Page 6 of Billionaire's Promise
"My point exactly." He folds his arms across his impressive chest and his T-shirt stretches across those beautifully sculpted pecs. His biceps bulge, drawing my attention to his thick veiny forearms.
My throat dries. My tongue seems to be stuck to the roof of my mouth. All the moisture in my body has drained to that single pulsing point between my legs. I gulp. "What…" I clear my throat, "What are you trying to say?"
"That you are too innocent."
I laugh, "Trust me, if you knew what I’ve been up to, you wouldn’t say that."
His gaze narrows and color smears his cheeks. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. "What you have done or not done in the past is none of my business."
"Oh?"
He jerks his chin. "I am more concerned with the now, the present. The fact that you let me, a complete stranger, into your flat."
"You know what?" I scowl at him. "It’s time you left."
"Oh, believe me, I am. I have no intention of staying, now that I know you are safe."
"The only threat here is from you."
"As I was saying…" he enunciates each word slowly, "you...allowed...me—someone you don’t know— into your flat."
"You helped me earlier," I point out.
"I could have been simply trying to gain your trust."
"Is that what you were trying to do?"
"No." He blows out a breath. "I was trying to stop you from hurting yourself."
"So, you’re not a stranger anymore."
"I was when you met me."
“Everyone’s a stranger when you first meet them!” I throw up my hands. "You caught me at a weak moment, okay? And this back and forth is making my head spin. What’s your point anyway?"
"That you shouldn’t let anyone you don’t know inside your home."
And sometimes, you shouldn’t let even those you think do you know, because actually you don’t…you don’t know them at all. Damn you, Edward. I squeeze my eyes shut. "You are right. I’ll be more careful next time."
"Good."
I open my eyelids to find him walking out of the kitchen. I reach for my hair band, find it's gone. Huh? I could swear I placed it on the table earlier. I shake my head, then rise to my feet and follow him. He snatches up the jacket he’d abandoned at some point on the arm of the couch; shrugs into it, then walks to the front door, opens it.
"Wait," I burst out. He pauses, turns to me. Waits as I try to figure out exactly what it is I want to tell him. What do I want from him? Why do I want anything from him? He’s a stranger, right? So why doesn’t he feel that way? Why do I feel like I already know him at some level? A wave of tiredness washes over me. I curl my fingers around the frame of the kitchen doorway where I am poised. "My name is Ava, Ava Erikson."
"I know."
"You do?"
He nods, then points to where I’ve placed my mail on the table near the doorway.
"Right."
He turns away, when I stop him again. "Wait." I call out to him and he stops, "Will I see you again?" I ask.
He hesitates then glances at me over his shoulder. "Do you want to see me again, Ava?"
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