Page 40 of All for her Forgiveness

The arrogant man turns to me slowly. I can't see his eyes now, but somehow, I think he's thinking the worst of me.

I feel an intense mix of anger and disappointment that he’s judging me, but what did I expect? He's a stranger. He doesn't know me, and combining what the idiot casino owners said about wanting more from me with Greytak Mills's false claim that we were "friends," I shouldn't have expected anything different.

"He's not my boyfriend," I say angrily, and as if an entity has taken over my body, I continue. "I usually choose men who are available. Prettier and richer too."

"Like me?" he asks, catching me by surprise, and I try to analyze whether he's being sarcastic, but then I realize he's not.

He just seems curious, and . . . I wouldn't know what else. I don't have enough experience for that.

I shake my head. Of course, I'm imagining things that aren’t there. A man like Hades Kostanidis would never be interested in me.

"Not like you, sir. Someone closer to my reality. I find it somewhat discouraging to live on a different planet from a boyfriend."

"Cheeky."

"No, I'm just telling the truth. We live in different worlds, sir."

"And yet, here we are at this moment, Kennedy. Together."

"For just a few more minutes, Hades Kostanidis. Soon, you won't even remember my name."

Hades

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Past

All I can think isthat this is some kind of joke from fate.

My three encounters with Kennedy have made it impossible to ignore her, which for any man, after what she just said—that she wasn't interested in the manager because "I usually choose men who are available—prettier and richer too"—would be the most prudent thing to do.

So why the hell don't I just open my notebook and fulfill my mission as a good Samaritan by taking her home, in silence, while I look for some work to do?

Because I'm not a good Samaritan in the first place.

I could have asked a driver to drop her off at a taxi stand and if she didn't have money—which she doesn’t, judging by the simple clothes she's wearing—pay for the ride to make sure she got home safely.

However, all I can do is stare at her beautiful face.

Kennedy is wet, strands of her voluminous hair stuck to her face. With the heavy makeup she was wearing at the casino now slightly smudged, mascara running from one corner of those deep blue eyes, she continues to hold me captivated like no other woman ever has.

I watch her with the attention a scholar would give to a puzzle he's working on, trying to understand what about her fascinates me so much. If what those idiots said is true, combined with what Kennedy herself declared, she's not the kind of woman who would normally pique my interest.

"I can make us last longer than just a few minutes. Come with me," I hear myself say in response to her statement, as if my mouth and brain were disconnected.

But no matter how much I deny it, I know that now that I have her within reach, I won't stop until I possess her.

Kennedy

Past

I need to repeat what he said in my brain to believe that this man just made it clear that he's interested in me.

I feel my body temperature rise, but I don't move or open my mouth to respond. I hope and pray I can disguise the confusion of emotions flooding me. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know enough for now."

A little voice in the back of my mind says that that wasn't necessarily a compliment and that my savior already has a preconceived notion about me, but I silence it. "Minutes," I say, and I see a small "v" forming between his brows.

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