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Indeed.
"Umm, sorry? Did I say something wrong? Of course, I did. But why is it wrong? I have no idea. No one has ever seen me with a man before today either, so it’s not odd not to be seen with someone of the opposite sex. By the same token, it’s allowed for a woman to have friends who are men and a man is allowed to have woman friends. Besides, you’re no longer a priest, so…" I swallow, for he’s leaned forward on the balls of his feet.
It’s a slight movement, but it brings him close enough for his scent—something spicy, with notes of dark wood— to crash over me. It’s as if I’ve been bathed in a cloud of aphrodisiacs—oh wait, those are his pheromones! A-n-d my stupid stomach goes into free fall. "Sooo, what I’m trying to say is, it doesn’t matter if you have women friends. Or girlfriends. Or ladyloves, as they called it in the regency era. I mean, you look stuffy enough to belong in an historical romance. All you need is a ruffled shirt…" I hum thoughtfully. "Yep, a white ruffled shirt, which would stand out against your skin and be the perfect foil to your cut-glass cheekbones. Does that mean you’re good-looking? Of course not. I mean, if you smiled a little more… Now—"
"Smile?" he asks in that dark, dangerous voice, and that swirling sensation in my belly intensifies. My toes curl. Goosebumps pop on my skin.
"Smile," I say in a dazed voice. "You know, when the sides of your mouth curve up because your sense of humor is tickled, or when you feel the urge to show your appreciation of a situation like this." I project my most confident, school-picture-day smile. "Not that either ofthosehave crossed your mind for a decade."
"How do you know that?" he asks in a curious voice.
"Oh, b-b-b-because your lips have been set in a firm line since I saw you earlier. And there’s this wrinkle between your eyebrows which seems to have been etched in permanently, and then the frown-lines that radiate out from the corners of your eyes, which are, no doubt, because you're old—er,"—I cough—"older and distinguished. Anyway, you have that dark-cloud-brewing-over-your-head look that only adds to your charm. From far away. I mean, it’s understandable you don’t have a girlfriend or any significant woman in your life. You look like you’re angry at the world, and there’s an internal war going on inside, and you’re all scowling and brooding and menacing. Which is all fine in a smu—I mean, romance novel. But in real life, no one wants to be around a man who’s an alphahole."
"Alphahole?" He says the word as if he's trying it on for size, and it fits. Speaking of fits, from the looks of it, he’d need an XL condom, given the size of the resting-package at his crotch. A-n-d, my gaze slides downward. It... it’s bigger than what it was earlier, so the tent under that coffee-stained fabric is… because he’s aroused?
Tiny woofs. I jerk my chin up to find he’s looking at me with a glint in his eyes.
"Was I caught in the act?" When he only raises an eyebrow, I continue, unabated. That's me, I keep digging that hole. "I was. So what?" I tip up my chin. "A man can stare at a woman’s chest, but a woman can’t ogle a man’s package?"
One of my girlfriends—Penny?—gasps, before turning it into a cough.
"Hear, hear,” Gio calls out.
Someone else titters, then the sound cuts off.
I don’t dare look around the room, though. Can’t take my gaze off those tawny eyes of his. Burnished gold, glistening copper, hard like topaz gemstones. They could sear me, look right through me to decipher my secrets. They could turn soft like melted butter which… is not me. He’s an unfeeling brute, a vicious beast. The devil incarnate. The kind of man who’d be all wrong for me.
Besides, I don’t like him. I don’t like the fact I can’t read him. I prefer someone who’s open and honest with his feelings, who can be sensitive to my needs. This man… He’d break me down, then leave me. I’d be better off keeping my distance from him.
"Oh, look at the time." I raise my hand and pretend to gasp at my empty wrist—no, I don’t wear a watch, but so what? It’s the intent behind my gesture that counts, right? "I need to be someplace else, somewhere urgent. Nice meeting you Mr. Ex-priest who shares his name with the man who’s side I was not on in Twilight."
I turn to leave, when he drawls, "Team Jacob, are you?"
I pause, then scowl at him over my shoulder. "Is that a problem for you?"
"Is it foryou?"he shoots back.
"Of course not."
"Good." He nods with satisfaction. "Remember, you asked how you could make things up to me?"
I nod slowly.
“Marry me.”
My jaw drops, "You’re kidding."
"Am I?” His eyes glint.
My heart crashes into my rib cage. This is a joke—him asking me to marry him. Only it doesn’t feel like that. His harsh features indicate he has not one funny bone in his gorgeous, sexy, chiseled out of granite, body. And to be married to him? This brooding, unfriendly, severe man, this… dark, handsome in an uncompromising manner man, who’d relish getting his way with me in bed… is… not something I want. Of course not.
I turn to face him."Of course, you are."
When the expression on his face doesn’t change, I swallow, spare a glance around the room and find no one willing to meet my eyes. "Aren’t you?”
He tilts his head, “What I am, is offering you a job.”
"A-a job?" I manage to choke out.
