good idea of what it would sell for. But that was given to me as a gift – by the artist herself – and I’d never consider selling it.”
    Nick blinked in surprise. “How do you know an artist like Natalie Benoit?”
    Angela smiled softly at the mention of the woman who’d treated her like a daughter for so many years. “Natalie is the mother of my two best friends. We all grew up together in Carmel, and I’ve known Lauren and Julia since we were in the fourth grade. I’ve probably spent more time at their house than I have at my own.”
    He regarded her quizzically. “That’s the second time this evening you’ve made some reference to not spending much time at home. Were things that bad for you there?”
    She shook her head in amazement at his brazen question. “Wow, you really do shoot from the hip, don’t you? And subtlety is definitely not one of your better traits in case you weren’t aware.”
    Nick grinned. “Oh, I’m very well aware. I told you back at the restaurant that I’m ballsy. Trust me, Angel, there’s no topic that I won’t dare to ask you about. And you’ll always give me the answers I want, too.”
    Angela frowned. “Is that part of this so-called submission you mentioned?”
    “Yes.” He answered without the slightest hesitation. “Honesty always.”
    She lifted her chin stubbornly. “Does that go both ways? If I ask you a question, will you always answer it honestly?”
    Nick’s gaze narrowed dangerously. “Angel, it’s way too soon for us to start talking about – ah, let’s call them conditions for now. When and if I think you’re ready, we’ll have ourselves a nice long chat. Until then, show me that gold medal of yours.”
    She thought about pressing the issue further, asking him what these so-called “conditions” might be, but decided not to push her luck. Instead, she merely indicated the rather dilapidated bookcase that she’d pressed into service as her trophy case.
    Nick glanced over the various trophies, plaques, medals, ribbons, and framed certificates that she’d earned over the years, in half a dozen different sports, but it was the Olympic medal that he honed in on.
    “May I?”
    Angela nodded in assent as he picked up the protective plastic case that held the medal. “You can open it if you like.”
    He did, running his long fingers over the raised inscription, shaking his head in awe. “I’ve never