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“I’d rather that than the man who lets a phone call derail his entire mood. What a pair.” I smile sarcastically.
“You’re as sharp as ever, I see. So perceptive… for a recluse who’s seen me once in an entire year, it’s impressive you know so much about me.”
And for that year, I wondered what Lance might’ve been doing. If he thought about me, too.
“If that’s me being perceptive, what does it make you? You happen to have me all figured out in that handsome head of yours.”
He takes a step toward me, his face growing impossibly harder as he rounds the bar and stands at my back. I swallow and look out into the lounge. “You were at that gala for no more than an hour when you ran out on me, and then I don’t see you for a year. Tell me, have you been living outside of that prison you willingly put yourself in, or am I wrong?”
I lean back, looking up at him. “Maybe I am a recluse, Lance, but at least I’m happy. And just so you know, I’m one more asshole comment away from throwing this drink in your face.”
He frowns, clenching his jaw, but says nothing. No smart-ass replies or snappy banter. Something builds inside of me. “What is up with you tonight?” I ask as if I know him at all.
He just stares down at me, his eyes eating at me and driving me to continue.
“It bothered you that I left the gala?” I say, slightly quieter as I take the parts I shouldn’t.
Annoyance spreads over his face as if he’s slipped up, and then he quirks a brow. “You think I’m handsome?”
“Are you going to answer all my questions with one of your own?”
“Will you answer my question?”
I snigger and pick out a bottle at random to fill Charlie’s glass. Lance’s presence at my back makes my stomach flutter like a complete traitor. “You’ve looked miserable and bored all night. You’re probably the hardest person I’ve ever tried to read.”
His hand reaches forward, his chest brushing my shoulder as he swaps out the bottle in my hand. Strong fingers smooth over my waist as he reaches across the length of the bar and grabs a different bottle, and then he’s pouring the drink for me. “Maybe I am bored.”
I try to steady my voice, annoyed his touch alone has me so flustered. “If you were bored, you wouldn’t be here.”
“So you think I’m here for you?”
My skin burns under his touch. Why is he still touching me? Why does it feel so good? “No,” I say, shaking my head.
He tilts his neck back, looking down his nose at me with a smirk. “I am.”
He’s laughing at me.
And he’s enjoying it. “You’re toying with me.”
He sniggers. “You have no idea.”
I drop my head, eyeing the amber liquid in the glass. “Why are you acting like you hate me?” I ask, confused.
“Hate you?” he snaps back, fingers flexing before they disappear. I instantly miss their warmth. He shakes his head. “Is that what you think?”
“You’ve barely said a word to me all night. Then you look at me like you want to kill me. Then you’re nice to me on the terrace. Then you come in here being a complete jackass—”
“Come with me.”
“Come with you?” Is this man deluded?
“Move. Your. Ass.” He walks from the room, hitting the button for the elevator.
My nerves spark in my gut like firecrackers.
“Where are you going?” I hiss, looking across at the lounge where everyone is sitting.
I cannot read this man.
