Page 12 of Quinlan

I’m tormented over this.

The man gets off on my inner war. His sapphire blue eyes twinkle.

Then, ever-so-slowly, his smirk transforms into a soft smile.

A fake one.

He’s trying to prove that he’s harmless. Trying to make me fall for it.

Why?

The empty street is the perfect setup for him to do whatever he wants with me. My self-defense classes would be worthless against a man his size.

In two seconds flat, he could drag me into the nearest alley, rape and kill me. He’d put his large hand over my mouth, silence my screams. I could kick him in the balls all I want, nothing would work.

So why does he care about disarming me when he’s just standing there?

At my frown, his sexy smirk returns.

Sexy? It was wicked a second ago. It was, but his fingers are back on my cheek. His thumb lights the nerve endings on my skin with every possessive stroke.

“And I should know.” His voice sounds velvety and deep.

“Know what?” I whisper-growl, pissed mostly at myself.

Rex would have a field day if he ever found out about this. That I’m leaning in to a stranger’s touch. Standing here, still as a statue, instead of hightailing it home.

“What a punishable offense is.” The man slides his hand lower. His fingers are at my chin, tipping my face up. Silencing me with one commanding gesture. “Since I’m a lawyer. It’s my job to know that.”

A short, incredulous laugh bursts out of me.

Of course, lawyers can do terrible, terrible things. They’re human just like the rest of us. But would anyone announce he’s a lawyer before he’s going to rape and murder a woman? Sounds ridiculous.

I laugh harder.

“What?” The question isn’t an indignant one. His eyes glint. He’s as amused as I am. “What’s so funny?”

“You won’t kill me,” I blurt out, then clasp a hand over my mouth.

His smirk widens. “No, darling, I won’t.”

He didn’t sayI won’t do any other things. Didn’t ask why I thought the worst of him.

He’s just amused, that’s all. And harmless.

As panty melting as this man is, I can’t stay here and chat.

In a few weeks—depending on how demanding the BLF gig turns out to be—I might meet him again. I’d smile and ask him what he was doing out here, if he lives anywhere nearby.

Hopefully, he’d call me darling again. Since he’s not a murderer, I think I might like it.

“Okay, then, since murdering me is off the table.” Reluctantly, I pull away from him. “I’ll get going. Bye.”

Neither of us moves.

“I have work to do,” I remind myself. Out loud.

“What do you do for a living?” The question is quiet, meant only for me.

---