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“It’s not like you have a husband to go home to. Or, for that matter, a home to go home to.”
That, finally, is what makes me leap to my feet. “Buying a pizza doesn’t entitle you to sit there and rip my life to pieces,” I snap. “My husband left, yeah, but I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the victim here. You’re just a smug douche with a gaudy watch.”
He says nothing. Those eyes gleam.
That pisses me off more than anything he could’ve said.
I turn and storm away, though there’s a twinge of regret in my gut for all the pizza I’m leaving behind and the hungry days that lie ahead. I wind between tables, past the gawking patrons who’ve begun to file in, and burst back out into the night.
The air is bracingly cold, even colder than it was when I went in. My stomach rumbles again, but I silence it as I look up and down the sidewalk.
Silver Eyes was right about one thing: I don’t have anywhere to go. Left, right, it doesn’t matter. I’m about to flip a coin in my head and march off in a random direction to find somewhere I can huddle up until morning.
But before I can…
A hand clamps down on my wrist.
5
PAIGE
I whip around with a scream on my lips to see, shocker of all shockers, Silver Eyes standing there, framed by the light from the restaurant.
He looks like a god with that backlighting. Like something on fire. His gray suit fits his shoulders perfectly, and the snowy white of his button-down shirt glows in the moonlight.
I’m honestly stunned that he followed me out. He didn’t strike me as the kind of man who chases after things. Life just falls in his lap effortlessly. But chase me he did.
I don’t know if I like that or not.
I wrench my wrist out of his grasp, though the heat of his touch remains like a brand on my skin. “Hands off.”
“You’re a sensitive one,” he remarks.
“Yeah, well, I’ve had a pretty shitty week. I keep running into assholes.”
He tilts his head to the side. “There’s a saying about that: when you meet an asshole, you just met an asshole. When everyone you meet is an asshole, you might be the asshole.”
His breath fogs in the night air. Truth be told, I’m a little dizzy from the sudden deluge of calories and emotions, so I’m having a hard time puzzling out what he’s trying to convey.
“Are you calling me an asshole?” I ask at last.
He chuckles. “I’m offering you a place to stay for the night, Paige. No expectations. Just a soft bed and a door that locks.”
My frown deepens. “No expectations?”
“None whatsoever.” He holds up his hands to show me they’re empty. His watch reflects the streetlight overhead and inky black tattoo tendrils crawl up the underside of his wrist.
They really are big hands. Capable hands. Dangerous hands.
“Fine,” I say. “But you’d better keep those to yourself.” I point at his hands so he knows what I’m talking about.
“As you wish.” He tucks them into his pockets, then looks over my shoulder.
I follow his gaze to see a sleek black Porsche purring at the curb. “That’s yours?”
“That’sours,” he corrects.
He walks around to the driver’s side while the valet opens my door. I get into the passenger’s seat, trying to decide if this is a hunger-fueled fantasy or if this is really happening.
