Page 16 of Captive Audience
“Like what?”
“Nothing comes to mind right now because I can’t stop thinking about how much I’d like to solve your problem.”
My pulse throbbed everywhere it shouldn’t. My panties were already damp. I tried to think of something to say, but all that came out was “Wow. Okay.”
“Not what you were expecting to hear?” he asked.
“Nope. Definitely thought you’d hit me with a random fact about the Roman Empire.”
“What’s your name?”
Right. How had we not exchanged names yet? “Asha. What’s yours?”
“My friends call me Rook.”
“And what should I call you?”
He leaned forward and braced his veined forearms on the table. “I don’t care, but I have a feeling you’ll be screaming it before midnight.”
My breath hitched. For a second, I forgot how to move, how to think. Rook’s voice oozed with the kind of promise that drove good girls to make bad decisions. My common sense screamedRun, but the heat pooling between my thighs begged me to hear him out.
I blinked once. Twice. “That’s a bold assumption.”
“If you say so. But I think your friends approve of you coming home with me tonight.” When I turned to Daisy and Beth, they each gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
I checked the clock behind the bar and turned back to Rook. “You do realize there’re only thirty-four minutes until midnight.”
“My statement stands.”
This guy was killing me.
I shook my head and smiled. “Is your unflappable confidence an Irish thing?”
“It’s a me thing.”
“Yeah. I’m getting that.” I watched him for a beat and tapped my fingers on the table. “Look, you seem nice, and you’re saying all the right words. But I have to ask: You’re not playing games with me, are you?”
“Why would I be playing games?”
“Because lately, as soon as I show a guy an ounce of interest, he ghosts me. It’s hard on the ego and makes me think there’s something wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“You just met me. How can you know that?”
“I’m your stalker, remember? I already know everything about you.”
And now I had to add funny to his list of attractive qualities. This guy wasn’t trouble; he was utterly lethal.
I clicked my tongue. “How silly of me to forget that I’m the object of your twisted obsession.”
Rook hailed a passing server and borrowed a pen. He placed it on top of a napkin and slid both across the table. “Make a list.”
“Of what?”
“Every man who’s hurt you.”
“Why? So you can pay them all a visit and make them sorry they made me cry?”
