Page 35 of When Hearts Awaken

The men take another look at me, this time keeping their eyes on my face, then walk into the building.

“I didn’t need you to rescue me,” I mutter as Charles sidles up next to me. His cologne of cedarwood and bergamot wafts to my nose and I take a discreet step to the side.

He’s too tall, too large, too close to me.

His eyes flicker down at my feet, obviously noticing my movement. He arches his brow, but thankfully doesn’t comment further.

“But Idoneed to rescue my tour. They are fronting the expenses for the first two stops and I don’t need you to fuck it up before we kick it off.”

I snort and cross my arms. “Of course, that’s what you were doing. God forbid you were actually putting the pigs in place.”

He leans down, and I fight every urge to step back a few more paces. He already noticed I moved away from him and damn if I’d let him see me scurry away again. From this distance, I see pale gold flecks in his startling glacial eyes—arresting, beautiful, completely wasted on a man like him.

Charles murmurs, “I didn’t want you to think I did that for you.”

I scoff. “Please, I wouldneverthink that. You don’t have a good bone in your body.”

He snickers. “On what basis, since you know me so well?”

“On the basis that every inch of you is fake as shit. I don’t know why no one sees that.”

That damn sardonic arch of brow makes another reappearance. “Oh?” His voice drops to a ghostly whisper, and I shiver. “I can rest assure you, plenty of my inches are very real.”

I swallow as my eyes automatically dart to the bulge behind the fly of his pants.

“My eyes are up here, minx.”

Flames erupt on my face, and I scowl at him. But whatever I want to say fades away when I take in those startling eyes once more. They are darkening, mirroring the deep navy chasing away the afternoon glow in the skies.

My breath freezes in my throat as my gaze trails to his full mouth and the shadow of his carefully groomed scruff. An insane thought runs through my head.

How would his scruff feel against my skin?

Charles unleashes a smile lighting up his entire face, his eyes trailing down to my lips, which I belatedly notice are parted. I quickly shut them, cross my arms over my chest again, and lift my chin. I’ve gone nuts, probably from the heat. Maybe it’s not a good idea to wear black on a hot summer day.

“You know, it’s a sign of low EQ to erupt at people whenever they say something you don’t want to hear,” he says.

His body heat radiates from his tall frame, and my skin is hot to the touch. But I nevertheless remain rooted in place. In this game of chicken, I won’t be the one to lose.

“I hate to break it to you, Charles. It’s a sign of lowIQto hang out with the scum of mankind.”

Tossing my hair over my shoulders, I smile inwardly when some of the black strands whip him across his face. I pat my hand on his suit jacket and say, “But I don’t expect you to understand that. Not all of us are born with honor. You know, it isn’t good to bottle everything up inside you, right? Can’t be healthy.”

I spin around, intending to leave him in the dust, but suddenly, his hand grips mine. My pulse leaps in my ears as he touches me and I swallow a gasp.

“Let go of me,” I command, but he doesn’t budge.

“Be careful, little girl. It isn’t wise to poke the bear.” His words carry a steely edge, the same thread of danger I saw when I first met him, the same dominance in his voice when he was at The Sanctuary. But this time, beside the anger simmering beneath the surface, there’s something else in his voice—a spiciness feeling more like a sultry caress disguised as a warning.

He looks like he wouldn’t mind using the whip he held that night on me.

Goosebumps prickle my arms and I try tugging my hand away, but he grips it tighter—not to the point of pain, but enough to show who he believes has the upper hand in our dynamic.

I don’t think so, asshole.

Baring my teeth, I pivot, raise my foot, and stomp the heel of my boot on his fancy leather shoe, watching in satisfaction when he winces in pain. His eyes flare, but he quickly drops my hand.

“I told you to let go. I don’t give warnings twice. Maybe you should take your own advice.” I walk down to him and stab his chest with my finger—his damn muscular chest—for emphasis. “Don’t. Poke. The. Bear.”

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