Page 10 of Tortured Eyes
“What’s your name?” He moves his body closer to mine, raising the temperature around us.
“I’m not sure I want you to have that information.”
“Fine. Red it is.”
“How original.” I sit back and smirk at him, enjoying the back and forth.
“You’re not giving me much to work with. If you force me to make shit up, I'll go into fantasizing mode.” He touches my hair, drawing his fingers through a loose tendril. "Red sheets. Red lipstick. Red handprints."
His other hand runs up the side of my leg and squeezes the top of my thigh, tight. The gasp is out of my mouth before I check my response, because as much as I’d like to slap his ass in handcuffs, a part of me also wants his hand to stay exactly where it is. That’s the part of my brain I need to re-wire because it’s a crazy reaction. The hand doesn't move anywhere. It lingers, gripping me as if it's not letting go until it gets what it wants. With every passing second, I war with myself as to how to handle my next move. Hold me tighter, say nothing, or tell him no.
His eyes shout dirty sex, and although the woman in me wants to shout back,hell yeah, I’m also a daughter and a detective. I came here because there were no answers where I’ve been looking. The string of unsolved crimes and dodgy reports are dead ends. No leads or anything I can take forward to solve the mystery I promised to finish. Logan Cane is a new piece of that puzzle, and there is no way in hell I'm jeopardising that just to get laid.
“I think you’re moving a little fast.” I push his hand off, but he takes that as an opportunity to slide his touch down my leg, caressing as he goes.
“You don’t fool me, Red. Relax. There’s no pretence here. Believe me. If you want to fuck me at the table, I’m game. My club, my rules. Just slide over here, slip those tight leathers off, and you can have at me.” His hand is back all over me, this time wrapping around my waist and under my jacket.
“Not gonna happen. Not my style.” I push myself back and out of reach. Another few inches and he’ll be handling the SIG strapped to my other hip. Regardless of how much I might enjoy his attention, this can’t happen, especially as I know who he is now.
“So, stop fucking about and tell me what your style is. And while you’re at it, why are you even here? You're far outta place in this joint.” His eyes bore in, practically daring me to try lying. Something about his look tells me he’s at the end of his tolerance.
“I’m having a beer.” I take the bottle and make a show of drinking it down. “I was waiting for someone, but it looks like they didn’t show. Their loss, I guess.”
“And my gain. Come on, Red. Last chance.”
“That’s a hard pass, thank you. I appreciate the beer, though. I’ll let you get back to, what was her name? Martie? She seems perfect for you.”
I nod in the direction of the bar and give her a little salute with my bottle. More daggers stare back at me. What I wouldn’t give to smack her in the face. Not tonight, though. I need to focus on why I'm here and that alone. Logan Cane, currently crawling up against me looking all sorts of tempting, is one thing I didn’t expect. And I don’t do surprises. I fucking hate them, and I hate the way he’s making me feel, too.
He doesn't move to leave.Apparently, he has no intention of taking no for an answer. Not surprising given his looks. Fine, it gives me time to interrogate him.
“So, you’re pretty young to have your own place?” I try for conversation to get anything I can out of him.
“Maybe.”
“You some big club owner then, or when you say this is yours, do you just manage it for some other dude?” He leans back away from me, eyes narrowing as if something I just said changed his mood.
“It’s mine,” he says, downing the beer. For the first time, the veneer of his composure slips. He's changed. Less charm, his eyes harder and his mouth tight with aggression.
“Don't you come in often if it's yours? I've not seen you in here before,” I ask. A mask drops that bears no resemblance to his face ten minutes ago. No smile. Barely any sense of happiness, let alone calm amusement.
He spreads his arms out on the side of the booth, tilting his head as if trying to work me out. It's a minute's worth of time that changes everything in the air around us, like he's ready to flip the table if he doesn't get his own way. "Last chance, Red. What are you here for if it’s not to fuck or get high?”
Time’s up.
“I told you. I was waiting for someone.” I finish my beer and then make a reckless move, putting myself back on the attack. I twist and straddle myself over his lap, making sure I seat myself directly over his cock. I push my fingers through his neatly styled hair and bend to whisper in his ear. “Thank you for the beer. But why don't you do yourself a favour and go and screw little Martie? Your dick will thank you for it.”
The kiss I leave on his cheek lingers too fucking long, but I still manage to climb off his lap before he can stop me. Shame the imprint of his cock is in my thoughts as I walk away, as is the broad, hard chest I leant on.
Tugging the edge of my jacket down, I keep my SIG hidden from view and stride through the doors. My little leaving present certainly wasn’t the wisest of choices, especially as I'm planning on crossing paths with Mr Logan Cane again in the not so distant future, but screw it. He's attractive. A girl has needs. Not that I'll be acting on whatever that was other than to find out more information.
