Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“Who’d you come here with?” he asks.
“My friends.”
“No guy?”
“No.”
“What about you?” I asked him if he was single earlier, but I want to be crystal clear on that fact. “Is there a girl? Here or—”
He shakes his head.
The revelation feels dangerous. If he were a lion, he’d be licking his chops.
“Right. Well if you’re not giving me your name, I figure you also don’t want me asking for your number…”
“No.”
The word flies like a missile, said before I’ve even thought it. I’m working on instinct alone here.
I’m single, yes, and I’d like to find someone I can’t live without—sure, sure, that all sounds really nice, but not him. Every fiber of my being is telling me this man is not a safe bet for my future.
Some guys would be annoyed by this point. I came on to him, I dragged him into this game, and now I’m turning him down. He’s not mad though; he merely looks intrigued. I wonder if he’s always this easygoing or if he has another side to him. Passion, fire—oh yes, I see them lurking behind his gaze like a heady promise.
“Well your dare is accomplished, I’d say, give or take another few minutes. I guess it’s my turn to play.”
His eyes gleam with mischief.
He wants me to ask him truth or dare? My depraved mind swirls with possibilities. I could have him down to his boxers in no time. I could have him performing a Magic Mike striptease while I sit, mouth agape, hand fanning my face.
I grin like a maniacal villain.
“Okay. Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
He doesn’t miss my shoulders sagging with disappointment.
“Truth? Okay…fine. Hmm, let me think of something good.”
I tap my chin. I’m walking on a minefield here. So many questions I could ask would have answers too specific to his life. I have to keep it general and vague.
“What are you most afraid of?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Go in for the kill why don’t you?”
“It’s not too late to swap to dare…”
Take your pants off. No, your shirt. No…pants.
He brings his hand up to rub the side of his jaw, mulling over his answer. Finally, he sighs and shakes his head. “Losing sight of who I am and where I came from.”
“That’s your biggest fear?”
He laughs. “What was I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know…falling into a vat of slithering snakes, Voldemort being real, premature balding?”
Now that last one would be a real travesty. His hair is so damn nice. There’s a slight wave to the black strands. He’s probably so vain about it. I would be.
“Snakes don’t bother me all that much. Premature balding doesn’t run in my family. And Voldemort?” He shrugs. “Well…let’s just say my favorite color is green, not gold.”
I gasp like he’s just admitted to murder.
“Now…truth or dare?” he asks, all business all of a sudden.
“Truth.”
“Why won’t you give me your number?”
I panic and swap. “Dare.”
“Take your dress off.”
My jaw drops. “That’s not fair.”
He shrugs, smooth as ever. “A dare’s a dare.”
I sigh and reach for the thin strap of my dress. I toy with it on my shoulder as I try to delay the inevitable. He leans forward, utterly enraptured, his breath bated as my strap starts to slip lower. Then I lose the battle with my smile as I put my strap back into place.
“I’m not taking my dress off! Are you insane?!” I lean back against the door. “It’s not that I won’t give you my number. I can’t.”
“Is this about you being a Russian spy? Because I can help you if you’re in trouble.”
I love that he’s continuing the bit. Why can’t more guys be funny? I don’t care if a man works out for two hours every day. Your muscles cannot entertain me, sir. I want to laugh. I want to be bowled over by witty banter.
“I’m afraid it’s too late for me.”
He sighs. “A pity.” Then his eyes turn demanding, narrowing slightly. “Now answer the question truthfully…or lose the dress.”
I nearly gulp at his bossiness. My voice shakes when I speak, knowing I’ve hit the end of the line in evading his question. “You’re not my type.”
This surprises him. I have no doubt he’s never heard those particular words said in that particular order before. Poor guy. What does your first taste of rejection feel like?
“Then why’d you approach me? Why’d you kiss me?”
I hold up my hand to explain. “Okay, let me amend that. You’re too much my type. Like you tick every box. It’s dangerous.”
“So you’re attracted to me?”
Now, he’s grinning.
The truth tumbles out of me like he’s worn me down over years, centuries. Why even resist? “As if I conjured you out of a fantasy.”
Oh he likes that. His eyes flicker with the power I just gifted him.
“The feeling’s mutual.”
With that bit of honesty, the tension in the room ratchets up to inhospitable levels. I’m about to have to wipe sweat from my brow.