Page 22 of Fire

Exasperated, she threw him a look. He knew why. “You know why.”

He raised a brow. “Because I wouldn’t let you pay? Most women would love that.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Believe that.”

“Fine, then I’m not most women. I pay for my necessities. We go out on dates, you want to pay, that I won’t argue with.”

He mulled that over for a bit then dipped his chin which she took as consent.

Feeling on a roll, she also complained, “I also didn’t like the way you were so high-handed in getting your way. Instead of talking to me, you grabbed the cards from my hand like that was the end of the discussion.”

“Thatyou’ll have to get used to.”

She stopped unpacking groceries, giving him her full attention. “What?”

His shoulder pulled up in a casual shrug. “I like things my way, and I’ll do whatever is needed to achieve that.”

Placing her hands on her hips, she explained, “That’s not how relationships work.”

He uncrossed his arms and closed the distance between them. Grabbing her wrists, he moved them behind her back and pulled her flush against him. She had to tip her head back to keep him in sight.

He tilted his head down to hers. “I’m thirty-two.”

Okaaaay.

At her confused stare, he continued, “That means I’ve been this way for a long time.” His head dipped a little closer, and his voice grew gruff. “I’m also the type of man who likes to be in control of everything that surrounds me. If I don’t, things get fucked up.”

Owning a nightclub, she could see that. She was sure he had to have a finger on everything to make sure things didn’t, as he put it,get fucked up. But she wasn’t his club.

Needing to set a parameter, she reiterated, “Relationships don’t work like that, either.”

He transferred both her wrists into one hand, freeing his other which he used to trail up her arm and over her shoulder until it cradled her jaw. Putting pressure on the underside of her chin with his thumb, he tipped her head back farther, holding her captive with his thumb and his stare. “Told you, I’ve never been in a relationship. Never thought those strings that you’ve just pointed out were worth it. I hate being tied as much as I hate being out of control, but you seem to be doing both to me.”

“What are you saying?” She had a good idea but wanted to be crystal clear and not make any assumptions.

“I’m saying, for you, I’m willing to try. But we’re going to have to meet in the middle.”

She could do that. “I can do that.” She smiled, and like a switch turning on, she watched his eyes heat.

His thumb moved from under her chin, and he traced her smile. “Fuck me. Think I’m going to have to add pussy-whipped to my personal dictionary, and I haven’t even gotten into it yet.”

Her smile grew into a grin. “Let’s hope it’s worth it.”

“Sweetheart, your smile alone is worth it.”

“Someone must’ve had a good weekend.”

Gwen looked over her shoulder while depositing her lunch into the breakroom fridge. Sheila, wearing a kick-ass Armani pantsuit in a bright shade of watermelon, leaned against the counter, eyes on her.

Gwen knew she had a huge smile on her face. She could feel it, not only pulling at her lips but zinging through her whole body as well.

Closing the fridge, she turned to Sheila. “I had a great weekend. How was yours?” She made her way to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup, adding a healthy dose of powdered creamer before grabbing a wooden stir stick.

As manager, Sheila only had one full day off—Sunday—and two half days on Wednesday and Thursday.

“Bobby had a soccer game Sunday morning that we had to be up before the crack of dawn for—they lost, FYI. Yesterday, Mrs. Middleton came in to return the shoes she bought the other day, said they pinched her toes.”

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