Chained by Love Vol. 1: Angel (Vegas Billionaires #1) Page 3

  One look at him, however, told me that he was the total opposite. He looked more like some billionaire than a wanted man on the run. Perhaps he didn’t want the police involved because the news would tarnish his pristine name?

  Whatever the case, I reminded myself, I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Right now, helping him was more important.

  I glanced at him over my shoulder and found that he was trying in vain to sit up. He was grunting and cursing fluently under his breath, as if this was one of the worst days of his life. Maybe it was, assuming he really was from some very filthy rich family.

  Determinedly, I put my cell phone into my jacket pocket and headed back to him. I kneeled and took his arm over my shoulder.

  He seemed both surprised and annoyed at my action. I stared at him and stated clearly, “I’m not going to call the police or the ambulance. But at least let me help you clean up your wounds.”

  I became nervous as his intense gaze rested on me. My stomach started flipping and my heart racing. Gosh! The man was way too handsome and intriguing for my liking.

  I cleared my throat and continued, “I don’t know which gang you had a fight with, but I’m sure they’ll be back looking for you soon.”

  He seemed to understand what I was implying, and stiffened. Knowing this was my chance at reasoning with him, I said, “Your life is at stake, you know. Once you’re well again, you can call your friends or family members to come get you.”

  The words ‘friends or family members’ seemed to make him angry, and he glared at me for bringing up such an offensive subject. I stiffened at the idea that he seemed to be insulted by my suggestion. Then it hit me. Perhaps he didn’t have any friends or family?

  The thought that this man might be so alone in the world made my heart ache for him. He seemed so wealthy, however, what with him wearing such expensive clothes and all. But then again, money wasn’t everything, was it? The fact that my family and I needed money and valued it as the most important thing in our lives in order to survive in this cutthroat world, especially in this city of Las Vegas, didn’t mean I didn’t understand that money alone doesn’t make you happy.

  I shifted his arm a little so that he rested better on me. I gave him a smile, hoping it’d appease his irritation with me. I said, “Can you get up?”

  He stared at me long and hard, as if he was trying to figure me out. I didn’t cower away from his intense scrutiny of me, and instead returned the gaze with large eyes.

  The longer I looked into his eyes, the deeper I was drawn to him. I felt as though he was pulling me in, drowning me in his dark, wicked world, which both intrigued as well as terrified me, whatever world that might be. Suddenly, I saw myself naked and in his hot embrace, him kissing me, and me bound to him in a dark, deep pool of intimacy.

  I held my breath as my world spun and my body shook at the perturbing image I saw of myself.

  He nodded and said darkly, “I think I can.”

  His words drew me out of my reveries, and I blinked away the after-vision of my disturbing premonition. Of course, I blamed it on my overly active imagination once again. There I went, envisioning things.

  Dismissing the odd images from my mind, I nodded and rose, carrying him along with me.

  He was heavy and felt like he weighed a ton of bricks against me. I puffed out in surprise, steadied my legs, bending them in such a way that I wouldn’t fall back, and took him with me as I stood.

  I tightened his arm around my shoulders, and once I somehow managed to stand, I sighed with relief. I turned my face to him, which was extremely close to mine, and said, “Can you walk, do you think?”

  He was staring at me, his nose touching my hot cheeks. I felt flustered because he was so close to me and his warm breath was fanning my skin.

  He nodded and leaned further on me so that I had to strengthen my legs even more to support us both. I tightened my arm around his torso and puffed out again.

  “Let’s go,” I said, turning around, taking him along with me. “It’s not far. Just around the corner.” I nodded toward the apartment complex.

  Chapter 4

  Savanah

  I decided to refer to the blond-haired, blue-eyed man I had taken into my home as ‘Mr. Arrogant.’ This was simply because he refused to tell me his name when I asked him as we entered my apartment. Of course, there was also the fact that he was simply being arrogant, demonstrated by his disdainful behavior and the supercilious aura he exuded.

  With him still leaning heavily on me, I guided him into the living area, our pace slow and steady. There, I made him sit on the sofa by gently guiding him onto the seat. He must have not had any strength left to support himself, because he simply collapsed onto it, his body flopping onto the softness of the sofa with a thud. Because he still had his arm wrapped over my shoulders, and I in turn was still holding on to him, I inadvertently fell along with him.

  With a swoop, I found myself falling against him, my feet entangled with his long legs and my face buried against the massiveness of his hard, muscular chest.

  A whiff of citrus and sweat danced across my nose, which oddly enough, made my body warm. Heat rushed to my cheeks as I knew my immodest position on top of him was certainly uncalled for.

  Gosh, how much clumsier could I get? And certainly this wasn’t the way to aid an injured person, tumbling around and falling on each other like this. I knew colliding with him, and my body landing on top of him, must have hurt severely, especially on top of his injuries. I hastily removed myself and sat properly on the sofa. I licked my lips and then asked with concern, “Sorry. Are you okay?”

  He grunted loudly in response to my query. I thought he sounded like he was in pain, and I felt dreadful. The dark expression on his face told me a great deal, that he was doing his damned hardest to keep it all in.

