Page 2 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

Which is all well and good—until nice turns into not nice.

And I’m not looking to relive that nightmare.

My friends can have their men, their happily-ever-afters. I’ll stick with my books and my movies and my quiet, peaceful life.

Thorn doesn’t move closer, just keeps those hands where I can see them. “Making sure you get to your car.”

“Why?”

He just looks at me. “Because it’s what I do.”

“Well,” I grit out, “don’t do it with me.” I make a shooing motion and turn back to my car. “Now go away.”

“No.”

I rotate back to face him, my brows lifting in surprise. And annoyance. “Are you always this stubborn?”

He lifts one shoulder in an indolent shrug. “I’m usually worse.”

The dry reply catches me so off guard I almost laugh.

Almost.

I cross my arms instead. “Congratulations.” A beat. “Now go.”

“No.”

No. No?

Silence stretches between us as I study this stubborn, annoying, freaking beautiful specimen of a man while he just calmly stares back at me.

It’s not comfortable. Not by any measure.

But it’s not exactly uncomfortable either.

Rather, it’s like I’m standing too close to a power line, the buzzing filling my ears, my nerves, disorienting my senses, making it difficult for me to draw in air.

“Breathe, little hen.”

I jerk, dropping back into the world so abruptly it’s like I get whiplash.

The sound of traffic in the distance fills my ears.

The damp scent of cold concrete and engine fumes clogs my nose.

The heavy weight of Thorn’s deep green eyes is like lightning shooting through my veins.

The last is the worst—because the man notices too much. Most people see me exactly how I want to be seen. Friendly. Hardworking. Extroverted and easy to get along with. Thorn looks at me like he can see all the frantic little gears turning through my mind at any given moment.

Be careful. Be safe. Be smart and flexible and unnoticed. Because there’s danger in the brightness, danger in hoping and wanting and needing.

Better to be a cardboard cutout of a woman than a real one. Better to have that shield.

Thorn’s green eyes seem to see right through my protective barriers. It makes me want to run—which is ridiculous. He’s never done anything remotely threatening toward me. If anything, he’s careful with me. That should be a relief.

Instead, it scares me in ways I don’t entirely understand.

His gaze drops briefly toward my hands.