Rock Chick Reawakening (Rock Chick 0.5)(15)

“I don’t…I don’t…” I swallowed, ignoring the card, “need a man on me.”

His eyes turned hard too, and at their glinting fury, I finally started to be scared of him.

I fought taking a step back.

“They haven’t found him,” he whispered.

“I know that,” I whispered back.

And that made me shiver.

I wasn’t thinking about that. The fact the guy who violated me got away.

Smithie said he was taking care of it. Detective Jimmy Marker, who talked to me at the hospital when the staff called the cops after the ambulance took me there, said he’d do everything in his power to find him.

I was thinking only about that.

“You need to be safe. So you’re going to be safe,” he decreed, lifting the card up higher between us.

“You need to stop sendin’ me flowers,” I didn’t exactly decree because my voice was kind of shaky, but I hoped he’d get my message.

“I will, if you go to lunch with me tomorrow.”

“You need to stop asking me to lunch.”

“Fine. Then go with me to dinner tomorrow.”

“Mr. Sloan—”

He leaned into me, his face close, I could smell his expensive cologne, and I snapped my mouth shut.

“Marcus,” he whispered.

“Okay,” I breathed.

“Dinner tomorrow.”

“No.”

He ignored me.

“I’ll pick you up at seven. You won’t be on show. But you will be safe from anything you perceive might make you unsafe, including me. I simply want your company at dinner. That’s all, Daisy.”

“Please, stop doing this.”

His brows went up. “Why?”

“You have to ask?”

“Daisy,” he said gently, reaching to me, grabbing my hand and pressing the card in my palm. Closing my fingers around it, he continued to hold me lightly and I didn’t pull away because I didn’t want to share what that would expose either. “You were harmed. You were hurt. But what happened to you didn’t make you stop being who you are or make it so you shouldn’t live your life and enjoy doing it.”

“I’m not talking about that.”

“All right, so explain to me what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

He nodded once. “Fine, so explain it to me over dinner tomorrow night.”

“Marcus—”

“I’m not going to give up.”

This was beginning to make me mad so I shared crankily, “Well, that doesn’t make me feel real peachy.”

His fine lips twitched and he asked, “Do you not find me attractive?”

Was he crazy?

“Of course I find you attractive. You’re all—”

I cut myself off then because I wasn’t paying attention to what I was saying, mostly the fact I shouldn’t be saying it.

Those fine lips of his curled up.

Oh Lord.

“I’m all what?” he pushed.

“Can you let me go?” I snapped.

To my shock, he let me go, and not only that, he took a step back.

You will be safe from anything you perceive might make you unsafe, including me.

I started breathing funny.

“Would you like me to explain why I don’t wish to give up?” he asked.

Hell no.

“No,” I answered.

He let that slide and told me, “I want to be clear. I don’t want to come on strong.”

“Well, you’re failin’,” I shared.

At that, he smiled.

I felt my throat close.

With that smile, the cynicism and sly went right out of his eyes.

They were twinkling at me.

Twinkling at me.

“You mistake me,” he said softly. “I don’t want to come on strong. I don’t want to take this at a pace you aren’t comfortable with. Not with what happened to you, but you should understand, I wouldn’t do that even if that hadn’t happened to you. So you’ll set the pace. Just as long as there is a pace.”

“And if I don’t want there to be a pace?” I asked.

“Then I’d like the courtesy of you sharing why you wouldn’t.”

“And I’d like the courtesy of you not makin’ me do that,” I shot back.

He studied me a second then looked beyond me.

Again, he changed and he did it taking another step away from me, his face closing off so much, the cynicism and sly didn’t even come back.

He gave me nothing.

“I see,” he murmured.

I shouldn’t ask.

I really shouldn’t ask.

I asked.

“You see what?”

“You know who I am.”

“Yeah. You’re Marcus Sloan.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what I mean and I believe you understand that.”

I did, right then.

And what I understood made me laugh.

It just poured out of me.

And I guessed I really needed to laugh because I did it so hard, I bent over with it, wrapping my arms around my belly.

When I got myself together, still giggling, I straightened, lifted a hand to my eye and swept it across the wet under it, hoping my hilarity didn’t mess up my makeup seeing as I’d had to wring miracles to conceal the fading bruises that morning.