  “Why don’t you lie down?” I suggested, aiding him to rest against the sofa. “I’ll go and get the first-aid kit to clean your wounds.”

  He grunted some more in response to my proposition. That was when I noted that his face was a little too pale for my liking. Those numerous bruises, too, were becoming more prominent about his forehead and the left side of his cheek. They’d be black and blue by tomorrow morning, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  Once I thought he looked as comfortable as he could be—half lying there as if he were giving up on life itself—I went about searching for the first-aid kit in the attached kitchenette. I found it in one of the cabinets where we stored prescription drugs, which Dad took for depression, and some painkillers.

  With the small box of the first-aid kit in my hands, I watched Mr. Arrogant from the kitchenette with interest. He was sitting there on our worn-out sofa, which had seen better days, his head bowed low and the fringe of his pale blond hair framing his high forehead. His shoulders were slumped and his face, though I could barely see his expression clearly because of the position he was sitting in, I assumed was scowling in pain.

  I came over, put the first-aid kit on the coffee table, and took a seat beside him. He lifted his head and stared hard at me, as if it confused him greatly as to why I was working so hard to help him, as if this was truly alien to him.

  Well, perhaps it was? Perhaps in his world, every man was for himself? Then, on second thought, so was the world I was living in. Maybe I was the odd one out, helping a beaten-up stranger like this.

  I gave him a smile, which I hoped would lighten the tense atmosphere that was currently charging between us. When he still stared at me, I became nervous, licked my lips, and tucked my long hair behind my ear, both habits I found hard to break.

  I said, “Sorry, we don’t have a lot here. Err… What I mean is this kind of place isn’t something you’re used to, right?”

  What I meant was the small cramped living room, worn-out furniture, and everything in between that was currently residing in our apartment, the type of things that belonged to poor people—which definitely translated to junk to the rich.

 
; When he still didn’t respond to my attempt at starting a friendly conversation, I sighed and proceeded to the important job of cleaning up his wounds instead. I grabbed for the first-aid kit, opened the box, and said, “Shall we get started?”

  I got some cleaning pads out and leaned toward him. I was just about to clean the scratch on his forehead when he caught my wrist, halting me from proceeding further. My heart leaped in my chest as he stared long and hard at me.

  He said, his voice deep and reverberating, “I can do that myself.” He took the cleaning pads from my hand and asked, “Can I use your shower?”

  “Shower?” I queried him, confused.

  “To clean up,” he said. “If that’s all right with you.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Do you want to use it now?”

  “It’s easier to clean the wounds with water.”

  I nodded in understanding. It was then I had a suspicion there were probably a lot more scratches and bruises about his torso, from the kicks and bashes he had received from the fight. If so, then it’d be a lot easier to clean the wounds with water and then apply antibiotic ointment.

  I rose from my seat and said, “The bathroom is the first door along the corridor.” I was just at the door as a thought struck me. I turned to him and asked, “Err… Can you clean yourself in the shower? I mean, you’re injured quite badly.”

  My concerned question, oddly enough, made him grin with amusement. Oh, Lord! But the man was gorgeous when he smiled. It lightened up his face, and his eyes twinkled like a pair of jewels. My heart, without my permission, leaped with joy. I couldn’t help myself and grinned at him in return.

  “Do you want to come in and help me?” he asked.

  Was that teasing I heard in his tone of voice? I didn’t know. God, I didn’t even know how a guy actually teased a girl. Despite being seventeen, I had never had any experience with the opposite sex. Of course, there were definitely lots of guys in school, but I wasn’t close enough to any of them to know about flirting.

  Then again, I thought, maybe it was sarcasm in the tone of his voice that he meant to portray.

  I blinked and then blushed profusely. I shook my head furiously.

  “No. No. No,” I stammered in embarrassment. “That’s not what I mean.” I felt flustered and was eager to explain the meaning behind my words. “I mean, you’re obviously injured, so I wondered if you’ll be all right in the shower by yourself. I mean, like, umm…”

  He stood, which made me jolt back at his sudden movement.

  That was odd. Only moments ago, he seemed pale, weak, and, well, just generally sick and half-dead, like a person who had just recently been beaten should be. Now he seemed fine, which confused me. Were his injuries not that severe?

  I swallowed. Gosh, him standing so close to me, tall and lean, and the heat of his body radiating all around me, made me flustered. I slowly raised my face until my eyes met his.

  He said, “I’ve never met any girl like you before.” He cocked his head to one side as if he found me truly bizarre, like a sort of unknown creature that just landed on Earth.

  Suddenly, he leaned close to me so that his warm breath was fanning my skin. It made my body feel warm and my tummy fluttery.

  In his dark tone, he said, “Why are you helping me? Are you sure it’s safe to let me into your house?”

  I thought for a moment, and then it dawned on me. Well, now that he put it that way, I did feel naïve and stupid for doing this, helping a complete and utter stranger, and even inviting him into the house.

  I cast my eyes downward and said, “You’re right. What girl would do that? Especially in Las Vegas, or anywhere, for that matter.”

