Page 9 of Captivated By You

My bravery—or some might call it stupidity—should have shocked me, or at the very least, made me a teeny bit anxious. Instead, a curl of excitement gripped my stomach, my body reacting with a sizzle of anticipation.

Over the past three years, I’d learned to rely on my gut, to listen to my instincts, and they were telling me that the man opposite was someone I could trust—even if he had fake-named me.

Maybe that was a long-held fantasy of his, to pretend to be someone else and enjoy a hookup for the evening.

I had to admit that the idea appealed to me, too.

“You… I’m…” He frowned. “Say again, now?”

I chuckled. “Look at you, Ant. I didn’t take you for a man who got easily tongue-tied. Is it because you’re used to making the first move, and now your head is all messed up? Not used to women taking the initiative?”

“You don’t know me.”

“And you don’t know me.” I waggled my eyebrows playfully. “What ifI’mthe serial killer, Ant? A black widow who mates… then kills.”

He paused for a second, and then he threw back his head and laughed. “Ethel, you might just be the most incredible woman I’ve met in a very long time.”

“Thanks. After the day I’ve had, I’ll take the compliment.”

His face darkened. Further evidence that this man wasn’t a misogynistic pig like Brandon Forster. Or a complete fucking asshole like…

I stopped the thought in its tracks.

Nope. Not going there.

I refused to allow that bastard to take up a millimeter of space in my brain. And I wouldn’t shoulder an ounce of blame for the actions of others, either. Nor would I allow myself to fall into a pit of despair at the constant struggle to get my fledgling career off the ground. The right opportunity was out there somewhere, waiting for me to come along. I had to hang on to that belief. To think of any other outcome was just too depressing.

“I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “Nothing for you to be sorry about. I’m not one of those women who lump all men into a single category of ‘asshole,’ although there are plenty of them out there. I just got unlucky. That’s all.”

Twice.

“Have faith.” He brought my hand to his lips and kissed the tips of my fingers. “It’ll all work out in the end.”

I shivered at the feel of his velvety lips brushing my skin, and my belly flipped. It’d been too long since I’d had sex, and my body’s reaction to that single touch was telling. Heat stole across the surface of my skin, leaving a delicious prickle in its wake, the initial stirrings of pleasure coursing through me.

And our liaison hadn’t even begun.

“Shall we go?” His voice, rough and thick, contrasted with eyes that shone with filthy intent. At least, that was what I guessed—and hoped—from the way his pupils had dilated.

Filthy was good. Filthy was very,verygood.

“Do you have a place?” I couldn’t take him to my hotel. I bet he’d never slept in anything less than a five-star establishment. He’d probably fear getting scabies from the bedsheets.

“I do. Unless you’d feel safer at a hotel.”

I gave him a crooked smile. “Back to serial killer status.”

He returned my smile. “I thought we’d established you’re the serial killer. And if tonight is the night my life ends, I’d rather be in my own bed.”

“Your place it is, then.”

My insides felt as if they were floating without an anchor, and my pulse raced as he settled the check, then escorted me onto the street, his palm warm at the base of my spine. The drizzly rain had stopped, and a balmy breeze coated my oversensitive skin as we strolled toward the waterfront.

“Is your home far?”

“Five minutes.”

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