He had a point, and him being detained by the cops would throw a wrench in my plan.
He lost his ire. “I’m sorry. I’m having a bad day.”
“Me too. A cemetery isn’t exactly a place to be happy.”
His fingers danced through his hair. “Can we settle this like adults? I have more damage than you do anyway.”
“I didn’t call the police, but if you must know…”You need that bartending job.An idea bloomed like a spring flower. “I was talking to a potential employer who called to tell me that I didn’t get the job I’d recently applied for.”
The wind kicked up errant yellow-and-orange leaves around us as the tree branches swayed.
He slipped his hand into the front pocket of his pants and removed a wallet as he turned his attention to the damage I had on my bumper. “That scratch won’t cost fifteen hundred. I’ll give you five hundred, and we’ll call it even.” He held the hundred-dollar bills in his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
I snagged the bills from him. When I did, my fingers brushed his, and a zap of electricity made me flinch.
He tilted his head, his gaze lowering to my mouth.
I squeezed my Kegel muscles together. My damn body was about to betray me as I found myself pushing out my chest.
As if the liquor on his breath were an aphrodisiac, I found myself leaning closer to him, but that only served to make me sway. Luckily, my truck was there to catch me.
He didn’t waver, keeping my lips in his sights.
If he kissed me, I wasn’t sure what I would do. Kick him in the balls or climb his strong body like a monkey.
Wake up, girl. He’s the enemy, remember?
Still, my heart banged against my rib cage as silence strung us together, the sexual tension heightening.
Clenching his jaw, he pinched my chin as if he was a second away from throwing me into the bed of my truck and feasting on me.
I wouldn’t protest, either, given the way my body was so freaking heated in all the right places. Maybe my dad was right. Or Agent Howard. I’d even forgotten who’d said I would lose my soul.
A bird chirped loudly nearby, zapping our connection—or at least mine. “Thank you.” I wadded up the bills in my hand. “Since I don’t have a job, I could use the cash.” Liar, but keep going.
A slight grin emerged on his gorgeous face. “What do you do?”
Hallelujah!“I bartend. Though around here, it seems no one is hiring.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of opportunities in Boston,” he said. “If you’re interested in driving into the city, stop by the Monarch nightclub.” He started for his car door. “I know for a fact the owner is hiring.”
This was my lucky day.
“Are you the owner?” I asked.
His gaze lingered for a beat before he slid sleekly and smoothly into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Then he pulled out, stopped, and rolled down the passenger window. “I didn’t get your name.”
I smiled at him. “I didn’t get yours.”
Think, Fallyn. If you’re going undercover, you’ll need an alias.I hated to come up with a name, since Agent Howard was working on a fictitious bio for me.
“Duke Hart,” he said proudly. “I own the Monarch.”
Ah, shit.Now I had to respond in kind. If I didn’t, he might get suspicious.
“Joy Whitlock.”
I’d read that last name when I was walking by a headstone earlier. The first name was how I felt. Joyful. Stupid way to come up with a name, but I didn’t care.
