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Before I can reply, Marrok plucks the keys from my grip. With a flick of his wrist, he secures the door, testing it with a tug. I can’t take my eyes off his massive shoulders or the rippling of his wide back.
What would he feel like under my hands as he thrusts deep inside me?
Whoa. That question is out of left field. And inappropriate as hell. Even if he makes me ache, we’re supposed to be having a professional interaction. My brain doesn’t belong in my panties.
He deposits my keys in my hand. He rattles me. I swear he knows it, just like I don’t think he’s in any hurry to change that. Or am I so nervous I’m seeing things?
“Apology accepted.” I do my best to sound composed. “You in a better mood than this morning?”
He gives me a self-deprecating smile, complete with a flash of white teeth. “I prefer solitude. Meeting new people sometimes brings out the worst in me.”
“I’m introverted, too. Talking to strangers sometimes flusters me.”
He nods. “If my carvings still interest you, I have reconsidered your offer.”
I let out a sigh of relief. Marrok sets me on edge while he lights my fire, but he’s the best shot I have of keeping my shop afloat. After interning at an art gallery a couple of summers during college, I have experience dealing with temperamental artists. I’ll handle whatever Mr. Tall, Dark, and Unnerving throws my way.
“So I’m no longer on par with the devil?” I tease.
He has the good grace to look sheepish. “Nay.”
Nay? What’s with the archaic speak? Is that his shtick?
“Fine. We can talk.” I glance at my watch and ignore my rumbling stomach. “I have time for a cup of coffee.”
“I want to show you my entire collection, work no one has ever seen.” His whisper sounds low, intimate. Inviting.
A flurry of new tingles spread through me. I squelch them and focus on business. “All right. Where?”
“My home.” Just then, a cab screeches to a halt at the nearby curb. Marrok opens the door and gestures me inside. “I hired a taxi, hoping you would agree. Will you come with me?”
Chapter Ten
He wants me to get in a car with him?
What do I know about this guy? Sure, he’s Bram’s friend, but following a virtual stranger to his place, especially one who grabbed and insulted me just this morning… Is that smart? On the other hand, he apologized. That counts for something, right?
Are you rationalizing because he’s hot? Because you’re attracted to him? Because in your dreams you know the feel of his big hands spreading your naked thighs…
The taxi door gapes open. I stare into the shadowy back seat, bite my lip, and try to think.
If Marrok wants to hurt me, would he really lure me to his place with the taxi driver as a witness? Odds are he lives in a crowded flat with a handful of other starving artists. Not exactly a threat. Besides, how can we do business if we have zero trust?
“Okay.” I climb into the taxi and scoot to the far edge, wrinkling my nose at the stench of stale smoke and sweat pervading the interior.
Marrok slides in beside me, taking up three-quarters of the back seat. His presence absorbs the rest. His scent—wood, earth, and male—replaces the unpleasant odor.
I don’t even know why I lean closer and inhale him. A sudden buzz lifts my energy more than my morning Starbucks run. God, I could breathe him in forever.
When I open my eyes, he’s staring down at me, his gray eyes glowing. With anger? Bitterness? Lust? I can’t tell.
The taxi speeds off.
He blinks and wipes his expression clean. “How long have you lived in London?”
“Six months. Almost seven now. You?”
“Seems like forever.”
