Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Talk to my lawyer,” I order before he can speak. “Not me.”
“I have no interest in talking to your lawyer,” he states. “I am not working for, nor am I associated with, your bank.” He steps closer, so close we are a lean from touching. So close that I can feel the warmth of his body and, if I wanted to, I could trace the barely-there outline of a goatee. “And I don’t lie,” he adds, a hardness to his voice, a glint in his eyes that tells a story beyond this moment. “In fact, I hate liars, and I don’t use the word ‘hate’ liberally.”
“Wrong,” I say, hating the way my body wants to lean toward his. “My staff—”
“—told me you had a meeting,” he supplies, “and it was fairly obvious after last night that it would be with your attorney, and I’m resourceful enough to have that bring me here.”
“Why would you even do that?”
“You interest me, Faith,” he says, his voice lower now, my name intimate on his tongue, a soft rasp that still manages a rough, seductive tone, etched with a hint of something in his voice, in his eyes, I don’t quite read or understand. “And unless I’ve developed a colorful imagination, I interest you, too.”
“You don’t work for the bank?” I ask, my anger easing but not gone.
“No,” he confirms. “I do not work for the bank, and to be clear, I do not work for anyone who has your business interests in mind. I work for me, and I have you in mind.”
“If this is all true, then explain to me how you thought showing up here, knowing what you learned about my situation last night, was the way to get from no to yes?”
His hand settles on the window beside me, somehow shrinking my small space, somehow creating more intimacy between us. “We were red-hot last night, and you know it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“That’s not a denial, but I’ll answer your question. If I’d shown up at the winery today, you would have disappeared into some corner again until I left, like you did last night. I wasn’t prepared to let you run again.”
“I didn’t run,” I say. “I simply decided you could be playing me. And I don’t need more enemies than friends.”
“And now?” he challenges softly. “Am I a friend or an enemy?”
“I haven’t decided.”
Something flickers in his eyes, gone before I can name it, before he asks, “All right, then. I’ll settle for either as long as you keep that old saying about enemies in mind.”
“They aren’t the nice guys.”
“If you have an enemy who’s a nice guy, it’s no different than having an attorney who’s a nice guy. You might as well call him a friend.”
“But you’re not a nice guy. You said so.”
“What I am is the man who made you drop that ten-foot wall of yours when I touched you last night.” His gaze lowers to my mouth, lingering there before lifting. “And I’ve been thinking about touching you again ever since. About tearing down that wall and keeping it down.”
“That wall is to keep men like you out.”
He narrows his gaze on me. “Who burned you, Faith? And what scars did he leave?”
That wall of mine slams back into place, and damn it, he did tear it down, and he did so without touching me. He’s dangerous. He sees too much. Things I don’t want to show anyone ever again. “I’m leaving,” I say, turning back to the car, but as I do, my purse strap falls from my shoulder. I try to catch it, and only then do I realize I’m still holding the card from my father, and it tumbles to the ground. I suck in air, hating the idea of it on the ground for reasons I’ll analyze later. Turning and squatting down, I intend to grab it, but Tiger is already there, and it’s in his hand. I wobble on the toes of my boots just enough to instinctively flatten my hand on his powerful thigh to catch myself. The impact of that connection is electric, instant, that wall he’d mentioned falling. I can’t breathe, and my heart is instantly racing. I try to pull back my hand, but his covers mine.
That breath I’d sucked in moments before is lodged in my throat, and my gaze lifts to his, the impact punching me in the chest, heat waving between us, that dark lust charging the air. I tell myself to stand up, but I don’t. I tell myself to jerk my hand back from where it rests against him. But he smells so good, a cocoon of earthy masculinity that seduces me to stay right where I am, lost in those deep blue eyes of his.
“Touching you again,” he says, his voice as earthy and warm as his scent, “or, rather, you touching me this time, is better than the first time.” He offers me the card. “Happy Birthday, Faith.”