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“See you.” Never. Asshole.
He grunts something that resembles a caveman version of a goodbye and heads toward the door. I’m about two seconds away from rushing over there to lock and bolt it behind him, but first, I grab my phone.
Opening up my chat with Em, I start furiously typing. The dick with lots of money and who has succeeded in making me horny as fuck, but then ragey as all hell, is getting roasted in my half-drafted text message when a shadow looms over me.
“It’s Foxglove, isn’t it?”
My body clenches at the sound of my name coming out of his mouth in that sonorous voice.
“That’s what it says on the door.” I’m still pissed at him, but I can’t help the way my body is still catching up with the memo that we don’t like said gorgeous man.
“I feel the need to apologize.” Citrus and woodsy scents wind around me like a cat rubbing up against my legs.
“Why?” My eyes dart over him. Bouncing between the exposed stubble covering his throat, his broad shoulders inside his shirt, and back up to his heavy gaze.
His throat works a swallow.
My knees go a little weak.
No. Remember. Asshole.
One of his hands rubs over the back of his neck, and he genuinely seems to falter for a splinter of a moment.
“I’m not the most comfortable with people I don’t know.” He levels me with a look that could melt panties and hearts. “My line of work is very…difficult. Sometimes I come across as a dickhead when I don’t intend to.”
Right now, I’m really hoping he can’t hear how hard my heart is hammering in my chest.
I lick my lips. There’s something in his honest confession that undoes me just a little and diffuses the simmering need to punch him in his junk from a second ago. “It’s ok. I get it. I’m used to being on my own a lot.”
Fucking hell. This night has been a roller coaster of sensations.
There’d better not be another swing of the pendulum, or I might topple off my perch.
“What are you doing tomorrow evening?”
My brain stalls like one of those spinning wheels of death on a laptop screen.
Is he…is he asking me out?
Before I can do anything to stop it, a maniacal sounding laugh falls out of my mouth.
“Is this some kind of a joke to you?”
He looks a little taken aback; that stern, dominant energy in him clearly isn’t used to anything but fawning over his handsomeness.
“No.” His brows furrow slightly. “I’d like to know if you’re free tomorrow evening.”
“You’re serious?” There must be a hidden camera here somewhere. I’m incredulous. In no possible universe is Mr. Perfectly Toned Stomach and Angular Cheekbones asking me if I’m available tomorrow.
“Very much so.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Uhhh…because look at me…and look at you…” I flutter my hands in his general direction.
“I’m looking at you.”
