Page 235 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

She takes a bite of salad and I watch her lips close around the fork. She’s not being overtly sexual, yet every move she makes is turning me on. Joe is right, I should go find one of my regular girls, but I don’t want them, I want her.

“You don’t want your salad?” she asks as she motions to my plate with her fork. I love that she loves food.

“What if I want a bite of yours?” I ask as I lean forward with my elbows on the table.

She rolls her eyes. “Does that usually work for you?” she asks.

I glare. “Does what work for me?”

She motions up and down. “This whole alpha-playboy thing?”

I chuckle. I can’t believe she called me out. Women never do that. They never challenge me, because they know who I am. But does she? If she does, she’s certainly playing with fire. Oh, Little Miss Lena, you are intriguing.

“How do you know that I’m a playboy?” I ask as I take my fork and steal a piece of tomato off her plate.

She raises a well-shaped eyebrow. “There’s this amazing thing called the Internet,” she states.

“So you searched me, huh?” I ask.

She nods. “You know, I never searched Vince. I guess I just made an assumption, and I liked our game of not prying into each other’s lives. But then…after last week, I admit, I was curious,” she starts.

“And?” I ask.

“And I’m not sure I should be here, Rocco. The smart part of my brain tells me you’re a dangerous playboy who will either break my heart or get me killed, and if I was a smarter woman or maybe a stronger one, I’d have turned away and never looked back,” she explains.

“And you think that doesn’t make you strong?” I ask, pleased that she’s found out who I am and still decided to come here.

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll see,” she muses as she finishes her salad.

“I guess we will,” I agree.

“Hans and Simon are back again too,” she says motioning toward my bodyguards, using the ridiculous names she made up for them last week.

“That they are,” I reply.

“I’m dumb for having not realized,” she mutters.

“Realized what?”

“That they’re your bodyguards. That the men I spoke to Vince about were his bodyguards. That I sat next to a cold-blooded killer for three years and never suspected a single thing,” she goes on.

“No, that doesn’t make you dumb, Lena. That makes you true. Your friendship with Vince was real,” I explain.

“Was it?” she asks sadly.

“It was,” I state, not wanting to admit that I want just one small ounce of that type of relationship. I want what Vince had, but I also want so much more with her. But I’m not sure I should take it.

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

“I’m thinking…that you’re like a beautiful flower growing in a field. I want to pluck you and take you home to enjoy for myself, but another part of me wants to leave you in that field to grow wild and free,” I state the truth because lying to her feels wrong. I’m not sure when I grew morals and values, but I suddenly feel like a monster about to pounce on my unknowing victim.

Five

LENA

“Wow, I didn’t know they taught such suave language at playboy school,” I tease as I swirl my wine.

He smirks. “Well, they do.” He pauses as he sips his wine. “You’re surprising, Lena Hawkins.”

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