For the record, that's not happening. I don't care how pretty he is or what my clit has to say about it. I'd rather fuck a velociraptor. And monster romance isn't even my thing.
"Get. Out," I growl, stomping around the counter toward him. "Before I have you forcibly removed."
"I'll go, but only if you agree to have dinner with me first."
"Oh, I like him," the woman at the counter whispers, watching us with avid interest. Even Olive—the traitor—is staring instead of working. Half the damn store is staring.
What happened to solidarity? To chicks before dicks? To…to…to whatever it's called when women support other women instead of hot demons in suits?
"I am not having dinner with you."
"Then I'm not leaving." He plants his feet, his arms crossed like he's prepared to stand there all night. He probably is, dammit. I bet he routinely harasses people like some crime boss hitting up the laundry mat for their monthly street tax.
I can fight fire with fire, though. Hell yes, I can.
I hold his gaze while placing two fingers between my lips. The whistle that erupts splits the air, silencing everyone. Curiosity flickers in his expression, and I can practically see him fighting the urge to ask what I'm doing.
But if he can summon my worst nightmare, then I'm summoning what's guaranteed to be his new nightmare. I bet he cracks like an egg.
"Whoever manages to chase this man out of my store gets a gift card for $500!" I shout into the silence. It'll be the best money I ever spent.
"Jesus Christ." He glances around, mildly alarmed now. See? Billionaire, meet your new nightmare.
"Are there any limits on what we can buy with it?" someone at the far side of the shop calls.
"No limits!" I shout back.
Two hundred partially intoxicated readers size him up, considering their chances of getting him out of here. Fifty seemingly decide they can take him. They step forward like they're ready to go to war.
Lincoln breaks exactly like I knew he would, backing up a step. "Christ, I'm going. I'm going!" He holds his hands up like he's pleading for mercy, his eyes on the large group slowly advancing toward him. "Just…fucking stay right there, ladies."
"Ahh, come on!" a brassy redhead near the front calls. "Chase scenes are our favorite."
"And you're so pretty, you don't even need a mask," someone else yells.
"Fuck my life." Lincoln looks at me like he's ready to strangle me now. Honestly? Totally worth it. I think that's actual panic in his gaze. And is that sweat dripping down his brow? "This isn't over, sweetness."
That's the second time in ten minutes that I've heard similar.
"Oh, but it is." I bat my lashes at him. "I'm counting to three, and then I'm setting them loose." I lean forward like I have to tell him a secret. "And just so you know, they read cowboy romance. They could probably MacGyver a lasso out of a bra, a shoestring, and a hair tie. In fact…" I reach behind me like I'm going to slip my bra off.
"I will be back," he growls, making a beeline for the door so fast he nearly trips over his own feet. And damn, watching him go is something. That ass is a work of art. Too bad it's attached to a man with no soul.
"Are you kidding me?" I growl three hours later, coming to a dead stop in the parking lot when I spot Lincoln leaning against a dark SUV pulled up beside my car. He was supposed to be long gone already!
"Uh-oh," Jazz sing-songs beside me. "Looks like he's back for another round."
"Whose side are you on here?" I mutter, crossing my arms to glare at Lincoln as he pushes away from the SUV and strides toward us.
"I'm on the side of you getting laid by that fine specimen of a man," my best friend says, earning a high five from Olive. "We can go back to hating him afterward."
Loralei just laughs and then slaps a hand over her mouth like she didn't mean to do it.
"You're all dead to me," I sniff.
"My feet hurt enough for me to be okay with that right now," Loralei mutters, earning a nod of agreement from Olive.
Jazz just shrugs like she's fine with being disowned.
