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On his tongue, those two syllables sound elegant and graceful. Words I wouldn’t use to describe myself. The crowd moves around us as the light changes, but he doesn’t let go. His hand squeezes just a little. His gaze never leaves mine.
“Don’t dismiss yourself like that again. Do you understand?” His hand glides from my shoulder down my arm, the warmth of his touch burning through my puffy coat.
When his fingers brush the back of my knuckles, I swallow and nod. I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to a man. I clear my throat and shove my hands in my pockets. “And your name?”
“Midas.” His palm comes to the small of my back, guiding me across the street.
Chuckling to keep from revealing how much he’s affecting me, I ask, “Does everything you touch turn to gold?”
Rather than answer, he leads me down a side street to the clothing store and holds open the door.
This is not the kind of place I shop. It’s not even the kind of place I dream about shopping. This place is so fancy they don’t have clothes out on racks. In fact, I don’t see a single article of clothing anywhere. Just beautiful white couches and a very attractive man, wearing a teal suit and a smile that drops the moment he sees the dogs.
I tug on Midas’s coat sleeve and whisper, “We should go somewhere else.”
“We’re right where we should be.” He steps all the way inside and lets the door close behind us.
The man in teal composes himself quickly as he approaches us. His smile is back in place and focused on me. “May I help you?”
Midas takes half a step in front of me and glares at the man. “Is Monica in?”
“Oh.” He doesn’t manage to hide his surprise. “Are you a friend?”
Midas doesn’t define how he knows Monica. He just says, “Tell her Midas is here.”
The man nods, giving the dogs one last look before he disappears into the back. I guess if the place is fancy enough, they’ll put up with anything for their elite clientele. Even dogs.
Midas gives the dogs a firm command to sit. To my surprise, they obey—even when he sets the leashes down on the floor!
“How did you do that?”
“They know where the power is in the room.”
This man exudes power and prestige. I guess even the dogs can sense it. I scratch Charlie behind the ear for a moment while we wait for Monica.
“Come,” Midas says.
I stand up, and he leads me to a small platform surrounded by mirrors on three sides. His hand on my back sends tingles up and down my nerve endings, even through my coat and sweater.
Our eyes catch and hold in the mirror. I wonder about his scar. Has he had it for long? How did it happen?
The marred skin gives him an aura of danger that makes me shiver, even as it makes me want to lean into him. Something primal in me knows that this is a man who could take care of me, win a fight, kick someone’s ass. Goosebumps pebble my skin despite the heat in the little shop, and I feel tight everywhere.
That scar is going to be my undoing.
He clears his throat, and I realize I’m staring with my mouth open, gawking at him. Shit. “S-sorry.”
“Is there something you want to know?”
“How’d you…” I want to ask him how he got his scar, but it feels too personal. “How do you know the woman who works here?”
As soon as the question is out, I realize it’s just as personal as asking about his scar. My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and I open my mouth to take back the question, but he leans in, hot breath singeing my neck as he whispers directly into my ear. “I fucked her.”
At least he’s honest. More honest than I want. A thick, heavy feeling settles in my stomach. Why do I hate the idea of him with another woman? I don’t know him. I don’t know if he’s even interested in me that way. Sure, he asked me to go to this party with him, but that doesn’t mean he’s attracted to me. Maybe he wants to take someone he has no interest in so that things stay uncomplicated. Maybe he likes to give women who are down on their luck a night of luxury, like some kind of fairy-godfather.
“Why aren’t you taking Monica to the party tonight?”
“I have my reasons.” He moves my hair to one side, brushing it over my shoulder. Instinctively, I tilt my head, exposing my neck. My pulse is fast, pounding in my ears, drumming through my veins. His warm breath heats my neck, lips dancing so close that I can feel them, even though I know he’s not touching me.
