“It won’t happen.” Alex’s mouth turned down at the corners as he shook his head.

“You have so little faith in your ability, bro’?”

“Not that, asshole. When it happens, I won’t share the details. Every touch or thought about her, will be mine alone. But, I won’t fall in love.”

“We’ll see.”

“I should kick the shit out of you for doing this to me.”

“No, you should thank me. But a steak dinner and a few beers will do.”

* * *

Angel’s mind was still reeling when she walked into the radio station two hours later.

Damn Darian to hell!

She didn’t know what she was thinking or feeling about the gorgeous man she’d met earlier, but she was sure of one thing: his confidence had a presence of its own. Was she pissed, excited, shaken, or stunned?

Good. Fucking. Question.

One thing was for sure, Alexander Avery wasn’t like anyone she’d met before, and it wasn’t because he was so dangerously good looking. It wasn’t because that face had haunted her, had become the fodder of every one of her fantasies, and pushed a bigger wedge between her and Kenneth. He was brilliant, successful, funny and probably a plethora of other things that would scare the shit out of her if she took the time to explore it.

If I’m stupid enough to get sucked in, she told herself. He’s the type to leave them crying in the aisles, begging, while he walks away without a backward glance. Whitney was evidence of his reality, and Angel’s mental constitution and resolve were only intensified by her obvious attraction.

She sighed and threw her purse under the desk as Christina bounded through the door in her usual youthful exuberance.

“Hey! You’re here early!” she said, setting a full file folder in front of Angel. “Here are the real juicy emails from this week. I went through ‘em and the top five are here. It seems like we’ve been so busy lately with live calls, you may not get to them all. These four hours blow by!” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her khaki shorts.

Angel, having gone home and changed out of her business suit, was dressed in old jeans and a Habitat for Humanity T-shirt that she’d gotten the previous summer. She and Kenneth had taken a week off to help build a home for a woman with seven children whose house had burned to the ground in an electrical fire.

She wound both hands through her long chestnut hair and looked around the desk, letting out her breath in a rush. “Yeah, okay,” she said quietly, clearly preoccupied and unfocused.

Christina frowned at Angel’s uncharacteristic behavior. It was routine to go over the emails before the show went live, but clearly the other woman’s head wasn’t in the game. “Angel, do you need anything? Do you still want to go over these emails?”

“Can you give me a minute or two to get organized, Chris? It’s been a really long day, and I’m a little scattered right now. I’m going to get some water, and then I should be good to go.” Angel looked up at the young woman briefly and then flipped open the folder before letting the flap fall closed again.

“Will we be blessed with Darian’s presence tonight? He hasn’t called, so I’m not sure if he’ll show. Have you heard from him?”

Angel rolled her eyes in disgust, huffing. “He won’t, if he knows what’s good for him!”

Christina’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened at Angel’s shortness and tone. “What? Why?”

“I’ve had enough of him tonight, that’s all.”

“Ah…” Christina began but it was clear she was filled with trepidation at asking the questions she wanted the answers to. “O… kay.” It was obvious to Christina that if she wanted more, she’d have to push.

“Thanks,” Angel answered.

The other woman’s brows shot up and she pursed her lips as she turned to leave the booth and take her place on the other side of the glass. Angel sat down and leaned back in the chair.

Christina continued talking but Angel wasn’t listening. She nodded in response to something about Glenn, the scruffy jock who just ended his shift, and then moved out of the booth to get a bottle of water from the refrigerator in the small break room at the opposite end of the building.

What the fuck is my problem? she asked herself with a slight shake of her head, glancing at her watch. Only ten minutes until she had to be on air.

Alex Avery. The name bounced around in her brain along with images of the crooked grin and mischievous look in his deep green eyes as they sparred with each other at the bar. The contrast against his almost black hair was striking. And that fucking voice, even more mesmerizing in person than it was on the phone.

“I should have known that bastard would be freaking perfect,” she mumbled as she made her way back into the booth again. Was it too much to ask that he’d be bald or fat with pockmarks covering his face? Did he have to be the dream guy? He was even more killer in a suit.

