Page 22 of Fiery Romance

“I must say, Miss Hayes, you’re quite the actress. I genuinely believed you had a weapon on you the last time we spoke.” Bolton steps closer.

His hair is cropped short, leaving all the hard planes of his face on display. A jaw muscle ticks. Is he embarrassed that he thought I was strapped last time?

A corner of my mouth hitches up in a show of false bravado. I’d rather he think I’m not scared. Who cares if my hands are shaking and my heart is racing?

Never let them see you sweat.

“What makes you think I don’t have a weapon now?” I challenge.

“Do you?” He stops right behind me. I can smell the apple on his breath. I can feel the electricity in the air between us.

My legs go weak despite my annoyance. “Do I what?”

His voice drops to something barely audible. My heart trips over itself. I can feel him hunkering over me. No part of his body is touching mine and yet I’m caged against the counter, pinned down by his bulk and his warmth and his lashing, dangerous charisma.

“Have a gun?” His breath brushes the back of my neck.

I dig my fingers into the counter, nails skating against glass, refusing to look at him, refusing to let him see how oddly sensual this moment is.

He broke in.

I’m pissed.

He should be in jail or bleeding out on the floor and I should be handcuffed for his murder.

He’s a brute and a monster and a threat.

So why does it feel like we’re… flirting?

“If I did, I would have pumped your chest full of bullets by now,” I whisper.

He laughs.

Freaking.

Laughs.

As if there’s anything funny about this.

“I know you have no experience with guns at all, yet I actually believe you. Impressive.”

“You’re insane.” I whirl around so I can pin him with my finest ‘go to hell’ stare.

“Perhaps.” He sets the apple on the counter and his arm brushes my side when he pulls back, sending flares of heat shooting over me.

I frown. “Why are you here?”

“I need something from you.”

“And you couldn’t call and ask for it like a normal person?”

“I didn’t think you would receive my call.”

He’s right about that. “Even so, you shouldn’t break into people’s salons like this.”

“Miss Hayes, it seems you’ve forgotten.” He leans down. Close. Closer than he has a right to be. He smells like summer, crisp sunshine and leather. “This salon is under the bank’s ownership. Not yours.”

“I don’t give a damn what youthinkI’ve forgotten. This is still my shop.”

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