And nothing interesting? Ouch.
“There’s a first time for everything,” he says after a pause. “I didn’t come here for you to handle me the way you do everyone else. The only ones who matter know where I am.” Another extended silence. “Did he? I’ll take care of it.”
I hear the tones of a number being dialed and then he immediately starts speaking in a different language. One that’s oddly familiar, though I can’t place it at the moment. All I know is he sounds pissed and now I’m depressed. Because I was wrong. He actually did come here to use the phone.
So why am I still standing here eavesdropping instead of leaving him to it? Stalking a potential hookup is not behavior I participate in or agree with. I’m a little disappointed in myself. I should forget the dragon and take Connor home before he passes out and gets rolled by those ladies Bex warned me about. Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow night to find someone safe and easy. Someone who doesn’t make me act so out of character.
I turn to leave and then gasp when a strong hand grips my wrist and tugs me inside the room. He lets go to close and lock the door behind me, but his dark eyes don’t leave mine as he continues the phone call, staring like my features might be on a test later. Or like he’s prepared to stop me if I try to run.
I need a moment to process that, so I look away as if to give him privacy, taking in the small, neat office and the pictures on the desk. There’s one of the pub’s original owner, Shawn Finn, and his wife. Another with Seamus, his husband Bellamy and their four kids. Beside it is a framed, faded child’s drawing ofponies and a coffee cup that says World’s Greatest Dad. It’s so innocent and sweet, I instantly feel skeevy.
This isn’t the right place to have dirty, meaningless sex with a scowly stranger. Or to be murdered at a holiday party. Between you and me, I’m still not one hundred percent sure which one of those options is happening right now.
My radar is usually better than this. But I can’t get a read on him, apart from the fact that he feels dangerous to me, and I’m not sure why that’s turning me on so much.
“You found me.” His voice is deeper, more intimate, and I turn, realizing he’s off the phone and talking to me. He tenses when he takes in my expression. “Did I scare you? Grabbing you like that?”
My attempt at a sheepish smile feels sickly. “Who me? No, I’m used to being dragged into dark rooms and locked inside with strangers. Happens all the time. I just didn’t want to interrupt you. Those phone calls sounded…”Hot. Sexy. Arousing.“Important?”
His eyebrows furrow. “They weren’t.”
I blink at the obvious lie, then do what I always do when I’m nervous. Ramble and spew random factoids.
“I shouldn’t have asked. You know, there’s a famous coin called the Fugio cent,” I start, slipping my hands into my pockets and leaning against the desk so I won’t be tempted to do anything else with them. Like reach out to squeeze those forearms, or toss something to distract him so I can run away. Is that a gang tattoo mostly hidden by the collar of his shirt?
“Benjamin Franklin designed it in 1787 and engraved it with the motto ‘Mind Your Business.’ Historians argue about its meaning, but Ben was a cheeky bastard who had a way with words and some interesting habits. I’m thinking he used the first coin officially minted in his new country to give the finger topeople who gossiped about his glass armonica recitals and naked air bath exhibitions.”
Ah, the naked Benjamin Franklin visual. The king of all mood killers.
The man in front of me doesn’t flinch. Instead, he moves closer.
I clear my throat. “What I’m saying is, I should have minded my own business. About the phone call.”
“A singer with a passion for history. That’s an interesting combination.”
“No. I mean yes. I mean I love history,” I fumble, stopping myself from sharing information I never give to potential partners. Because the internet exists and parents and school board members are on it. “But I only sing on special occasions and in the shower.”
“And this is a special occasion? The redhead said it was a big night for you. Why?”
Um… “I really love Christmas parties?”
He grimaces. “Right. Christmas.”
The lust haze momentarily lifts. Maybe he actually is The Grinch. “Don’t tell me you’re not a fan of the best holiday ever invented. Roasting chestnuts, Secret Santas, some guy named Jack nipping at you?”
“Is your name Jack?”
“It could be tonight.”
His lips twitch in response to my quick comeback. Not that I’m staring at them. “I have no problem with Christmas. When you said that, I realized I’ve been so busy I forgot to shop and I’ll need to do a little extra this year, that’s all. I hate shopping.”
My shoulders relax, only to tense again as I wonder who he’ll be doing the extra shopping for. Family? Children? A significant other?
It’s not really fair of you to expect details from him when you won’t give any.
And still, I want them, because he’s fascinating and I don’t want to be a homewrecker if he’s already taken.
“You have unusual eyes,” he tells me. “Beautiful.”