  I thought further that Dad would have scolded me severely if he knew what I had unthinkingly done. Suddenly, I was upset with myself for being so naïve and trusting, just like Marie had always told me were my flaws. Another most damming one was that I was too kind-hearted. It seemed I always wanted to help people when I couldn’t even help myself.

  Mr. Arrogant touched my chin gently, which pleasantly surprised me, and guided my face up so that he could see my eyes. He gave me an infectious smile that made my young heart skip a few beats before continuing to pump furiously.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not the type of stranger who takes advantage of young girls,” he said. “Speaking of which, where are your parents?”

  I blushed and said, “They’re away for Christmas vacation. To Canada.”

  He frowned. “Leaving you here alone?”

  His tone implied disapproval, and I was offended.

  “I’m old enough to look after myself, thank you very much.”

  He chuckled. “Feisty, aren’t we?”

  I glared at him, which only made him laugh. Gosh, he had beautiful laughter, I thought in wonder.

  Once he managed to stop, he changed the subject completely and asked, “The bathroom?”

  “This way,” I said, moving back from him and turning on my heels.

  I took him out of the living area, into the hallway, and then into our small bathroom. “In here,” I said, opening the door for him.

  He stepped over the threshold and said, “Thanks.”

  I nodded. “Just call if you need anything. Oh, wait, I’ll get you a towel first.” I rushed over to the closet across the corridor and retrieved a well-used towel. Once I’d handed it to him, he thanked me again and then shut the door.

  As I made my way back to the living area, I heard the shower going.

  Honest to God, I had never done anything like this before, helping an injured stranger and bringing him into the house. Even allowing him to use the shower. Had I done the right thing? Should I have left him back there in the street instead? All wounded and in dreadful pain? I knew that eventually he would have managed to regain enough strength to walk away from here. Well, maybe…

  Then again, the thought of leaving him there didn’t sit well with me. I might have done an unthinkable, stupid thing helping him, because he was a stranger and I didn’t know him, but at least it was something I felt was right, to begin with.

  Nodding my head and convincing myself that what I had done was a good deed, I sat on the sofa and waited for Mr. Arrogant to finish his shower.

  Chapter 5

  Savanah

  It didn’t take me long to switch my mind back to Mr. Arrogant. This time, I wondered how the man came to get into a fight with some gangs in the first place. What had he done to get himself so messed up with those ruthless people? The more I thought about it, the more disturbed I was. Surely, to be able to stand up to some gangs in the city of Las Vegas, one would have to be very tough. And to even piss them off so much as to get them to beat you up, well, that was a whole other scary story to think about.

  I was so deeply in thought about the possibilities of the man I had helped that when I heard the deep reverberation of his voice, I jumped in surprise.

  “You think I could borrow some clothes?” he asked.

  I raised my head, and the moment I saw him, my eyes widened at the sight in awe. He was tall and had a muscularly toned body, like those hot male models I’d seen in magazines. Beads of water droplets were sticking to his skin, and oddly enough, the sight of him in only a towel wrapped around his waist made my tummy quiver deliciously.

  I licked my lips and asked stupidly, “Why?”

  He cocked his head to one side and then did that sensual action in which he stroked his fingers through his blond hair, combing the strands back from his face. He cracked a smile when he said, “It’s not a good idea for me to walk around your house with only a towel around my waist, don’t you agree?”

  I understood the meaning behind his words. Of course, it was inappropriate for him, or anyone for that matter, to walk around in only a towel in the house.

  I stammered, my cheeks burning hot, “Yes… Umm… Dad’s clothes might fit you.”

  “That would be great,” he said, waiting for me to act.

  I moved my legs,
heading toward the door, which was where he was standing. I halted in front of him, waiting for him to shift his manly self from the way. He didn’t seem to register that fact and instead gazed down at me with interest.

  I felt flustered, and my eyes drifted from his face to his chest. The moment they did so, I swallowed hard. His muscles were toned everywhere. Up close, I noticed the scratches and bruises on his skin.

  My heart ached for him. It must really hurt.

  “It’s not that bad. It looks worse than it is,” he said, as if he understood what I was thinking and how I was feeling at the sight of his wounds.

  “I’m used to it.”

  Used to it? Did that mean he had had many fights with the gangs before this one?

  Certainly I had no doubt about that, what with him treating this as if it was just another day at work or whatever.

  “I see,” I said, my eyes glued to his chest, marveling at not only the toned muscles but at the smooth skin and the bruises and scratches branding him.

  I felt my hands trembling, aching to touch him, which confused me.

  Why? Why did I want so badly to touch this man’s body? Why was my core burning so hotly? Why was my heart racing so hard? Why was I finding it so hard to breathe? Why was the room so hot?

  Without realizing it, my hands moved on their own. My fingers came to rest on his chest, touching and caressing the toned, smooth skin. Gently and lightly, my fingers trailed down toward his six-pack abs. I was mesmerized by his body and by what I was doing.

  He caught my wrist and jerked me back to reality.

  As I gazed up at him, my mind was in a muddle of confusion. God, I had never been like this before. Ever!