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What is this gorgeous monster going to demand in exchange for that drink?
Based on the way the bartender reacted to him, I suspect this Mr. Kazan is known around here, and if that’s the case, I doubt they’ll stop him from doing whatever he wants.
I have a thousand terrible stranger-danger scenarios playing out in my head and I’m about ready to scream when the massive dark-eyed man leans forward.
His voice drops to a sultry purr.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “Because I’m starving.”
Chapter2
Camille
It takes a second to understand what he’s saying. “Hungry?” I ask him like I’ve never heard the word before. But I quickly get control of myself. “Sorry, uh, I’m fine.” I twist away from his grip and stand up. “I was just leaving. Thanks for the drink, really, you saved my life.”
He stares at me, head tilted to the side like he’s reading the inside of my guts. “I’m not asking for your phone number and I’m not interested in a date. I’m asking if you want some company and a meal.”
“I’m not hungry,” I say and start walking. That’s true—I made sure to stuff myself before running earlier—but I don’t know how long it’s going to last. If Christopher is already cutting off his stash of cards, that means I won’t have any money at all to get a room for the night, much less anything to eat.
I’m planning my next move as I head through the lobby, but Mr. Kazan’s still at my side, keeping pace. “Pizza,” he says. “Deep dish, if that’s your thing.”
I make a face. “I’m from Philly. Deep dish is like a mortal sin back in my neighborhood.”
“Then whatever kind of pizza you want. I’m not picky.”
I glance at the expensive suit and the glittering watch on his wrist. “I highly doubt that.”
“How about this. There’s a Greek place near here that I like. I know the owners. Best souvlaki in the city. If it doesn’t change your life, I’ll pay the bill and you can go on your way, no complaints from me.”
I slow before I reach the exit. Outside, Chicago is a glittering, chaotic nightmare, an unfamiliar place filled with strangers.
I’ve been in this city for two months, and I’ve spent most of that time locked in the house my husband purchased, thinking about how I was going to get out.
I have no clue where I’m going. I have no clue what I’m doing.
And this guy did save my butt back there.
“What your name?” I ask, eyeing him suspiciously, trying to get a read, but the man’s poker face is pro level.
“Evander. And you?”
“Camille.”
“Nice to meet you, Camille. Let me feed you dinner.”
I grind my jaw, brain working. I need to get out of here right now, before Christopher looks over the charges and figures out where I am, but there’s something about this guy. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me, or his massive size, or the almost gentle way he talks to me, or the sheer force of his magnetism—this strange, powerful draw he’s exuding, and it’s like I can’t look away.
He’s handsome, but it’s not just that—plenty of guys are handsome.
There’s something else about Evander and I don’t know what it is.
But I’m curious now, and curiosity’s always been my weakness.
“Why are you helping me?” I finally ask out of frustration.
“You said something back at the bar. You said you need to get out of here beforehefinds you.” Evander leans closer. “Who ishe, Camille?”
I open my mouth to tell him to go to hell but shut it again. Letting my tongue get the better of me right now isn’t going to help anything, but I sure as heck don’t want to talk about Christopher with some stranger.
