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“Control?” I practically squeaked.

“I am fascinated with the human mind. Understanding how a person thinks allows me to control a situation. And in my line of work, the only way to be successful is to have the ability to control the will of others. It gives me a certain measure of power. The upper hand, as some might choose to call it. This can be quite useful when buying and selling real estate. But power comes with responsibility, and balancing the two takes a considerable amount of control.”

Wow! That’s a bit deep. This guy’s a total control nut.

It was definitely not a simple answer for what I thought was an innocent question. But as I processed his words, I thought they reminded me of something you’d hear Bruce Wayne say in a Batman movie. An image of Alexander Stone wearing a black cape popped into my head, and I had to stifle the giggle trying to escape. It came out as a half snort instead.

“I’m sorry, but did I say something funny?” he asked curiously, cocking his head to one side.

“Um, no. Not at all,” I said, attempting to cover up the sudden wave of silliness I was feeling. “I was just thinking your philosophy about power and control is a little extreme. Cocky…sort of.”

“That may be your perception. However, I’m not an egomaniacal tyrant like you might think. I just happen to like all of my ducks in a row.” He paused and glanced down at his watch again. “Now, as intriguing as this conversation has been, I have to get going. I’m glad your head is feeling better.” He flashed one last delicious smile at me and turned to leave. “It was good to see you again, Miss Cole.”

“Enjoy your day, Mr. Stone,” I murmured.

Ducks in a row, huh?

I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to ruffle his feathers as I watched him proceed to the checkout line.

Boy, does that man have swagger.

On impulse, I strode nonchalantly over to where he stood and grabbed a pack of cinnamon-flavored gum off the shelf in the checkout line.

“You forgot something, Mr. Stone,” I said and casually dropped the pack into his shopping cart. My boldness surprised me. He stared at me in confusion for a minute, looking like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself.

I didn’t give him the opportunity to respond. Instead, I threw a coy smile at him and sashayed away, not really sure what to think about my own abrupt and uncharacteristic spontaneity.

Alexander

She left me feeling relatively stunned. Catching me unawares was not an easy feat, yet I had been almost knocked flat by a woman who appeared to be so completely harmless.

You surprise me, Krystina Cole. Maybe you’re not as innocent as I had initially thought.

I glanced down into the shopping basket at the cinnamon-flavored gum, my curiosity piqued. She had initially seemed nervous but appeared to relax after a bit, revealing a certain degree of audaciousness by ending on a flirtier note. However, any further insight as to what might have been going on in her mind ended there. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t read her. And it was goddamned irritating.

I proceeded through the checkout line, trying to decide what to do about her. Understanding the interworking of another person’s mind is what I did best. Pulling apart the many layers of an individual to get to the root of what drove them was a skill. Many took years to master the art, but I had a natural knack for it.

Until I met Krystina Cole.

Even a master’s degree in psych wasn’t going to help me to figure her out easily. She would be a challenge. She was like a puzzle I had to solve, the compelling reason behind the return trip to Wally’s. Unfortunately, I’d failed at unraveling any clues and only exacerbated the mystery.

She said Jim was not her boyfriend, but she didn’t exactly say she was single either. So, is she?

The lock of hair that falls over her brow. Did she style it like that, or is it mere happenstance?

The way she twists her hands. Is it a nervous tic, or does she simply have cold hands she’s trying to warm?

And that delicate blush of hers…

I couldn’t help but picture that blush spreading to every part of her. An image of her wide, innocent stare came to mind again, and I shook my head to clear it.

Just forget her. She’s too young anyway.

“Your total is thirty-seven dollars and four cents. Will that be cash or credit, sir?” asked the skinny blonde working the register.

I focused my attention on the cashier. Her nametag read CASSIE in bold print.

Mid-twenties, been around the block, on the prowl for Mr. Right.