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Sound?
So he heard?
I stand up on wobbly legs. “I’d better get going.”
“Not so fast.” He advances on me.
Oh, fuck. Is he about to strangle me? Or kiss me? I feel a twinge of that never-reached orgasm as I picture the second scenario.
In one breath, he’s in my personal space. I can’t help but smell him—and his scent is just as yummy as that of his thong, just subtly different in that it’s diluted. I also detect notes of fresh pears and patchouli that tell me he must’ve used cologne at some point. It had to have been long ago, though, since the smell is so faint I actually like it.
He reaches his hand out, as if to touch me.
Okay. I’m ready for what comes next.
Maybe looking forward to it—even the strangling.
To my huge disappointment, he reaches past me.
I turn my head and see him open a small drawer from which he pulls out a phone.
Oh. This must be why he returned. For his phone.
Does this mean I’m not getting manhandled?
Hold on. Maybe there’s still a chance. He pockets the device but remains close to me.
Staring at his strong, masculine throat, I moisten my lips.
He extends his hand toward me.
Yes! I mean, how dare he.
Oh, wait. Again, he doesn’t touch me.
What the hell?
He dives into my purse, and before I can yelp something properly indignant, he’s already holding my wallet.
My chest tightens. “Hey. What are you—”
Then I comprehend his intent. He pulls out my driver’s license and takes a picture of it with his phone.
Gulp. Now there’s definitely dark amusement in his smile.
He slides the ID back into my wallet. “If you plan to kill me and cannibalize my remains, you should know there’s a picture of you in the cloud.” He narrows his eyes at the image on his phone. “Is Lemon Hyman really your name?”
My heart pounds in my ears. “Are you making fun of my name?”
He drops my wallet back into my purse. “And if I were?”
I straighten my spine. “I’d tell you to go fuck yourself.”
He snorts and looks at the fingers that were inside me just a minute ago. “Is fucking oneself really something you want to bring up?”
Heat rushes through my body—and not just from his proximity or my embarrassment. It’s also an angry heat. The kind that would make me hatefuck him if I could.
“Can I go now?” I say through gritted teeth.
