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“Why? What happened?” he asks.
What makes him think something happened?
“Nothing. I just don’t like the way he looks at me.”
“Okay,” he says in a dull voice as if making a mental note of that. “Did he talk to you?”
“No. He just looks at me like… I don’t know. Strange? Like he knows things about me… Like I’m his property or something. It’s demeaning.”
“Hmm.”
He seems displeased but not surprised. His eyes trail down while he digests the information.
“Stay away from him,” he says, not looking at me, his hand no longer connected to my dress.
I wish it were, though.
“You don’t have to ask me twice. I’ve never talked to him.”
“Keep it that way.”
He seems preoccupied for too damn long when my knees begin to shake, and he turns a concerned face to me.
“Okay, baby…” he says in a husky tone that travels down my spine like a bolt of fire, doing to me what his touch has done below my waist.
There is no pretension in his eyes.
His expression is different. He looks more mature. He looks ravishing, and his change of attitude makes my heart skip beats.
Why do I like this man so much?
He’s out of the game. This is no longer a game. This is him like I’ve only caught him a few more times before.
He’s playing with me, and then he’s no longer playing with me. And that’s when all my Kai-related plans go out the window.
I don’t know if he knows how easily I get smitten with him.
He seems half here and half removed from here, sunk in thought, thinking about something that escapes me entirely.
He glances at the bed again as if he is obsessed with my things. Something bothers him. Is it my bag? My phone? The color of my lipstick?
Whatever it is, he gives up on it, shifts his focus to me, clips the space between us, and brings cold lips to my cheek.
This is seriously not how I imagined this moment.
He leaves a kiss, like a small stamp on an old postcard meant for someone living far away, and then straightens his back.
“We’re going out tonight. If you want to…” he says seriously.
He’s all business now, his turmoil removed from my sight, something else gripping his mind. Does it have to do with me? With what I said? With Ted Sloane?
Who is that guy?
And why is he suddenly so important to the story? Maybe he isn’t. Maybe a different story runs through his head, and what I see on his face is not what’s eating him.
He’s still too close to me, and after spending another second thinking about something clearly out of my grasp, he focuses on me and gives me a faint smile and a soft wink.
“Call me if you need me…”
