Page 791 of Filthy Elites

“I was perfectly willing to ask you to accept an IOU,” I protest.

There’s that smoldering, alluring, hungry look again. “Are you sure you want to give me an IOU?”

“For money? Of course.”

“For nothing else?”

“What would you be offering me in return to warrant an IOU for something other than money?”

"What do you want from me?" he asks.

I hesitate as a million possibilities race through my mind, each one dirtier and raunchier than the previous one.

Shit, I am in such big trouble right now.

Because I can’t dare tell him what I’m thinking.

And right now, I’m not sure that my poker face is working.

Hell, I know it isn’t because I’m licking my lips again.

Thankfully, our salads come then. Kyle doles them out, leaving two others on his tray.

I eye the wedge salad as he walks away. “I might get that next time.”

“Who are you going to be eating with here?”

“No idea. Maybe Dawn, my roommate.”

“You think she would appreciate it as much as you do?”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“Who wouldn’t want your company?” he says.

Damn it, he’s laying it on thick. When he wants to be, he can be incredibly charming.

What do you want to bet that this is just a way for him to try to get into my pants so he can blow off some steam because of his earlier frustration?

What do you want to bet that I don’t give a fuck because I have my own issues and frustrations and have been dying for some kind of connection to another person after the mugging? Yes, Dawn’s been there for me. She could hardly believe me when I told her what happened, but I need more than just words.

I need to forget.

To replace those emotions.

To feel needed instead of afraid.

Wanted instead of anxious.

One night.

That is where this is headed, right? I’m not completely getting my signals crossed, am I?

This time, when I lick my lips, I rub the back of my neck suggestively, and Declan sucks in a breath.

Oh, yeah. I’m not getting mixed signals at all.

Thank fuck for that.

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