The Alpha's Baby
Prologue
A BMW barreled right toward Emmy Ellison. Bright headlights blinded her and the scream of the car’s horn echoed in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, throwing her hands in front of her face to protect herself. In that moment, she was certain that she was going to die.
Right before the car mowed her over, a hailstorm of memories washed over her. She remembered her mom and dad constantly arguing when she was a child. She remembered becoming a chef and opening her own bakery called Sweet Delights. Unfortunately, she also remembered the heartbreak she felt when she learned her employees thought she was a hard ass.
As she screamed, unsure of whether her cries were because of the approaching doom or her painful memories, she felt the impact, though not from the direction that she was expecting. She was lifted off of her feet and thrown to the left. Though she prepared herself for a collision, two warm arms wrapped around her, keeping her from being injured as she toppled to the ground. Finally, she finally opened her eyes again.
She saw only gray.
It took her a confused moment to realize that she was peering straight into a pair of eyes. Gorgeous gray eyes, in fact. She sucked in air and realized that she'd just been rescued by a dazzling man. She studied his face and saw auburn waves falling over a wide forehead. Dark day-old growth dusted a strong jaw. Lips were thin but utterly kissable. The man looked so divine she wondered whether she'd died after all.
"Are you an angel?" she groaned.
"No." The gray-eyed man chuckled.
The chuckle was what woke her up. After all, Emmy wasn't the sort of woman who people normally chuckled at. She blinked away her surprise and slowly sat up, shocked that the only thing that hurt was her knee.
Now that she'd recovered enough from the shocking encounter to think clearly, she looked at the BMW that had almost mowed her over. She could see a man sitting in the driver's seat. Anger surged through her. That driver could have killed her, and he was going to get a piece of her mind because of it. After all, Emmy was many things, but timid was not one of them.
She lurched to her feet, ready to use the word asshole and all of its creative synonyms, when the BMW's driver looked at her—and then stepped on the gas.
The coward.
No, coward was too weak of a word to describe the driver. He was a son of a bitch.
One second she was standing there watching the BMW sail away, the next, she was seizing her shoe and pulling it from her foot. With a wail of rage, she threw her shoe at the car. Naturally, it missed the BMW by a mile and bounced in the middle of the intersection. Damn. Now she'd lost a perfectly good stiletto on top of everything else. What a day.
As she stared after the BMW, wishing she had telekinesis so she could hurl his car into cyberspace, her hero placed his hand on her shoulder. She stiffened. Oh God, she must look like a total lunatic. It was just that she was having the most awful day and…and…Oh, who was she kidding? She would have thrown the shoe if she was having the best day ever. Her temper was so bad that she was lucky she hadn't been arrested for shoving somebody down a flight of stairs.
Still, she wanted to apologize for her less-than-attractive display.
"I'm sorry you had to see that." She winced, scratching the back of her head.
"Don't apologize," he said. "I think it's a damn shame your shoe didn't dent his car."
Okay, she liked this guy. Funny how his violent streak was even more appealing to her than the fact that he'd just kept her from meeting Saint Peter at the young age of twenty-eight.
"I wish it would have dented more than his car." She wished it would have dented his skull.
The man looked like he wanted to smile but didn't. His gaze—oh boy, his eyes were gorgeous—dropped down to her knee.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, besides the burning rage." She cracked her knuckles.
"Are you sure?" He still stared down at her knee.
Frowning, she followed his gaze. Sure enough, blood was oozing from her right kneecap. Oh goody. Now she wasn't just an angry psycho. Now she was a bleeding, angry psycho. She'd been too mad at Mr. BMW to pay much attention to the state of her leg, but now that she saw the injury, it hurt like a bitch. No, scratch that, it hurt like ten bitches. She winced.
"I could be better," she admitted. "At least I only hurt my knee. If it wasn't for you, my brain would be oozing out of my skull."
He winced at her imagery. "I'm just glad I was able to help you."
"Well, thanks." She paused and looked around. "Where did you come from, anyway? I was on the crosswalk alone when the BMW headed toward me."
The guy's smile lessened by several molars. She had the feeling she'd said the wrong thing, but for the life of her, she wasn't sure what she'd said that was so bad.
