She gave a slight shake of her head. "Your real name."
He hadn't heard his real name since he turned twenty-five years old and had six women on their knees, lined up in front of him, willing to suck his dick, and chanting 'Oh, God'. It seemed fitting to have them all call him Priest.
The name had stuck. Most of the Tarkio members only knew him by his road name.
"Michael Hiatt." He drained the last of his coffee.
"Michael," she whispered, looking him straight in the eye. "Does anyone call you that name?"
He shook his head.
"Michael," she murmured. Her eyebrows lifted before settling. "I'll call you that when we're alone."
It was his turn to cock his brow. She assumed there would be another time when she found herself with him, away from the clubhouse. Her ease at adapting fascinated him. Though it was foolish to trust anyone when she was vulnerable.
If she were smart, she'd demand to know why he brought her to his house. She'd walk out the door and escape.
And, he'd stop her.
She leaned forward and put her empty mug on the coffee table, then curled up in the corner of the couch, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders and tucking in her feet. Gazing at him, she put her head on the arm of the sofa.
He couldn't understand a woman like her who made herself at home after what she'd gone through today. As if someone getting murdered in her motel room, someone she could've known, someone he suspected had ties to the casino, meant nothing to her.
"I want to see you when you sleep." She popped her hand out from underneath the blanket. "I want to see if all this." She circled her finger in front of her face. "Ever softens."
Jesus fucking Christ. As if she'd stripped him naked, she studied him.
He crossed the room, picked up her mug, and carried it into the kitchen to get away from her seductive eyes.
She was like no woman he'd ever met.
They'd exchanged a few words the other night, and she acted like he had her over for a cup of coffee and to catch up on old times.
He inhaled deeply, going into the living room.
Scooping her off the couch, he set her on her feet and marched her down the hallway. He opened one of the guest rooms and motioned for her to go inside. He shut the door as soon as she cleared the threshold, reached above the doorframe for the key and locked her inside.
The fact that she hadn't immediately beat her fists on the door and screamed to be let out irritated him. He wanted tears, rage, and fear.