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You like me bad.
Shh. That’s our little secret.
He groaned and shifted where he sat, the beginnings of arousal threatening to give him a public erection he’d rather avoid. Forget the drink; he wanted somewhere private to finish this conversation.
How should he handle this? He stood, then made his way out to his car, passing some tall blond actor who was in a movie Luke had watched the week before. Couldn’t remember his name. They nodded to each other. People who hung out at Fitte tended to be an elite bunch, but Loke, Geir, and Rune didn’t tolerate snobbery from or between patrons.
Once he was in his car, he read over their last exchange again.
He sighed. This was bad, but if he walked away from her now, he’d never forgive himself.
What do you want from me, Ophelia? My life could be dangerous for you, and you know that.
Can you come see me? Just dinner and conversation . . . I promise.
Sure, sure. I know you. You’re going to get me drunk and feel me up.
A car parked next to him and the driver got out. It was an attractive young woman he’d played with before at the club. Beth? Betty? She flashed him a shy smile and waved before heading into the hotel.
Ophelia was typing something but it was taking forever.
Your nipple rings are my kryptonite. Keep your shirt on and I’ll do my best to control myself.
He smiled to himself, remembering how distracted she’d gotten by his piercings. He’d have to remember not to tell her Atlas had a Prince Albert piercing, or his cousin would steal her out from under his nose.
Noted. Where and when?
My house? Yesterday?
My Tardis is at the cleaners.
Now would be perfect, but I’m guessing you have plans for this evening.
He thought about making her wait, but that would mean he’d have to wait too. Fuck that.
I’m suddenly free. Be there in a half hour.
Drive slow! she texted back. I’m in my pajamas!
Luke started the car, smiling, wondering if he could make it there in twenty minutes.
Chapter 15
Ophelia fiddled with her shirt in the mirror. Why was she so nervous? Luke had seen her in all forms. Drunk, hungover—naked, sweaty, and begging. Why did she care if he saw her in her pajamas?
Still, she changed her shirt three more times before the doorbell rang. Even though she’d mentally prepared herself to see him, when she opened the door, her breath went out in a big whoosh.
Luke stood on her front step, wearing a black T-shirt that hugged his chest and black combat shorts that hung low on his hips. The tattoos that trailed down his arms were visible and almost glowing in the overhead light. His hair seemed a bit longer, but his eyes were exactly as she remembered—dangerous and kind, if that were possible.
God, had he always been this hot?
She suddenly found herself speechless.
“Can I come in?” he asked, a brow arched.
“Oh.” She opened the door wider. “Sorry. Yes, of course.”
He stepped inside, staring at her. “Nice place.”
