Dare To Run (The Sons of Steel Row #1)(27)

He shrugged. “For work, sure. But I generally don’t spend my free time there. I’d rather get a lap dance for free. And when it’s over, I can finish the job right here, on my couch. Or against the wall.”

My pulse quickened. If that had been an invitation, my instinctual reply would’ve been a hell yes. A really loud hell yes. “Is that a request?”

“Like I told that * in the bar, if you have to ask . . .” His green eyes sparkled, and he took his hand off my leg. I missed it instantly. “Want a drink?”

“God yes.” I stood up. “I mean . . . I’ll get it myself, if you tell me where it is.”

“Nah, I’ll get it for you for once.” He stood, too, and trailed the back of his knuckles over my cheek. I bit down on my tongue. “Wine or whiskey?”

“Wine.”

He ran his finger over my lower lip gently. “How’s the mouth feeling?”

“It’s fine. Barely hurts.” My throat felt swollen and aching. It wasn’t the only part of me that was aching, thank you very much. I tried to ignore that, though, considering what I was about to say. “Look, if I’m staying here for a while . . . you can’t sleep on the couch every night. You should sleep in your bed.”

He gave me his back and pulled down a wineglass and a tumbler. “I might not be a white hat, but I refuse to let you sleep on the couch while I take the bed. My ma might have loved me, but she’d rise from her grave to kill me if I did that. No lie.”

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “It’s a king-size bed, and we’re both adults. We could sleep in it together.”

He froze, his hand tight on his glass, and backed up a step. Actually backed away from me as if I’d threatened to kill him or something. “You want to sleep in my bed with me?”

The way he said it, half shock, half terror, struck me as odd. “Not like that. I already told you that you weren’t my type.” I dropped my hand to the counter and tapped my fingers. “But it makes sense, really, for both of us to use it, if we’re stuck with each other for a while.”

He pulled the whiskey down, poured himself a healthy dose, and finished it all with one swallow. Then he poured himself some more and picked up the wine. He narrowed his eyes and frowned, and I couldn’t help but feel as if he was watching me as if I’d suggested he should kick himself in the nuts, rather than suggest a logical solution to our current sleeping arrangements. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? Do you snore?”

He poured the wine, his face dead serious for once. His skin took on a little bit of a green hue, as if his mere thoughts literally sickened him. “No f*cking clue.”

“Then why—?” I cocked my head to get a better look at his eyes. “Wait. Have you never slept with anyone before?”

He didn’t look at me, and, judging from his silence, he didn’t intend to answer. Instead, he handed my glass over and picked up his own drink. Then he stared me down. He did that a lot. Spinning the amber liquid in his tumbler into a little whirlpool, he leaned back. “Doesn’t a cellmate count?”

I choked on my wine. Once I could breathe again, I gasped in air. “Y-you were in jail?”

“Why are you surprised?” he asked dryly, stopping the whirlpool. “Look at my lifestyle. Of course I was in jail. Just got out, actually. Still want me in your bed?”

For once in my life, I was speechless.

I mean, I knew what he did for a living, and I knew he didn’t live on the right side of the law. But still . . . jail? I tried to picture him in one of those prison jumpsuits instead of jeans and a blue shirt, and failed. “Like I said, it’s just a platonic sharing of the same bed. I promise not to kick you in the middle of the night. Or slit your throat.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly on the glass, and he shook his head once. “It’s not smart to be around people when you’re at your weakest. I don’t open myself up to that shit. That’s a death wish in my world, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well, not in mine.” I rested a hand on his hard biceps. “It’ll be fine. I’ll keep to my side of the bed, and you can keep to yours. We can even put pillows between us, if you want.”

“I don’t want anything between us,” he said, a hint of a smirk coming into play. “But you’re not ready for that yet.”

Oh, I would beg to differ. My body was perfectly ready for that. I just wasn’t going to give it what it wanted. It would be too risky. Crazy. Insane.

And oh so stupid.

“I’m not interested in that at all, and time won’t change my mind.” I leaned close and trailed my fingers over his jawline, much like he had done to my cheek earlier. His eyes narrowed, and I had the distinct impression that he was like a tiger, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation on my part. “Like I said a million times: Not. My. Type.”

He caught my wrist, his grip firm but gentle. “Give me one minute of your time, and I can show you just how not your type I am, sweetheart.”

When he said that with his Boston accent, the round sound catching on that ar syllable, it made my heart skip a beat or three. I tossed back the rest of my wine before I smiled up at him, batting my lashes. “Oh, honey, you’d need to do a lot more than that to impress a girl like me.”