Page 12 of Fangs for the Memories
“What I am?”
“And what are you?”
He jerks his thumb at the blonde woman who is studiously avoiding looking our direction, speaking with her male companion.
I stab at some of the bacon on my plate, not sure if I can stomach it.
“I know you could have taken advantage of me last night, but you chose not to. Anything else you are, mafia or whatever, I don’t much care about.” I wave my fork vaguely in his direction. “I’ve dealt with enough monsters, and you’re not one.”
For a moment, a shadow flickers over his handsome features before he leans forward, a gust of citrus scented cologne hitting me and very nearly knocking me out.
“Are you sure?” he says, a wicked glint in his eye.
“I am,” I say confidently. “As long as your name isn’t Mark, you’re not a monster.”
“And what if it is?”
“It isn’t, is it?” My morning after the night before confidence deserts me and a little nausea rises in my stomach.
I think he told me his name, and I can’t remember it.
I study my coffee cup hard.
“Ferenc Kóbor, at your disposal, as you English say,” he says, his wolfish grin coming back, “Grace Spencer,” he adds.
I’m not entirely sure whether to be impressed or creeped out about how he knows my full name. A waitress comes over with a fresh cafetière of coffee, and as she puts it down in front of him, she glances at me before quickly hurrying away.
Ferenc turns over a cup and fills it with the black liquid before offering me a refill. I can’t stop myself from nodding.
He takes a sip of his and makes an interested face. “Not bad,” he says, looking around at the waitress. She releases a small squeak and scurries into the kitchen.
“Do you own this place?” I say. “Or do you just provideprotection?”
I make bunny ears around the word protection and instantly regret it.
He looks at his watch.
“As of nine am today, it’s part of my business, yes,” he says, sipping the dark liquid. “Is that a problem?”
“I probably can’t pay for the wine I drank last night, or the room service I’ve ordered, or anything which isn’t already paid for,” I say quickly. “I’m broke. My business…went under after I’d paid for the holiday and my partner…decided not to come.”
If I thought I was blushing before, I have to be the color of beetroot now. Not only for my admission but all the lies.
“Oh dear.” Ferenc fixes me with a gaze so intense I feel like I’m a rabbit facing down a predator. “I guess we’ll have to come to an arrangement.”
“I’ll call my mother. She’ll pay what I owe.” I race through the sentence, my heart pounding. “Or a friend.”
His smile softens. “I didn’t mean it that way, Grace,” he says. “I would never ask anything of you which you didn’t want to give.” His dark eyes twinkle gently. “I mean, I’d like to take you out, show you Budapest. You can be my companion for the day as recompense.”
I’m hopelessly hot and sweaty at this second. I’m not sure if I’m going to throw up or pass out. I stand, hurriedly, my chair forced backwards.
“I have to go.”
And without any further words, I race back to my room.
How the hell am I going to get out of this?
Grace
