Page 12 of Full Throttle

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She finished her sandwich, pushing her plate away.

“You are very high-handed.”

“Determined.”

“Bold.”

“Confident,” I countered.

“Too old to be a playboy.”

I threw my head back in laughter. “On that, we agree. I’m not a playboy. The last woman I dated was over a year ago, and she broke it off, not me. She traded me in for a much younger, richer model.”

“You live in Lomand.”

“I own a car. And a motorcycle. I’m free to come and go anytime. As are you.”

“It would be complicated.”

“Some of the best things in life are.”

She shook her head. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”

I studied her. “I know you lost your husband early in life, but something else happened, didn’t it?”

She swallowed, suddenly nervous.

“Who hurt you?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me. I’m not them. I have no desire to hurt you. I want to know you.”

“I don’t know if I can—I mean, if I want to. Have a relationship, I mean,” she repeated, as if making sure I understood her.

I met her eyes. “So you want to just fuck?”

She blinked, startled. “No!”

I nodded, satisfied. “Then we can date.” I sat back with a grin. “Fuck, too. I can hardly wait to taste those lips of yours. Both sets.”

Once again, she opened her mouth, nothing coming from it. She shook her head as if to clear it.

“You are rude.”

“Truthful.” I leaned forward, all trace of teasing gone. “I think you’re the sexiest woman I have ever seen, Cherry Gallagher. I want you. I have from the moment I saw you. If the salon hadn’t had other people in it this morning, I would have dragged you onto my lap and taken you right there.” I sat back, our eyes still locked. “And you would have let me. You want me too.”

“You’re pretty damn sure of yourself.” She protested, but her breathing was rapid. Her pupils wide. She clutched the table as if to stop from launching herself at me.

“I know what I see.”

She stood. “Well, this time, Mr. Salvatore, you’re wrong. Thank you for lunch.”

Then she turned and ran. Literally ran away from me. I watched her rush across the street, dodging traffic. She didn’t look back, but I knew she felt me watching her.

I let her go. I had seen her number listed on the employee sheet by the cash register. I had memorized it and planned to use it. I had to grin at myself. I was acting out of character, but something about this woman made me irrational. I wanted her. I wanted to get to know her. I wanted her to know me. The real me—not the one she made up in her mind to protect herself.

I turned and headed for my car. I would see her again soon.