A BMW barreled right toward Emmy Ellison. Bright headlights blinded her and the scream of the car’s horn echoed in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, throwing her hands in front of her face to protect herself. In that moment, she was certain that she was going to die.
Right before the car mowed her over, a hailstorm of memories washed over her. She remembered her mom and dad constantly arguing when she was a child. She remembered becoming a chef and opening her own bakery called Sweet Delights. Unfortunately, she also remembered the heartbreak she felt when she learned her employees thought she was a hard ass.
As she screamed, unsure of whether her cries were because of the approaching doom or her painful memories, she felt the impact, though not from the direction that she was expecting. She was lifted off of her feet and thrown to the left. Though she prepared herself for a collision, two warm arms wrapped around her, keeping her from being injured as she toppled to the ground. Finally, she finally opened her eyes again.
She saw only gray.
It took her a confused moment to realize that she was peering straight into a pair of eyes. Gorgeous gray eyes, in fact. She sucked in air and realized that she'd just been rescued by a dazzling man. She studied his face and saw auburn waves falling over a wide forehead. Dark day-old growth dusted a strong jaw. Lips were thin but utterly kissable. The man looked so divine she wondered whether she'd died after all.
"Are you an angel?" she groaned.
"No." The gray-eyed man chuckled.
The chuckle was what woke her up. After all, Emmy wasn't the sort of woman who people normally chuckled at. She blinked away her surprise and slowly sat up, shocked that the only thing that hurt was her knee.
Now that she'd recovered enough from the shocking encounter to think clearly, she looked at the BMW that had almost mowed her over. She could see a man sitting in the driver's seat. Anger surged through her. That driver could have killed her, and he was going to get a piece of her mind because of it. After all, Emmy was many things, but timid was not one of them.
She lurched to her feet, ready to use the word asshole and all of its creative synonyms, when the BMW's driver looked at her—and then stepped on the gas.
The coward.
No, coward was too weak of a word to describe the driver. He was a son of a bitch.
One second she was standing there watching the BMW sail away, the next, she was seizing her shoe and pulling it from her foot. With a wail of rage, she threw her shoe at the car. Naturally, it missed the BMW by a mile and bounced in the middle of the intersection. Damn. Now she'd lost a perfectly good stiletto on top of everything else. What a day.
As she stared after the BMW, wishing she had telekinesis so she could hurl his car into cyberspace, her hero placed his hand on her shoulder. She stiffened. Oh God, she must look like a total lunatic. It was just that she was having the most awful day and…and…Oh, who was she kidding? She would have thrown the shoe if she was having the best day ever. Her temper was so bad that she was lucky she hadn't been arrested for shoving somebody down a flight of stairs.
Still, she wanted to apologize for her less-than-attractive display.
"I'm sorry you had to see that." She winced, scratching the back of her head.
"Don't apologize," he said. "I think it's a damn shame your shoe didn't dent his car."
Okay, she liked this guy. Funny how his violent streak was even more appealing to her than the fact that he'd just kept her from meeting Saint Peter at the young age of twenty-eight.
"I wish it would have dented more than his car." She wished it would have dented his skull.
The man looked like he wanted to smile but didn't. His gaze—oh boy, his eyes were gorgeous—dropped down to her knee.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, besides the burning rage." She cracked her knuckles.
"Are you sure?" He still stared down at her knee.
Frowning, she followed his gaze. Sure enough, blood was oozing from her right kneecap. Oh goody. Now she wasn't just an angry psycho. Now she was a bleeding, angry psycho. She'd been too mad at Mr. BMW to pay much attention to the state of her leg, but now that she saw the injury, it hurt like a bitch. No, scratch that, it hurt like ten bitches. She winced.
"I could be better," she admitted. "At least I only hurt my knee. If it wasn't for you, my brain would be oozing out of my skull."
He winced at her imagery. "I'm just glad I was able to help you."
"Well, thanks." She paused and looked around. "Where did you come from, anyway? I was on the crosswalk alone when the BMW headed toward me."
The guy's smile lessened by several molars. She had the feeling she'd said the wrong thing, but for the life of her, she wasn't sure what she'd said that was so bad.