Page 26 of Eat Your Heart Out

But he is really handsome—

He leans forward and I hold my breath. That chiseled jaw and perfect five o’clock shadow are just inches away, close enough to touch if I just lifted my hand. “That last part really freaked you out.”

Blinking back to reality, I look up into his eyes. “What? No. Of course not. I mean…” I sputter. “I don’t know your situation. You certainly don’t have to explain it to me, you know? I mean, who am I to even ask? You don’t even know me. We’re complete strangers—” I cut the words off abruptly and take a deep breath, followed by a sip of my cocktail. “And I’m rambling. I’m sorry.”

“Would it help if I told you it’s just temporary because my place is being built?”

I blow out a breath and already know I’m an asshole for saying this, but, “Yes. Does that make me an asshole?”

Dawson chuckles and I feel the sound deep in my belly. “Not at all. A woman should look for a man who can hold his own. And as far as being strangers…” His eyes flick back and forth between mine, dancing with amusement. “Let’s see…” He licks his lips and my gaze falls to his mouth. “I enjoy cooking. I haven’t read a book all the way through since high school. I have an old hound named Rupert McGee.” In response to my look of confusion, he adds, “My buddy’s little girl named him and it just sort of stuck.” He grins sheepishly and I swoon.

Just a little bit. I mean, I’m not falling at his feet.

Yet.

“And at night”—Dawson leans in closer and lowers his voice—“I like to howl at the moon and bite the heads off—”

“Chickens?” I guess.

Dawson frowns, which brings my attention to his mouth again and good grief! This feels a bit like a dangerous game because if I focus on his mouth too much longer, I’m likely to push up onto my tiptoes and press my lips to his.

“What? No.” He shakes his head. “What kind of weird shit are you into out here? I was going to say gummy bears.”

I laugh and meet his gaze, relaxing even further in his presence. “Nice.” Shaking my head, I take another sip of my martini. “And what brings you out to L.A., Dawson?”

“I’m visiting my cousin.”

“Where are you staying?”

He runs his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. His eyes darken and the spark of amusement disappears to make room for the promise of something sinful. “Why? You want me to show you my hotel room?”

Look. I know the appropriate answer is no.

I do.

He could be a serial killer. A skin coat clothier.

A deadly assassin.

So before I can talk myself out of it, I answer honestly instead. “Yes.”

Chapter Six

Dawson

I wait for the but to follow her admission, or even a bout of nervous laughter to play her boldness off as a joke, but she doesn’t say a word. The longer I hold her gaze, though, the more I can see her gears turning. She’s retreating before my eyes. “Hey,” I say, flexing the hand on her hip. “Why do you second-guess yourself?”

Her eyes sparkle and her lips twist into a slow smile. “Observant, too.”

“Too?” I ask.

“Yeah.” Her gaze flicks back and forth between my eyes and she adds, “In addition to handsome.”

I flash her a grin and revel in the flush of pink that blooms in her cheeks.

“I’ll be right back,” she says after a long moment. “I need to let my friend know I’m leaving.”

I shuffle sideways to allow her space to leave the bar, then motion to get the bartender’s attention.

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