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As much as I wanted to say yes, I wasn’t sure if I could. The guy had lied to me. Well, he didn’t technically lie, but he’d omitted something rather important. How could I trust him?
“I’m Adam.” He stood and stepped toward me, still clutching the Guinness in one hand. He extended his other arm.
I eyed the veins on the top of his hand and raised my palm to meet his. “Anna.”
His hand was warm against mine. I resisted the urge to swoop my arms back to cover my chest. Instead, I released my grip and tipped back the beer he’d given me. The Guinness poured smooth down my throat, warming my chest. I was never much of a drinker, so I was shocked at how good it tasted. The Irish know how to brew beer.
Adam remained standing before me, so close I could smell him again. It should be a sin to smell so good. The rim of his bottle neared his mouth, but he didn’t drink. His eyes remained on me, cautious.
Cautious of me? I was from a town so small they kept a rolling-count sign, and the number had been stuck for five years. Of course, maybe I’d never go back and that number would drop back by one.
“You’re a good friend to come here on a Saturday night to make sure I’m not a psycho. I mean,” I popped my shoulders up, “what if I was?”
He cracked a smile, and I sat back down.
“I think I could handle you,” he rasped in a rich, and practically chocolate-flavored voice.
Why was I comparing this man to food? Clearly, he would taste much better. But the man did reek of danger, and not the serial killer kind. The “I can have any woman I want” player kind.
Chills raked my spine, and I snapped my eyes shut as memories from my past attacked.
“You okay, love?”
My eyes fluttered open to the warm caress of his voice, but it also wrangled me back into the reality of my shit situation. Adam stepped back, breaking the strange tension between us, and sat down in the reclining chair. He pulled one long leg over his jeaned knee and held onto his ankle as he observed me.
“Are you sure it’s okay if I stay here until Leslie comes back?”
He drank his beer, gripping the bottle tight enough that I noticed his knuckles growing lighter. “Of course. He invited you, didn’t he?” His voice was heavier than before. Like lead. I had to wonder what caused the change. The way he’d smiled at me when we’d first met had been so different.
“Okay. Well—about you . . .”
He perked a brow and lowered the bottle to rest on his lap, the bemused look spreading fast across his face again. “What about me, love?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “About your staying here tonight, I mean.”
“Aye. You prefer me to leave, I take it?”
Say yes, Anna. Say yes!
“It’s fine. If that’s what Leslie prefers.” Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!
A smile met his eyes. “You sure?”
“As long as you’re not certifiable or anything like that.”
His chest moved in time with his lips as he laughed. “I’ve been called much worse.” He stood up.
Was he joking? He was joking, right? Panic gripped me as I rose to my feet.
“All right. Well, I should let you get some rest, then. You must be bushed.”
“Bushed?”
“Tired.”
I needed an Irish-American dictionary. I wasn’t particularly fond of sounding like a broken record, repeating everything people said to me with a dumb look on my face.
His brows pulled together as he focused on my eyes, and a strange unfurling of desire swept through me. “Well, sweet dreams, Anna.”
