Page 12 of Ink & Desire

Her annoyance at my mere presence immediately raises my hackles and I shift into defensive mode.

“If it isn’t the lying artist,” I say. “Tricked anyone into giving you a job since the last time I saw you?”

Her face heats with either embarrassment or anger. I can’t tell which, but it doesn’t matter. The result is the same. When those expressive eyes of hers narrow at me, it’s obvious. Definitely angry. Amusement wars with annoyance. For some reason, I like that I can get under her skin so easily. And that she doesn’t back down from me. I’m not used to that.

“Have you thrown anyone out of your shop lately?” she counters, crossing her arms over her chest.

The move pushes her breasts together and my eyes can’t help but stray lower to take in the sight.

“Not since before lunch,” I say, reaching for my drink as if dismissing her.

“You stole my table,” she says.

I make a show of looking around at the tabletop, even bending to peer under the table. Meeting her gaze again, I shrug.

“I don’t see your name on it, angel.”

Her jaw clenches in irritation. “I was walking over here. You stole it before I could sit down.”

She wobbles slightly on those ridiculous heels, and I feel myself waver the slightest bit. But then I remember the way she’d come into my shop under false pretenses. For all I know this is just a ploy to get me to give up my table for her and whoever she came here with tonight. That thought gives me pause. Who is she here with tonight? She’s alone right now, but that doesn't mean anything. I’m alone right now, and I came here with someone. I wonder if she’s here with a man. I wonder if that’s who she’s wearing that tiny red dress for. That thought sends a rush of anger through me, surprising me with its fierceness. Which is stupid. I don’t care who she’s here with. There’s no reason for me to care.

I shrug again. “Should have walked faster, I guess.”

She huffs out an irritated sigh. “You’re such a dick,” she mutters, turning on her heel to leave.

I feel a hint of satisfaction that I managed to best her. Hot on the heels of that is regret. I don’t want her to leave. I want her to stay and verbally spar with me some more. Which is ridiculous. She’s a liar. I hate liars. I should be happy to see her go, but I can admit to myself that I like the way she doesn’t back down from me.

“Running away, little angel? That’s right. You wouldn’t want to be seen with someone like me. What would your friends at the country club think?”

She whirls around to face me, her eyes flashing with anger, mouth open to give me what I’m certain is ablistering retort. But it never comes. Instead, her foot wobbles in her high heels and she puts a hand out to steady herself. Only there’s nothing there for her to grab onto. Her eyes widen in surprise and fear as she begins to fall.

My body reacts before I have a chance to think about it. I jump to my feet and catch her before she can faceplant onto the club floor. The move presses her body fully against mine. I can feel lithe curves pressed against me and my hand is splayed against the bare skin of her back. That soft floral perfume I remember from earlier today fills my nose and I breathe deeply, trying to hold onto the scent. Her head is just below my chin, even in those ridiculous heels that I know add at least 2 inches to her height. My arms are banded around her waist, and I can feel her hands against my chest, trapped between our two bodies. I wonder if she can feel how fast my heart is beating just under her palm. Realizing she can probably also feel my growing erection, I step back quickly. I keep my hands on her arms to make sure she’s steady on her feet before releasing her. My hands close into loose fists, already missing that brief contact with her bare skin.

She looks at me in confusion, the anger of moments before gone. “Thank you,” she says in a voice almost too low for me to hear over the club’s music.

I don’t like the vulnerability I see now when I look at her. I liked it better when she was angry at me. When I could think of her as just another bored rich girl who lies to get ahead.

“You shouldn’t wear heels if you can’t walk in them,” I say, my tone hard and bitter.

She glares at me, her gratitude shifting back to the anger from before. That’s better.

“I’ve been walking in heels since I was ten,” she bites off. “I think I can handle myself.”

“Clearly,” I scoff. “That’s why I just had to keep you from cracking your skull.”

She rolls her eyes. “You kept me from an embarrassing fall, but that’s all. And I already thanked you. The polite thing to do would be to say, ‘You’re welcome.’”

I give her a smirk that’s more condescending than friendly. “But you’re not welcome,” I say. “I have no desire to be your knight in shining armor. Find someone else to look after you.”

She steps closer, her eyes flashing with ire. “I don’t need to be looked after and I damned sure don’t need to be rescued. Especially not by someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” I repeat. “What does that mean?”

I move even closer to her, invading her space until she has no choice but to look up to meet my gaze. The move has her body nearly touching mine again, something I shouldn’t be fantasizing about, but I am. I’m pleased when she doesn’t cower back from my nearness. She stands her ground, which is hotter than it should be.

“Think you’re too good for me?”

“It means,” she bites off. “That you’re an asshole, and I wouldn’t ask you for anything if you were the last man alive.”

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