“I know that your name is Zara,” he said, it like it was the only thing that mattered. “That’s enough for now.”
This was insane.
This whole situation was insane.
A hot, rich stranger following me out of a bar, wiping tears off my face, dragging me back inside, ordering me food, looking at me like I was something precious.
I should have been scared. I should have been running.
But I wasn’t. If anything, I was more curious now than before.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Let’s say I believe you. That you’re just… being nice. Why?”
He leaned back on his stool like a predator settling in to wait. “Because I wanted to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re weird.”
That pulled a throaty laugh out of him. “Am I?”
“Annoying, too.”
“So I’ve been told,” he said with a smirk, pulling at his lips.
A laugh bubbled up in my throat in response. I bit it back, but the corner of my mouth twitched.
His eyes dropped to my lips, and the hunger in them sharpened.
The tension between us snapped taut, electric. I felt it in my chest, my stomach, the space between my thighs. A heat that had nothing to do with the bar’s warmth.
Stop it, I told myself.You’re vulnerable. You just got dumped. You don’t know this man.
But my body didn’t listen.
We sat there passing the time with awkward glances, small talk between sips of his whisky, until the food finally arrived.
The milkshake arrived first in a tall cocktail glass with whipped cream and a cherry on top. The burger followed, piled high with cheese and onions, the fries golden and steaming.
I stared at the food as if it were a gift from the gods.
“Eat,” Lorenzo said. “Before it gets cold.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
I grabbed the burger and took a massive bite. Flavor exploded across my tongue, and I moaned before I could stop myself.
When I looked up again, Lorenzo was watching me with a dark look of satisfaction.
Like he’d just fed me from his own hand.
I took another bite, slower this time. Trying to ignore the way his gaze made my skin tingle.
“So,” I said around a mouthful of fries, “what’s your story? Why does a rich bar owner pick up strays on a Thursday night?”
He was quiet for a moment. Then, softly: “You caught my attention.”
