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“Or what?” I don’t even give him the chance to answer that. “I don’t have anywhere else to go, okay? I just need another day, or two.”
He rests his fist against the wall above me, caging me in, while also reminding me of his size compared to my unimpressive five-foot-five. Breath stutters out of me, my eyes level with the man’s massive chest blocking my view. “Let me explain something to you in as simple terms as I can. Your presence here has roused the attention of very bad people.”
“I see that.”
“Worse than me, I can assure you. And these people don’t give a shit that you have nowhere else to go.”
“Exactly what role do you play with these bad men?” Eyes narrowed, I study him as much as I can in the dim light, for any sign that he might be lying, but I suspect the man has perfected the art so much, he could fool a shot of truth serum.
“I’m not going to tell you again, Miss James. Leave. Or you may find yourself in a very unfortunate situation.” He pushes away from me and twists back toward the busted drywall, where I can’t completely imagine his body fitting through.
“I’ll literally be sleeping in my truck tonight,” I say, padding after him.
“You could’ve slept in exceptional comfort, if I recall. But you opted against it.”
In his bed.
The comment brings me to a grinding halt. “And I suppose that’s off the table now.”
“Yes. I’ll wait outside, while you pack up your things.”
The sudden rejection shouldn’t light a spark inside of me. In fact, it should do the opposite. But like I’ve just stumbled upon a patch of catnip, the guy is somehow more attractive to me now than before, if that’s even possible.
And yet, it does sting a little.
“Wait. Who are these bad people?”
“The kind you don’t fuck with. The kind who wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet in that pretty little head of yours.” Fist drawn back, he pounds it into the drywall, over and over, punching until the width of the hole is big enough for him to walk through.
“What are they? The cartel?” When he doesn’t answer, I frown. “Wait. Are they?”
He brushes the drywall dust off his sleeve, and once again, I’m staring back at apathy in the man’s eyes. “Don’t take too long, Miss James. I’m a busy man.”
Busy man. A busy man that just a few hours ago was willing to devote a whole twenty-four hours to fucking me. “You’re seriously so bitter that you’d reject me now?”
“You confuse bitterness with disinterest. It’s no fun when you’re desperate.”
That punch hit a little harder than hits to the wall, and I feel compelled to rub the ache in my ribs, but I refuse to show him any reaction. I can play this game, too. In fact, I’m as much a hustler when it comes to men, as he is at playing that stupid card game.
Chin angled high, I trail after him, out of the room, down the staircase, and saunter past where he stands waiting in the foyer. “I’m not desperate, number one. And number two, I’d rather sleep in my truck, anyway. You probably snore like a bear.”
“There’d be no sleeping with you in my bed, chère,” he says after me, and I have to mentally stifle the shiver that winds down my spine.
“All the more reason for me to decline. I need my beauty rest. Fucking all night is bad for the complexion, in case you cared to know.”
Running a thumb over those disgustingly kissable lips, he stares at me with only a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll see you outside.”
Stubborn, this one. He probably doesn’t want to tell me that he’s already got another female lined up for the sack, and I’m just the irritating errand he has to run first.
Speaking of which, who the hell sent him? Why him? Who is he to these bad men he mentioned?
I wish I could say that this little reality check was a complete turn off to me, but hello catnip, meet kitten. Confirming his bad streak only serves to check another one of my boxes. This attraction to the morally corrupt types is probably a medical condition listed in some thick psychobabble book somewhere. But for me? It’s a big juicy carrot dangling from a stick.
Who knows why. Probably daddy issues.
With so many questions to answer, my head swirls as I sneak back to the reading room and haphazardly pile all the stuff I swiped from the secret room into my sleeping bag. I’m surely not leaving it here, if the place is run by cartel, or mafia, or whoever had his eyebrows kicked up like I was on track with my guesses. After stuffing it all into the bag, I zip it up and hoist it over my shoulder, carrying it back through the hole in the wall like some kind of thieving Santa Claus.
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