Page 67 of Four Seconds to Lose

“Have you been investigating me?” he asks playfully.

“Maybe,” I admit, hoping he doesn’t notice my ears reddening. “On my own, though. No hired help.” A sheepish look flashes over his features, and I have to giggle. “I have a thing for body language and facial expressions. I used to do a lot of theater, and people-watching is a good way to learn how to play different roles.”

“Drama... hmm.” Cutting into his steak, he casually asks, “What else do I do?”

“Not much, to be honest. You’re pretty guarded.” Stabbing the air with my fork, I gesture toward his neck. “You rub your neck over that tattoo when you’re anxious.”

Cain nods. After a moment, “What else?”

“You clear your voice when you’re uncomfortable.”

“What else?”

“You ball your fists when you’re really mad. I saw you do it that day at my old apartment.” And last night, with Bob. “Sometimes I see you do it when Ben’s around.”

That earns a loud burst of laughter. “I know I do that. It’s an old habit from my fighting days.”

A little bread crumb, a little trace of info into the history of Cain. I greedily latch on. “Fighting... like boxing?”

He gives an almost imperceptible shake. “Fighting like the kind that you don’t ever talk about. The kind that makes you a lot of money.”

My eyes roam his face, as perfect as it is, and settle on the small scar above his left brow. And I wonder what kind of damage has been done to that beautiful body of his. “Were you ever badly hurt?”

“A few broken ribs, bruised knuckles, some cuts. That’s all. So... no.”

I glance down at his hands, which iced my cheek just twenty-four hours ago. Now I wonder what kind of damage they’ve also done. “Did you ever hurt anyone badly?”

Dark eyes lock on me as he admits, “Yes, I have, Charlie. Very badly. One of them never got up.”

I’m not sure what reaction he’s expecting from me, but that won’t make me shy away. “Is that where you made this money you’re talking about?”

“Who’s being direct now?” By his tone, he doesn’t seem annoyed. “Yes. I made most of my money fighting.”

I clear my throat, deciding to steer the conversation in another direction. “How do you know Larissa?” Even her name makes my chest burn with jealousy. A startled look flashes across his face and I shrug. “You said you don’t do small talk.”

“I got to know Larissa during her last business trip to Miami and had no plans to connect with her again. Ever.” He curls his lip in that playful way as he pushes my plate slightly, a reminder that I need to keep eating. “You saved me.”

“I hardly think you were in danger with her.”

His left brows arches drastically. “No, trust me. I was. That one is...” He shakes his head. When he catches me watching him—all kinds of awful lewd images flying through my thoughts, trying as I can to keep a straight face—his forehead furrows deeply. I think I see a hint of blush under that stubble but I can’t be sure. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I pause and then dare add in a mock-sultry voice, “Mr. Investment Banker.”

Cain’s face brightens with a chuckle. “Women don’t typically understand my choice in profession, so I’m not open about it.”

He said women. Plural. Dammit. I was hoping she was it. “No, I suppose they wouldn’t.” I didn’t understand his choice of profession, either. I still don’t. He’s so much different from any other club owner—and anyone else I’ve ever met. He almost doesn’t seem real.

A morose look flashes across his face. “None of them know much about me at all. But that doesn’t seem to bother them.”

I feel a twinge of sadness in my heart. Plenty of women are loved and paid attention to only for their enticing exterior. But what about men like Cain? I’m no better than Larissa. I have used him in the same regard, while on the stage. That face, that body; they are distracting enough to not see the man that may lie beneath.

Ironically, I’m beginning to think that what is beneath that outer surface may be even more beautiful.

“Maybe you’re dating the wrong type of woman,” I say softly, my eyes holding his gaze.

“I don’t date, Charlie. I’ve never done this. I told you that, yesterday.”

“You also don’t watch your dancers strip, right?”

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