Page 25 of Bought
Her chin is raised like a fighter's, but her hands betray her nerves. She keeps switching the coat from one arm to the other, as if she can’t decide whether she’s staying or running.
I step back. She passes by me with measured steps. She’s pretending to feel comfortable in the dress, the room, and with me.
The pretending is loud.
She’s never been with a man before. Not like this. And she’s expecting tonight to be that night.
“You look lost,” I say.
“You’re lost,” she counters.
“How can I be lost?” I ask. “This is my place.”
Placing a hand on her cocked hip, she glances around. “I thought this was my place.”
“It can be.” Fuck. I run a hand over the back of my neck. Where the hell did that come from?
Instead of running for the door, my mistake seems to put her at ease.
Her eyes sparkle. “I’ll let you know when I’ll be taking over the lease.”
“I don’t get to stay?”
“Uh-uh.” She shakes her head, dark waves of her hair brushing over her shoulder. “Sorry. There wouldn’t be enough room for all my strays.”
“People or animals?” I ask.
Her gaze falters. She has a lot of responsibility on her mind.
She looks down at the coat. “Where do I put this?”
“On your body every time you leave the house in this weather.”
The tone I use makes her freeze. I reach out, brushing a knuckle over her cool cheek before I take the coat. Crossing the room, I fold it over the back of a brown leather barstool. “You didn’t drop this one on the floor. Does it mean you like it?”
“I love it,” she whispers. She adjusts her tone and clears her throat. “Thank you. I’d forgotten mine.”
I don’t usually drink because I hate feeling out of control. Still, there’s a well-stocked bar in this apartment, near a bay of windows overlooking the city. It’s my favorite spot here. At night, with the lights on, the view makes everything feel alive.
I walk behind the bar. “Drink?”
“Sure.” She walks over and sits on the empty stool next to her coat. “What are my options?”
“If you want something good, I have wine. If you want something better, scotch.” I hold up a bottle that costs more than my first car did.
She hesitates slightly. “Water, please,” she says. “Ice if you have it.”
“Water it is.” I serve her first, with plenty of ice, then pour some scotch into an empty glass. I take a sip, craving the warmth as I try to gauge her mood.
“Rules,” I say. “Let’s get those straight.”
“You’re the one who broke them,” she shoots back, then blushes and looks away.
The damn kiss.
That's why we’re here.
I lean on the bar, not touching her. “You set the pace. You tell me if you want to stop, and we stop. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
