Page 13 of Unapologetic Love Story

He jerked his thumb in the direction of the band, who were now playing a bluesy number. ‘Would you like to dance?’

You’re up to something, Raina thought. She wasn’t going to let a gorgeous face, broad shoulders and a deep Scottish voice distract her. He was clever. And possibly sneaky. There were tons of prettier women in the room. He could have sidled up to any of them. He wasn’t closing in on her because of some anti-AI garbage kindred spirit shit. He had an agenda.

And autistics were naturally skittish around people with secret intentions. No matter how hot they were.

‘No, not really. I don’t like to dance,’ she said politely. ‘Unless it’s a Tom Waits song. But thank you for asking. I’m not sure what business you and I could possibly have with each other, but I know a bit about your professional rep so it’s maybe best for me to sit this one out.’

She turned back to her drink and took a dainty sip.

Brazen little witch.

Tom Branimir stood frozen by the bar, faced with Raina Lewis’s profile and her cavalier dismissal of him. He was off balance. She was so much more than he’d anticipated. Faster, wittier. She made him nervous, and no one made him nervous.

He liked to think he wasn’t a dick, so he turned to go. But as he did, he realized he might never get another chance. If Raina Lewis was the perfect subject for the one positive chapter in his book, there would be no better moment than tonight.

‘Excuse me one minute.’

He strode over to the band. The guitarist pulled something out of his ear and listened to Tom’s calm request with cool indifference.

He returned to Raina at the bar, just as ‘Hold On’ by Tom Waits began to play.

‘I know no means no and you’re well within your rights to tell me to go jump in the Thames,’ he said steadily, ‘but I really would like to dance with you. To discuss something.’

A spark of amusement flashed in her green eyes and she dutifully placed her glass back down on the bar. She made no sound of verbal agreement but moved onto the dancefloor. Tom followed, releasing a steady breath and taking in her feline walk while wondering why he felt so out of control.

He placed his hands on her hips, the sequins of her dress nipping his open palms. He moved one hand to her back, feeling bare skin beneath his fingers. As Tom battled with what to say, she reached out and brushed his tie with one finger.

‘This is from Liberty.’

He smiled, surprised. ‘It is.’

‘I love that store.’

He believed it. She looked expensive.

‘What business brought you over to me then?’ she asked. ‘Let’s have it.’

Her tone was casual but she still watched him. Watched him with that cool, assessing gaze that let him know that the laughing, lit-up woman from earlier in the night was locked away behind caution and suspicion. He wanted to coax her out, to experience that warmth up close.

‘I saw a beautiful woman,’ he said honestly.

‘What are you working on at the moment?’ she pressed, bypassing the compliment completely. He was taken aback, and it must have shown on his face because she added, ‘Yes, I really do know who you are. I’ve read some of your work.’

She was two steps ahead of him. ‘I’m working on a book. A collection of all my . . . uh—’

‘Assassinations?’

She said it derisively.

‘Well . . .’ He acknowledged her tone with a shrug. ‘I prefer “hitman” to “King of Cancel Culture”, or whatever that newspaper editor called me.’

She rested her wrists on his shoulders. He didn’t think it possible to be more aware of how close she was, but the subtle movement put every part of him into an alert state. He cleared his throat and splayed his hands on her waist, pulling her closer.

‘What do you do?’

‘I’m self-employed,’ she said innocently.

He scowled, irritated by her caginess. ‘As what?’