Page 18 of It Takes a Thief
“Don’t molest the customers, Pops.” I feel Linc’s hand settle on my back, and I try not to shiver.
Pops chuckles and claps his hands together. “What can I get you?”
“I don’t suppose you have feta?” Linc asks reluctantly, as though it’s an odd request.
“Of course I have feta,” Pops declares proudly. “What do you think this is? Pizza Hut?”
I giggle, and Linc tells him to add black olives, too. While he pays, I grab a couple of waters from the glass fridge and wander over to a table. It smells delicious and my mouth is watering. Other than my latte earlier, I haven’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours.
Linc strolls over a minute later, sitting across from me. The table is small, which means he’s close. I could almost reach out and touch him. Swallowing hard, I twist the cap off my drink and take a long sip. It doesn’t cool me off, though, and I look down at Linc’s hands lying flat on the tabletop. His palms are the size of a baseball mitt, and his fingers are long and strong.
My mouth waters again, and this time I’m not so sure it’s for food.
What would it be like to be with Lincoln Decker? He’s all alpha male with endless muscles, and so much bigger than my five-foot five stature. I might not have much experience when it comes to men, but I have no doubt Linc is the kind of man who knows how to rock a woman’s world.
Only for one night, though. Then he’s out. Because those are the rules. His rules. Rules I wonder if he’d ever consider breaking if the right person came along?
“What’re you thinking?” he asks, voice low and rumbly.
I try to shake off the lust threatening to consume me and meet his liquid brown eyes. “Just that I’m starving.” The words come out husky, and I press my thighs together.
His attention dips to my lips then lifts again, pinning me with a stare that makes me extremely warm. When his rock-hard leg touches mine beneath the table, I nearly stop breathing.
“Same.”
My lashes flutter, and I don’t think he’s talking about pizza. If I didn’t know better, it almost feels like we’re on a date. One that I want to end with a very steamy kiss.
I clear my throat, and he shifts in his seat, moving away.
“So, ah, Lights Out,” I say, changing the subject. “That was your nickname?”
He nods.
“Makes me think you knocked a lot of guys out.”
“Maybe a few.” He tosses me a rueful grin, and I can’t help but smile, feeling slightly giddy.
“What kind of fighting did you do? Boxing?”
“MMA.”
“What is that exactly?” I tilt my head, studying him. Whatever it involves, he’s got the muscles to kick some serious behind. “Sorry, I never followed fighting. I did seeThe Karate Kid, though.”
He chuckles. “That’s a little different, but still a great movie. MMA stands for Mixed Martial Arts. It’s a full-contact sportthat combines different fighting techniques—wrestling, judo, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, boxing and karate.”
“You know all those?”
“And then some. But my roots are in underground fighting, where I got my start.”
“What’s the difference?”
“MMA involves a bunch of rules and a big paycheck. Underground fighting is wild and loose with very few rules.”
“Sounds dangerous,” I murmur.
“I like danger,” he replies without missing a beat.
My heart stutters in my chest and, before I can respond, Pops places a piping-hot pizza down on the table between us. We thank him and dive in. While I carefully cut off a small corner with my knife and fork, Linc folds his piece in half and takes a huge bite.