Despite Alex Avery’s charisma or his incredible looks, Angel was more affected by how her body involuntarily responded, her heart racing and her skin flushing with heat. She sighed in disgust as she sat down at the desk once more. She prided herself on her self-control, in both her personal and professional lives. She sure as hell didn’t fall into a quivering pile of goo at mere words or sight of a man. Ever. So the events of the evening were leaving her somewhat shaken.

She flushed as she remembered the electricity that raced through her as his heated gaze raked her body or how he never took his eyes off her as she sang that stupid song. When he touched her while helping with her blazer, the tangible connection was impossible to ignore. It was all she could do to keep her voice under control. She felt vulnerable and unsettled.

And, his body! Her imagination ran wild with pleasurable possibilities. The broad shoulders that tapered to the slim waist and narrow hips and those goddamned sinewy forearms were enough to make her mouth water, even without that glorious mane of hair that begged for her fingers to rake through. He was tall and rock hard. Rock fucking hard. Rock hard fucking, her brain protested. She huffed and pulled the file toward her and took out the top sheet of paper, trying to get her mind on anything other than Alexander Avery. At least she could understand the poor girl’s plight that had called in two weeks ago. No woman with hormones stood a snowball’s chance in hell against all that blatant masculinity and polished confidence. It was no wonder.

Even as Angel tried to maintain her bravado and banter back and forth with him, there was a palpable undercurrent she couldn’t deny and it was obvious Alex felt it as well. He hadn’t tried to hide it, but she’d be damned if she’d allow him to reduce her to another notch on his very long list of conquests. No, she admonished herself; she would remain in control if it was the last damn thing she did. “Why do all the beautiful ones have to be pricks?” she said, still mumbling to herself, sorry now that her fantasy might be dashed. At least before, she could build him up as perfect and not some slick womanizer. She should be glad this happened. She hadn’t thought about that bastard Swanson’s court case since last week when Alex called into the program. She sighed. On the other hand, she wasn’t sure one bad boy was easier to deal with than the other. Just different.

“What?” Christina had returned and overheard Angel’s quiet musings.

“Oh, nothing. Darian lambasted me tonight, most likely thinking I’d go all wet and weak like his stereotype of the typical woman.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind my asking?”

“Yeah… that guy. The voice. Remember?”

Christina sat down slowly on the other side of the desk as her eyes widened. “Oh, shit. It was like warm honey. I wanted to take a bath in it; he sounded so damn good.”

“That’s the one.” Angel nodded. “I was out for my best friend’s birthday and Darian, that bastard, showed up on some bullshit pretense of talking to me about the show, with this guy in tow.”

“Holy crap. He’s not Alex Avery?  Darian’s friend?” The younger girl’s face lit up in obvious interest when Angel flashed her a look. “What’s he like? Does the voice match? I mean, is he as beautiful as his voice?” She leaned on her fisted hand toward Angel over the desk and the series of questions tumbled from her eager lips. “Um… maybe I don’t want to know? It will ruin a fantastic fantasy if he’s a schlep.”

“Ugh. Not you, too,” Angel lamented.

When Christina didn’t respond but only stared at Angel with rapt interest, she pushed her hair off her face and kept talking. “Oh, you know… able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.” Angel smiled and was rewarded with a small chuckle from her companion. “Hell yes, it all fits. Unfortunately. He’s…” she shook her head, “gorgeous, confident, and extremely intelligent, sexy as hell… man candy personified. Just the type of guy that can fuck up a woman’s life in a gargantuan way and make her think he’s Santa Claus in the process. He’s a taker, and from what I can gather, he thinks he can have anything he wants, whenever he wants it. I’m sure he leaves a trail of women crying in his wake.”

“You obviously talked to him then.”

“Chris, I deal with relationship bullshit every day. We talked a little, but nothing that meant anything. My observations are simply that. Nothing more.”

“Did he move you in any way?” Christina and Angel weren’t friends, per se, but she’d gotten to understand Angel’s controlled demeanor. She’d expect Angel to kick the shit out of any man whose attentions she didn’t want, and she knew she could do it, hypothetically speaking. Angel was the female version of the man she’d just described, and Christina had seen the way Darian drooled over her when she wasn’t looking… however, Angel was completely indifferent.