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“Humph,” I snarl, feeling my temper rising. “I hope he wasn’t fucking with me. He seems like a nice guy, I’d hate to have to kick his ass.”
Cleo pats my arm. “Easy, killer. Rafe’s just got an unusual sense of humor. He must have figured out somehow that you weren’t from here and decided to play with you a little.”
I help her into her coat, the night air having a bit of a chill this late in the year. “I can’t wait to meet this guy,” I snarl, my ego a little bruised to hear the guy was messing with me.
Rory snorts behind us but quickly covers it up with a cough when I turn to glare behind me.
“Ummm. Yeah.” Rory smirks and then smiles brightly at Cleo. “Just call me if you need me, boss.”
“You do the same thing, Rory. I’ll see you tomorrow unless something unexpected happens.”
She smiles but just nods her head.
I hold the door open for Cleo. “Your chariot awaits, my lady.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.” I smile slightly but keep my thoughts to myself.
“Not yet but I hope you will be soon,” I growl under my breath. Whipping her lovely head around, her green eyes lock on mine, hard and suspicious.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing, my love.”
“I’m not your love. And I told you. One date is all you get.”
“We’ll see, kitten. We’ll see.”
“I’m not sure how you think you’ll change my mind.”
My grin turns wicked. “I know you think that. That’s what makes the game so fun.”
“You think this is a game?” Her pretty pink mouth falls open and then snaps shut. “I should have known. All men are like this. Playing their stupid games with other people’s hearts. Like nobody’s heart matters.”
“I don’t think that at all.” I can feel her fury rising and the sparkle of anger builds to swirling golden fire in her gorgeous green eyes.
“Take it down a notch there, Sparkle! I’m not trying to play with anything. I’m just trying to spend some time with my woman.”
Her pink-tipped finger pokes me right in the chest and I rub it absently. “I’m nobody’s woman.”
“Think what you will, kitten. But you are mine. And if it takes me a thousand years I’ll prove it to you one way or another.”
She drags in a deep breath and my eyes cross when her lush breasts press on her soft aquamarine sweater. “You can’t prove what is not meant to be.”
“You sound like you’re a bit of a hippie, my love.”
“I am not a hippie. I’m just a little bit psychic.”
I grin at her. “There is no such thing as a little bit psychic, you either are or you aren’t.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “Then I am. When I’m sleeping.”
“You’re psychic when you sleep?”
“Yes, when I dream, I dream about the future.”
“I see. And what did you dream about me.”
Her cheeks heat and her eyes flit left and right, refusing to look directly at me.
