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“When you’re in my company, you don’t pay for anything.”
I cock a brow and almost resist laughing at him.
“I’m quite capable of paying for my own drinks.”
“I’m not saying you aren’t, but the tab has been covered.”
“By who?”
I love how easy it is for me to play coy, allowing a shock value to heighten my voice a little.
“No one else has had a chance to pay.”
He laughs, not mocking me. He feeds on my innocence. I watch the way he relaxes in my company, like I’m a lamb for the slaughter and he’s waiting for me to truly let my guard down to him.
“Look… the tab is covered. You don’t need to worry about anything when you’re with me. That sort of thing is never an issue.”
“But I can pay,” I argue softly.
“How about you pay me in kind and give me a name?”
“There’s no point, so let me tip the barman.” I brandish a bright smile and slap a fifty-pound note down. “Why don’t you and Elizabeth go and get acquainted, Connor? There’s more if you two get lonely.”
The barman quickly obliges, taking the note, and gives Beckett a look as he hesitates. Beckett gives a slight head nod, acknowledging my move and approving it.
“Your money doesn’t impress me.”
“I don’t want it to,” I murmur dismissively, reaching for my glass. “I just don’t like men paying my way.”
“Why not?”
“Because they always want something in return.”
He sniggers but doesn’t disagree.
“Give me your foot.”
“It’s fine,” I argue.
“Are you always so defiant?”
He’s exasperated by me already. Good. I want to ruffle his feathers, leave a reminder, and then walk away from him.
“Please,” he orders, his tone soft but stern. Placing his hand ready, he looks at me with an ebb of impatience. “Don’t make me ask twice when I’ve already asked nicely.”
I roll my eyes and cave, giving into his order by lifting my leg. He hooks my ankle in the palm of his hand. His warmth instantly bleeds into my cooler skin, and skilfully, he comfortably places my foot on his lap. With his other hand, he takes the ice pack, and without even so much as a glance my way, he gently places it against my throbbing ankle.
Instinctively, I flinch against the sudden coldness, but he holds me still.
I feel the way his fingers wrap around the soft curve of my ankle, and my heart begins to sink. This is a touch I’m so familiar with, but I’m reminded of the fact it’s a touch that broke me most. My heart rate slows, and my breathing follows the same rhythm at him touching me so tenderly.
“Better?” he asks, looking directly at me. “I felt the way you relaxed after the initial shock of the ice.”
“Yeah,” I state, proud my voice doesn’t betray me. “Much. Thanks.”
“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he chided. “A little help never hurt anyone.”
Our eyes meet. Not a passing glance, but something stops us looking away. For a second, I think I see recognition ignite his eyes, but it’s fleeting, like the breath of a memory just breezed across his skin. He clears his throat, focusing on my ankle, and I take this as my chance to change the game.
