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Now, he runs his tongue along the top row of his teeth and steps closer, almost into the V of my thighs. So close, my chair tips a little, but he reaches back and steadies it, the ancient wood creaking in his grip. “You take a wrong turn after Pilates or something?”
“I…” Whoa. Is it his deep voice tugging that string in my belly? “Huh?”
My neck is starting to hurt from looking up, up at him. Lord, he’s big. Bigger than he seemed the times I watched him on the balcony of his house. His beard is dense and black, only a few shades darker than the ink blue of his eyes—such a unique color I’m already mixing the paint in my head. And from the neck down…
I have to remind myself to breathe when my attention travels over crazy-wide shoulders and a barrel chest. He’s easily five times my size. And mean with it. No wonder that man who blocked the door surrendered. My subject appears capable of wrestling a bear. Or crushing cinderblocks in his fists.
His face comes closer to mine, his tongue poised on his lower lip. “I’m talking about your clothes, Goldie. Little bun huggers and a sports bra. Did you get lost on your way back to Calabasas from the gym?”
“I…” I didn’t expect anyone to see me. I was only supposed to be out of the house for twenty minutes. Spying on you. Can’t exactly tell him the truth, can I? “Yes. I, um. Was trying to avoid traffic and…I got turned around.” Frantically, I search my mind for the common phrases I hear coming from downstairs in my house. Anything to make me sound like a regular girl—and not a prisoner. “You know these LA freeways. They all look the same.”
My subject is definitely skeptical, but I’m saved when the bartender arrives with a beer, slapping it down in front of me. O-kay. Guess ordering a Sprite is out of the question. The bearded grizzly man takes my chin and turns my face back in his direction. “Where is your car now?”
“Around the corner.”
A muscle jumps in his cheek. “And you thought it was a better idea to walk in here half naked than to drive somewhere safe?”
If I’ve learned one thing from my criminal mastermind father, it’s how to evade questions. Even if I’ve only learned those skills by eavesdropping on our landline or listening to him conduct meetings through the heating grates. “Maybe I should have gone with the other guy.” I purse my lips and look over both shoulders. “He’s starting to seem like the nicer option.”
His chest muscles grow rigid. “I don’t do nice. But…you make me wish I could.” His hand leaves the back of my chair, burying in my hair, his mouth opening against my cheek. “What’s going on here? You and those eyes casting some kind of spell on me?”
A melting sensation starts in my middle, legs and arms and neck feeling all loosey-goosey. I haven’t had contact with another human since my mother passed away, my dad content with pats on the head once in a while. That must be why I want my subject to…pick me up and hold me and kiss me. Yes, kiss me. I’m under the influence of an endorphin rush, which probably accounts for the stupid thing I whisper into his beard. “Can I study your face in the light?”
He rears back a little, eyebrow raised. “What for?”
Good one, Hailey. “You have a really interesting nose?” I explain lamely. “I’ve always been fascinated by noses.”
He chuckles. “You’re an odd little thing.”
“You’re an odd big thing,” I shoot back, my face flaming. “I’m sorry, that was mean. Even though you said it to me first.”
His chuckle turns into a full-fledged laugh. “Say whatever you want to me, Goldie. I promise you I’ve been called a lot worse.”
“Me too,” I whisper, before I can stop myself. “A burden. A liability. A royal pain in the ass. Those are the worst ones.”
I can hear the grinding of his jaw. “Who called you those things?” He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. “Christ. If it’s a husband, I’m going to be the reason this place finally collapses, because I’ll rip the fucking walls down.” Ink-blue eyes narrow, searching my face. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I’m…you’re not going home to a husband. I…can’t allow it.”
Do I tell him the truth because I want to soothe him? Or am I just so relieved to have an ally, the words spill out of me like paint from a bottle? “Not a husband. My father.” My fingers itch to touch him, so I flatten them on his stomach and drag them up his chest, sucking in a breath at his growl. “He keeps me locked in a room.” Tears fill my eyes. “It took me months to learn how to pick the lock, but I was too scared to actually leave. Tonight I finally got the courage because…”
