Page 53 of Exposed

“Warning,” I say and lift my hand to wrap a finger around the end of a stray lock that has fallen from the mess on top of her head. “I’m never early.”

She frowns. “Is this my story or not?”

I can’t help my lips from tipping up. “My apologies. Continue.”

“Thank you.” Her manners don’t wane even when she’s frustrated. “You’re always early. The place was crowded because it’s Georgetown and because of the rain. I took the only available seat at the bar and it happened to be next to you. You were drinking a dirty martini.”

“I hate olives.”

She huffs an exasperated sigh. “Seriously, King. Is this my story or what?”

“Fine.” I grimace. “Olives are fucking great.”

“Are you going to keep interrupting me?”

“I’ll keep my mouth shut until you get to the part where I drop to one knee.”

“I was drenched. My hair was a mess. My makeup might’ve been running down my face, but I didn’t care. Because I was mesmerized by the icy blue eyes of the stranger sitting next to me.”

I fist my hand at my side itching to touch her.

“You offered to buy me a dirty martini, but I don’t like olives.”

I narrow my eyes.

She smirks.

“Instead,” she goes on making up a story that belongs on network TV and not in the world that the DEA and cartels play. “You bought me a glass of wine. You asked me about my business. You asked me what I liked to do in my free time. You asked about the small town I grew up in and if I wanted to live there for the rest of my life. Then.” She pauses, and places a hand flat on my chest over my pounding heart. “You made a phone call and canceled your potential client and bought me dinner instead.”

“Finally,” I interrupt her and smother her hand with mine so I don’t lose her touch. “Something I would definitely do if I met you in a bar.”

“We sat there for hours,” she goes on, her voice smooth and low, like storytelling is her life’s work. “I told you about my family, my hopes, my dreams, my fears. You, on the other hand, only told me about your work, which at the time was on the up and up. Then you told me you were moving to Panama the next week. I had only spent two hours with you, but that bit of information gutted me.”

“I’m sorry.” I press her hand to my chest tighter. I have no idea why I’m apologizing other than the fact her story is playing out like a sappy-ass movie in my head, and I feel like shit for letting her down.

Goldie shrugs. “I should have walked away. The rain had stopped by then. Staying wasn’t like me, but I did. I didn’t do anything that was normal for me that night.”

My heart speeds. She no doubt feels it.

“The hustle and bustle of the bar melted away around us. There was only you and me. Our connection was pure magic. Even though I had hours to drive home, we stayed until last call, not that we needed it. We’d quit drinking hours earlier. That night, I didn’t care about anything or anyone else but you, and in my heart, I prayed you felt the same way. Because, if you didn’t, I knew it would tear my heart in half. I let myself get lost in an older man with rugged good looks that made him more interesting than handsome, even though he was plenty of that.”

Fuck.

All my blood shoots straight to my cock. If this story doesn’t end the way I want it to, I’ll kick my own ass for letting her walk out of that bar and my life.

Fuck me—my fictional life.

“When the lights came on, it was like a big bucket of ice water on the best night of my life. Reality slapped us in the face, and my dream night with a stranger who I didn’t want to let go was about to end. I reverted back to the normal me—awkward, tongue-tied, and self-conscious. I’d never given a strange man in a bar any attention, let alone spilled my life story and shared my deepest secrets with. I didn’t recognize myself. The only thing I could think of was getting out of there so I could properly cry all the way home since my fairy tale night was about to come to an end.”

I swallow hard and do everything in my power not to wrap her up in my arms and kiss her.

And not to protect her from her brother or the cartel.

I want to do it for me.

And my dick wants a hell of a lot more than that.

“There’s something about the bright lights that casts a truth after being protected by the darkness, you know?” she asks, but doesn’t bother to wait for an answer. “It’s like you’re exposed for who you really are. You’ve lost that veiled filter that makes you feelfree. The moment those lights popped on, I knew it would disintegrate into thin air.”

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