“I find myself to be very entertaining,” she said, surprised but grateful for her calm tone. Especially, when inside, she was anything but. Glancing up, she met Erik’s gaze. And another quake rippled through her. “I didn’t know you planned on coming here tonight.”
He shrugged a wide shoulder. “I didn’t either until a half hour ago. Usually, I just go on the rides when I can fit them around my schedule. But since everyone else was down here and the shop’s closed...” He shrugged again. “Seemed better than eating takeout with some Hulu.”
“You don’t usually go out with your employees?”
He hesitated. It was a very small pause, but Camille caught it. “Not often, no. They have their lives and I have mine. Besides, I’ve learned the hard way that there should be a line between an employer and his staff. Not having that boundary can create a shitload of problems later on.”
Now that sounded like it contained a story. And from the clenching of his jaw and the slight narrowing of his eyes, that story must be heavy. Curiosity flared inside her. What happened to him? Who had hurt him? For him to betray those physical reactions—which were small on him but on someone else would be equal to a full-on tantrum—she didn’t doubt someone had hurt him.
Anger and a strange, unwanted possessiveness spiked in her chest, and she mentally balked. Okay, no. She had no right to demand names so she could tear them a new one. He wasn’t hers.
Even if she could still feel the imprint of his body against hers from a couple of days ago. Even if the press of his thumb to her mouth continued to brand her. Even if she’d never felt as safe and protected as she had in his arms.
Even if in her dreams at night, no knock on the door interrupted them and Erik replaced his hand on her lips with his tongue, his teeth.
She jerked her head around, pretending to scan The Glen once more. Better he believe she had a complete fascination with the band and their take on Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Free Bird” than he catch a hint of the thoughts her face might be betraying.
What was she doing? She’d spent five years with a man who hadn’t invested as much of himself into their relationship as she had. A man who hadn’t loved her the same. And yet here she was, standing on the precipice of going down that road again. Even with his tattoos, ripped jeans and vintage T-shirts, Erik could give her ex-fiancé lessons in being reserved, contained. Besides irritation, he didn’t reveal much emotion.
He showed plenty emotion in that office.
She drew in a breath, conceding to the smug, annoying whisper in her head. Yes, Erik hademotedall over her.
“Excuse me,” a voice that wasn’t Erik’s said.
Camille started, so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard anyone approach. Two young men, both in T-shirts and worn jeans with tattoos covering their arms and necks, stood in front of her and Erik. But their rapt gazes weren’t focused on her; Erik captured their attention.
“We thought it was you,” the guy with long blond hair and a Def Leppard T-shirt crowed. “Erik Mann. I can’t believe it.”
“Holy shit,” his friend, a tall Black man with a smoothly shaved head, said. Then, with a wince, he glanced at Camille. “Sorry about that.”
She waved off his apology, too confused and riveted by what was occurring in front of her to care about a curse.
“Hey.” Erik hiked his chin. “You guys here for the ride?”
The greeting was nice, normal. But Camille’s antenna popped up, and she studied Erik closer. Only someone who’d become a student of all things Erik Mann would’ve picked up on the tense set of his shoulders. The shuttered gaze. The faint shift in his stance that placed more distance between him and the young men.
“Yeah, my family’s been coming here for a long time, but this is my first time back in about four years. I brought Connor with me.” The closely shaven guy pointed to the blonde. “I’m Billy, by the way. I still can’t believe we’re here talking to you.” Billy shook his head, grinning. “You here for the ride, too?”
“No, I have a shop in town. I live here.”
Connor’s eyes flared wide. “No shit,” he breathed. “Do you think it’s possible to get some ink while we’re here?”
“Call the shop on Monday. I’ll get you in,” Erik said.
“Seriously?” Billy shook his head, obvious hero worship all over his face. “I got my first tattoo in your place in Vegas It’s still the best piece I’ve ever had done. Having some more ink done in your shop? This is going to be wild.”
The two men, so excited and caught up in the idea of having Erik ink them, didn’t catch the flattening of his mouth. But she did.
Camille frowned. What was going on?
“Hey, Erik, can we get a selfie real quick? Otherwise no one’s ever going to believe we met you,” Connor joked, already pulling his phone out of his back pocket.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll take the picture for you,” Camille offered.
Something was really off, and as nice as these two guys seemed, the quicker she got the deed done, maybe the sooner Erik would lose that horrible strain in his face and body. It grated on her, and an urgency to make it disappear swirled in her belly.
