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His gaze narrowed. "And pray tell, what is my type?"
Shit.I cleared my throat. "Look, you are obviously, uh, very attractive."
He lifted a brow. "Oh, I like where this is going. Keep talking."
"The way you zeroed in on me at the club, you don't ever have to approach someone. But the ones who intrigue you aren’t the ones that are more obvious. And you clearly like a challenge.”
He cocked his head and smiled. “You stared first.”
When I stuck my tongue out at him, he continued. “Suffice it to say you're beautiful, smart, and you have this hidden quality to you. A part you keep far away from everyone else. You don't show it, but I could see it. The moment our eyes met, I could feel it. I think you sell yourself short. You are impossible to look away from. Most women I know act coy and turn away. But you… You made me work. You don't look away. You don’t hide from hard things. That's exceptionally sexy. You are clearly clever, and you can kick arse with the best of them. You don't see yourself clearly enough because you're comparing yourself to Tabs. Is she beautiful? A hundred percent. But what you see is what you get. She's open. You are an untapped well of emotions. More complex."
The way he was looking at me made my skin prickle as the heat radiated from my body. "I don't do hookups,”I blurted. “I need to know someone. Like them. Trust them." Christ. I was so nervous my mouth was running away from me.
"Who says I’m looking for a hookup?" His voice was low, husky, and tempting.
“I am here in your flat. You didn’t kill me yet, so…"
He sighed and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "You are beautiful. Like I said, I like to work for things. Everyone assumes that I want things easy. I don't. My whole life, people have given me things without giving me the opportunity to work for them."
"You want to work for me?"
"I'd like a shot," he said with a smirk. “And to start, that means I can’t assume. So I’m good with some work.”
I swallowed hard, studying him. "People do that a lot, don't they?"
"What's that?" he asked.
"Underestimate you."
"Tell me if you want to go, and I will take you to your mate. Do I want you to stay? Yes. Do I want you? Undoubtedly. Do I want to work for your trust? Yes, I think I like it better that way.”
Oh boy, I was so dead. Men like him were dangerous, because with the intensity of his gaze, the way he was watching me, I believed him. Or at least I wanted to believe him. Every instinct told me he was telling me the truth. Which worried me because I already wanted him.
What’s wrong with that?
"So who are you? What makes you tick?"
He licked his lips. "Oh no, you don’t. This is your birthday. We are focusing on you.” He jumped up. "Come with me."
"What are you doing?"
"Oh, just come here." He walked me over to a bureau just to the right of his kitchen, pressed buttons on the keypad, and the door slid back, revealing a massive entertainment system. One of the shelves slid out and an actual honest-to-God record player slid out.
I laughed. "Of course, you've got a record player."
He rolled his eyes. "You're missing out."
On the bottom were rows of albums. When I looked down, I saw that there was an intricate shelving system, album after album, and I laughed. "I see a lot of rock classics here."
He grinned. "Yes, but my favorite is Stevie Wonder. Do you like Stevie?"
"He’s classic. ‘Superstitious’ is bloody brilliant. You must love music."
He took my hand and twirled me. "We, my dear, are going to finish our dance we started at the club."
I laughed. "You can't be serious."
"Come on." He pulled the Stevie Wonder album out of its sleeve and placed it on the record player. And as Stevie's voice rang clear, Lachlan King held out his hand. "Come on, are you going to have a little fun on your birthday or not?"
