Strong Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous #1)(5)

Without another word or glance, I take my pad and step off the platform, moving to the computer to enter them into a New Client form. My pulse settles more and more the longer I keep my eyes to myself. “What’s your name, sir? I’ll set up a profile for your order.” Still, I don’t glance back at him. I keep my gaze glued to the lighted screen.

“King,” he replies, his voice so close that I jump involuntarily. I don’t turn when I feel his hulking presence behind me; I just stiffen.

I type in the name. It’s as I’m hitting ENTER that it clicks. King. The last name of the bounty hunter Tracey told me about.

I whirl to face him, ready to pin him with an accusing stare, but I stop dead when I see that he’s not looking at me. He’s looking down at what he’s holding. Between his fingers is the pencil that was stuck between my teeth. I can see the tiny bite marks as he rubs over each one.

I watch him move his thumb over the indentions, gently, slowly. Back and forth, like an intimate caress. It’s hypnotic. Erotic. A fist clenches low in my core, causing me to inhale sharply at the sensation. It feels as though he’s rubbing me with those long fingers. Touching me, arousing me. It’s so physical, so tangible, so real that I have to reach back to steady myself against the edge of the desk.

“What sharp teeth you have,” he says quietly, Big Bad Wolf–style. When he glances up at me, his eyes are a dark and serious amber. “Do you bite?”

“No,” I whisper. “Do you?”

“Only if you ask nicely.”





TWO


Jasper

I watch her lush lips part, her breathing already shallow. She’s off-kilter. Just the way I like. “Are you Tracey’s friend?” she asks, finding a coherent thought and clinging to it.

“I am,” I reply, reaching around her to lay the pencil on the desk. The action brings my face to within an inch of hers and our arms brush. I hear the soft gasp of her inhalation.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? You didn’t have to pretend to be a customer.”

Anger. It rushes in to clear away the cobwebs. I can see it in the way her sleepy green eyes start to flash like two fiery emeralds.

“I wanted a few minutes alone with you before you went on guard. Like you are now.”

“Why? Am I being interviewed or something? I thought I was the one hiring you.”

“You are. But I like to know who I’m working for when I take a job like this.”

While the look on her face says she doesn’t approve of my tactic? she’s too curious to let it go. “And?”

“And what?”

“And what did you find out? What do you think you figured out about me in ten minutes of silence?”

I hold her gaze for long, quiet seconds before I speak. I sense how uncomfortable it makes her. I’m used to it. Such directness makes most people uncomfortable, but that doesn’t stop me. Keeping others off balance is always a benefit to me. “I don’t need to interrogate you to learn things about you. Being with you is enough.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffs, trying for casual.

“For instance, you’re a hard worker who takes her job seriously, even though I don’t think it’s really the job you want to be working. You’re good at this, but you’re not quite at home here, which tells me that this isn’t permanent. You looked sad and distracted when I came in, like you might be missing someone. Maybe that is where home is. And then there’s the fact that you’re trying to hire me. I’d say that accounts for the worried frown I keep seeing between your eyebrows.”

Her mouth drops open for a few seconds before she snaps it shut. “Is that all?” she asks sarcastically, pulling her vest tighter around her middle like she feels naked. I’m used to that, too. No one likes to feel exposed, like their secrets aren’t theirs to keep anymore.

“No, that’s not all, but I doubt you want to hear the rest.”

She eyes me warily for a few seconds before she raises her chin, eyes locked bravely onto mine. “Of course I do.”

She’s courageous. Ballsy. I like that.

“Well, just off hand you have a good eye for color, which makes me think you’re artistic. Artists are usually very . . . emotional. I’d say that when you’re not consumed with concern you have a tendency to throw yourself into the way you feel regardless of potential outcomes.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“I can. And I do. Just like I know you wash your hair in something that contains lilac.” Her eyes widen, but she says nothing so I continue, leaning in ever so slightly. “And then there’s the fact that you’re attracted to me. You don’t want to be. You probably even think that you shouldn’t be, but that’s like catnip for you, isn’t it?”

She’s shaken. Visibly shaken, but I don’t back off. I don’t give her a centimeter of the space I can see that she needs. I want her this way—off balance, uncertain. She’s the kind of woman who would rather feel than think if she has a choice. And that’s good for me. Not only will it serve my purposes very well, it’s also sexy as hell.

Her cheeks blaze with a rush of blood and I think about running my finger over her skin to see if it’s as silky as it looks. But I don’t. At this point that would be too much. I’m nothing if not intuitive. And controlled. In my line of work, I have to be.