Page 9 of Iron Heart
“Darlin’, half the other crap in that paper’s probably bullshit anyway. At least this story will make some people laugh.” He shrugs. “Go on. Brighten up ol’ Millie and Eddie’s day. What’s it gonna cost you?”
“My journalistic integrity,” I mutter.
“This ain’t theDaily Planet, Lois Lane,” he murmurs.
The stranger’s words touch a raw nerve inside me. A sensitive place that he can’t possibly know about, of course. But it hurts all the same.
No, thePost-Gazetteis not the fictional newspaper in Superman. And I’m sure as hell not Lois Lane. The dark stranger’s meaning is clear: I’m not arealjournalist. Just some two-bit hack, writing a silly article that practically no one will read, in a paper that gets subscribed to more for its coupon section than anything else.
“Thanks for reminding me of that,” I say acidly.
He blinks, then cocks his head at me. I see a flash of something in his eyes — something close to an emotion I recognize all too well.
Pity.
Oh, no.No. Unacceptable.
The stranger opens his mouth to say something, but I beat him to it before he can apologize or something mortifying like that.
“Okay, since you’re such a believer,” I toss back. “Give me a quote for the paper.”
“What?” he frowns.
“Go on,” I repeat, pulling out my note pad. I make a show of poising my pen above the paper. “Give me your name and age, and tell me what you think of this modern-day miracle that’s appeared practically in your own backyard.”
“I’m not gonna give you a quote,” he mutters, shaking his head.
But now that I’m on the offensive, I’m not going to let him off that easily.
“You said yourself it’ll brighten people’s day.” I take a step closer, feeling a surge of vindication. “Come on. Brighten someone’s day.”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
His expression, which had been tinged with amusement at me, grows hard, closing off right in front of me. “Let’s just say, being in the paper has never been an ambition of mine.” He pauses. “And I don’t believe in miracles.”
He turns on his booted heel, and before I can say another word to him, he’s taken off across the open lot toward the house he came from.
I watch him, my mouth still half-open with an unuttered retort. I notice his broad back, and the way the gray Henley shirt he’s wearing stretches across his shoulders. I register the flex of his thighs as his legs move. How rock-hard his ass looks, even through his jeans. How the way he moves reminds me of the way wild animals move. Like a lion, maybe. A predator, for sure.
Mesmerized, I don’t stop staring until he disappears inside.
Behind me, a screen door bangs open. “All-righty!” Mildred calls out in a singsong voice. “We’re ready!”
She’s applied some makeup around her eyes, making her look a little like a wrinkled raccoon, and put on some strong floral perfume as well. I have no idea why, since the perfume isn’t going to show up in the photos, but I’m not going to ask. Behind her, Eddie has changed into a shirt that looks almost identical to the one he had on before, minus the jelly stain.
“Jake.” I turn toward him. “I’ll leave this part to you.”
He looks up from his camera, blinking. “Got it. Okay, folks, let’s start over here.”
I go over by the side of the house and sit down on their back stoop to watch Jake shoot the photos for the spread. As I do, I find myself glancing repeatedly toward the house on the other side of the vacant lot.
The stranger appears again in my mind’s eye. The tattooed arms. The coal-black hair. Those mocking eyes, deep and impenetrable as a well.
I’m not normally a girl who’s moved by a pretty face. I learned early on in life that the better looking a man is, the more he can coast on those looks. And the less reason he has to be anything other than a general dick to anyone.
But the man who just walked away from me is handsome in a way I’ve never seen before. Whatever it is, it’s not only physical. There’s a cocksure confidence about him that doesn’t seem to come from the way he looks at all. Almost like he doesn’t know he’s good looking. Or rather, that he doesn’t give a shit.