Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
There shouldn’t be anyone else here. I stayed late with Nancy, but she left, and everyone else went home when rehearsal ended.
Before I can have a full-blown heart attack, the man moves out of the shadows, and I realize it’s not a stranger at all—well, not a total stranger.
It’s Hayden Atwater.
He looks devastatingly handsome in his expensive three-piece suit, stepping out of the shadows like somebody’s nightmare.
My insides flutter, but I need him to leave, and I guess before that, I need to know what the hell he’s doing here.
“This is a closed rehearsal,” I say with a frown, casting a confused look at the row he just emerged from.
Was he sitting there watching me?
“Rehearsal ended”—he checks his Rolex—“about an hour ago. Do you often stay late to help little old ladies learn how to rock their hips?”
My cheeks flush, and I look down at my water bottle to avoid looking at him. “No, not usually. I don’t generally have elderly ladies in my belly dancing class, or any of my classes, really.” Rather than continue to explain myself to him, I ask, “Why are you here?”
“Wanted to see you dance. You ripped me off yesterday.”
A short laugh bursts out of me. “I ripped you off? You ogled me and did nothing, and I had to pay you $350.”
“You didn’t have to,” he reminds me. “I offered to take you out for a drink and wipe the slate clean.”
He moves toward me, and I find myself taking a step back. Rationally, I know he’s no predator. He’s a lawyer, for heaven’s sake.
But he did sneak into my closed rehearsal to watch me dance, and now we’re completely alone, and…
He needs to leave.
Clearing my throat, I attempt a firm tone and tell him, “I believe we concluded our business yesterday, and I really have to be getting home to my daughter, so if you’ll excuse me…”
He doesn’t stop moving toward me, and I don’t stop retreating.
“This is very inappropriate,” I tell him as I’m forced to continue backing up.
His lips tug up in a smirk, amusement sparking in his dark eyes. They’re the color of the ocean at night. “You use that word a lot.”
“Only when I’m around you.”
His gaze rakes over me. “Turquoise today, huh? I like it.”
“Why are you stalking me?” I demand since he’s still advancing on me.
“Why are you letting me?” he returns, cocking an eyebrow.
I’m right up against the stage now. I can’t retreat any farther, so I stop, jutting my chin up and meeting his gaze. “I’m not letting you. I just can’t seem to stop you.”
He stops too, but he’s right on top of me. Far too close. His nearness makes my heart hammer in my chest.
“I think I’m beginning to understand why your neighbor loves tormenting you,” he states.
Narrowing my eyes, I say, “You would sympathize with the asshole in this scenario.”
He smiles at my insult as though he finds me adorable. “I didn’t say I sympathized with him, just that I understood. There’s a difference between empathy and sympathy.”
“I’m aware of that,” I mutter.
“I want to take you out for a drink,” he states.
“While I empathize with you wanting that,” I tell him, lightly mocking, “I am not going anywhere with you, least of all for a drink.”
“Why are you so determined not to go out with me?”
“Has it occurred to you that maybe I just don’t like you?”
“No,” he says plainly.
I roll my eyes in disgust.
“I know you’re attracted to me. I make you nervous.”
“Do you think every woman you make nervous must be attracted to you? Because I’m afraid I have some bad news…”
“I don’t ordinarily spend time with women I make nervous. I’m making an exception for you.”
“How delightful for me.”
He grins. “Isn’t it? Now, are you going home to change first, or do you want to just wear your little scarves to the bar? We can make it a tradition.”
I shake my head. Since he isn’t advancing on me anymore, I brush past him and walk quickly toward the exit. “I already told you, the answer is no. It’s still no. It will always be no. I also told you my daughter is waiting on me to start dinner, so why you think there’s even a chance I’ll go out with you right now—”
“Tell her something came up. I’ll order her a pizza,” he offers.
“I am not blowing off my daughter to go out for a drink I don’t want with you.”
“Ouch.” He grabs at his heart, if he even has one. “You wound me, Gemma Cane.”
Ignoring him, I shove open the auditorium doors and make my way out without holding the door for him. Maybe that’ll show him I mean business.
He follows me. “I think I should warn you, the last time a woman made me work this hard to go out with her, I married her.”