Page 10 of Ditching the Dragon (Fated Dates)

He presents it to me so Violet can take a photo.

Wickham L. Barrett.An address I don’t recognize. It’s definitely outside the city, though.

“Satisfied?” he asks.

They nod at each other, and she gives me a look that conveys the universal,you good?

“Wickham was just finding a hotel for us,” I say by way of reply.

“My house is more comfortable,” he interjects.

“I’m not leaving the city.”

“She’s right,” Violet says. “It’d be a challenge to get a ride back, especially in the middle of the night.”

He grimaces and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Whatever makes you most comfortable.”

Violet squeezes me into a hug and whispers in my ear, “Two orgasms, Grace.”

Before I can second guess my decision, I let him wrap his coat around my shoulders and take my hand.

Hmmm, suspenders.And perfectly tailored pants. And a white button-down.

Red flags miraculously become green ones.

The big bear of a man leads me down the street to a partially vacant garage. The attendant lifts the gate so we can walk into the first floor without having to dodge the blockade.

“Evening, Mr. Barrett,” the attendant says. Wickham grips my hand firmly and maneuvers me behind him.

“Michael. Anything of note?” he asks.

“No, sir.”

“Good.” Wickham holds his palm out and passes Michael a folded square of bills.

Michael doesn’t acknowledge me, and I can’t decide if that’s good or bad. Either Wick takes home enough women that I don’t merit a name, or he doesn’t want me talking to Michael.

Why wouldn’t he want me talking to the attendant?

A car beeps, and the lights flash about fifty feet away. My one night stand leads me to a sleek, muted silver car with four doors.A black horse on a yellow shield is set into the hood and adorns the side, but otherwise, I have no idea what kind of car it is.

Carseems to undersell it. It’s like calling a diamond ring a bauble. The sleek curves and aerodynamics make it feel like a roadster crossed with a smaller SUV.

It emphasizes how little I know about this man. He could’ve given a fake name in the app and had the ID ready to go. Hell, that might not even be his regular phone. It would explain why he was so free to hand them over.

With his fingers woven with mine, Wick swings me around and presses my back against the vehicle. He plants his palm on its roof, over my shoulder, and peers down at me.

“Don’t be nervous,” he insists.

“I’m not nervous.”

“No? You haven’t said two words since leaving your friend. What was her name? Violet? Do you want to call her?”

“It’s fine.”

A growl rumbles from his chest and, despite all good judgment, it piques the excitement simmering in my chest.

“Really, it is,” I reassure him. “I’ve realized I don’t know you. I don’t even know what kind of car this is or where you’re taking me.”

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