Rock Chick Reawakening (Rock Chick 0.5)(12)

“Marcus,” he corrected me.

Okay, this was happening.

I lifted my chin a little and kept it there but said nothing.

He had sunglasses on, smoky ones that were handsome on him and probably cost a mint.

Headlining Smithie’s I could afford glasses like those (well not those, those were for a man, but the like for girls).

Years of scraping by, I’d made it.

Stripping.

Smithie was giving me paid leave. I was going back as soon as the bruising was out of my face and the scabs were gone from my body.

I was doing this because I had a Porsche to pay for, for one. And what did it matter what I did, for another. I got paid a load dancing around for schmucks with hardons. No reason not to keep doing it.

And yeah, not even after what had happened to me. I knew without a doubt that wasn’t why I’d had some * rape me. Assholes did that kind of shit to women no matter what she did for a living, mostly because they were *s.

Still, even behind his shades, I knew Marcus Sloan was studying me.

I didn’t like it but Miss Annamae’s training kicked in and I said, “Thank you for the flowers.”

He inclined his head but said nothing.

“They’re real nice but you can stop sending them,” I told him.

He still said nothing.

Whatever.

I looked around our area of the park and back at him.

“You take a stroll through Wash Park often?” I asked.

He spoke then.

“I’d like to take you out to dinner tonight.”

I stared up at him, not wearing any sunglasses, so my expression was probably not hard to read. Even if I’d had them on, my mouth dropping open would have given me away.

I snapped it shut and straightened my back. This caused only a hint of pain as the tightness of the scabs reminded me they were there.

“Thank you, but you’ve made your point with the flowers. And you have nothing to worry about. I’m coming back to work and I’m not blaming anyone for what happened, except the * who did it to me.”

He nodded but even doing it, he said, “With that, I’m afraid it’s clear that I haven’t made my point with the flowers.”

What?

“What I’m trying to say, Mr. Sloan—” I began to explain.

“Marcus.”

“Marcus,” I snapped and watched his very fine lips twitch.

Whatever.

I carried on.

“You and Smithie will have no problems from me.”

“I didn’t suspect we would.”

“Good,” I returned. “So thank you for…” I lifted a hand and flitted it through the air, watching his shades move to it and stay locked on it in a way that made me feel funny, “your kindness, but there’s no need to take it further.”

When I dropped my hand to my lap, he rocked back on his heels, his shades returning to me.

He didn’t say anything for a long time, he just looked at me, and I fought squirming.

Finally, he spoke.

And when he did it, his deep voice wrapped around the words warmly, communicating that warmth to me.

“Daisy, I’d very much like to take you to dinner.”

“Thanks,” I returned sharply, using my tone to fight back that funny feeling that just kept growing. “But no thanks. I don’t need a pity date, not to mention…” I lifted my hand again, this time to gesture stiltedly to my face, “I’m not feelin’ good about goin’ to some fancy place and bein’ on show.”

“I don’t pity you,” he told me.

“Really?” I asked, cocking my head again, feeling my hair move and seeing his head shift slightly so I knew he watched it. “A girl who got the skin scraped off her ass in a parking lot because some guy tore her clothes off, threw her to the blacktop, and banged the shit outta her when she was only kinda conscious?” I righted my head and nodded. “Right. I get it. You don’t pity that kind of girl. My kind. I work a pole, I got it comin’.”

I stopped talking, but I’d done it so heatedly, I’d stupidly not paid close attention to him while I was doing it.

So when I stopped talking, I had no choice but to pay attention because the entirety of Marcus Sloan had changed. Every inch. Every molecule. The change filled the air and circled around me, drawing me into its snare like I was Snow White reaching for the apple, even knowing the dangers that lurked if I took a bite.

“I misspoke,” he whispered, his words slithering over my skin, not like a snake.

Like silk.

And they kept doing it as he kept speaking.

“I don’t pity you. I’m very sorry for what happened to you. What you endured. Very sorry, Daisy. However, I don’t wish to have dinner with you because I pity you. I wish to have dinner with you because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Yep.

My mouth dropped open at that too.

“It’s too soon for you,” he murmured. “I apologize. We’ll take this slow. To that end, I’d be honored if you’d have lunch with me on Friday. Somewhere quiet where you won’t feel on show.”

“It’s Wednesday,” I told him something he likely knew, but it being Wednesday, no way my face would be okay to go to lunch anywhere by Friday.