He rumbles another low chuckle. “I saw you glancing longingly at the horizon as soon as we got off the elevator. You’re very easy to read.”
A laugh bubbles from my chest. His intense focus on me goes straight to my head, and I’m in awe that this gorgeous man is so fixated on me.
We come to a stop at the railing, and I rest my elbows on it. I crave to be close to him in a way that defies all logic. After what happened to me only a few nights ago, I shouldn’t want to be near any man.
Before memories of the attack can surface and drag me out of this perfect moment, I lean into Dane so that our forearms brush. Even the light contact makes my skin prickle with awareness of his powerful body so close to mine.
“How long have you lived in Charleston?” I ask, eager to learn more about the man who’s starred in my fantasies.
“Only three months,” he replies. “I came for work after finishing my residency at Johns Hopkins.”
“You’re a doctor?” He told me his job at the market when he checked my scraped palms, but I want to know everything about him now.
“Yes.” He gives a dismissive little wave. “But that’s work. I’d much rather talk about your art.”
“Don’t you like your job?”
He shrugs. “I like being good at what I do. I like being successful and self-sufficient. The details of my profession don’t really matter. I find that Americans tend to be defined by their careers in a way I’ve never fully understood.”
“What brought you over from England? Did you want to come to America for college?”
“Yes.” He acknowledges my query, but he doesn’t allow me to change the subject. “From what I saw at the market, I noticed that your preferred style is impressionism. Did you study Art at school?”
I fix him with a small pout. He’s not being forthcoming, and I’ve spent too many long nights wondering about this gorgeous man to let it go so easily.
“Do I have to beg for more information?”
He releases a low hum, and his lips tug in a lopsided smirk. “I don’t hear you begging yet.”
My cheeks flame with a surge of lust and embarrassment, and I drop my gaze to hide from his intense attention. If I maintain eye contact, he might glimpse a shadow of my inner darkness.
Because the pulsing between my legs indicates that I would very much enjoy begging this man for satisfaction. I would eagerly debase myself and relish every deviant second of submitting to his cruel will.
I shove the perverted thoughts away. I have to stop thinking of him like he’s the rakish villain from my forbidden fantasies. The real Dane is here with me: solid and imposing and almost painfully beautiful.
I try for a nonchalant shrug and choose to engage with his preferred topic: my art.
“I studied Art at College of Charleston, but I didn’t finish my degree,” I admit. “I just love painting. I decided that I don’t need a degree to prove that.”
I have my own reasons for dropping out of school, but that’s too much to dump on him. I summon up an easy smile and skate over the moment of discomfort.
“My only regret is that I didn’t get to study abroad before I quit,” I continue. “I actually wanted to study in London for a semester. I’d love to visit England one day. You said you’re from York, right? Is that close to London?”
He shoots me a half-smile. “By American standards, yes. By English standards, it’s quite far. Yorkshiremen can get very prickly about differentiating themselves from Londoners.”
My brows lift, interest piqued. “Oh? Are you a Yorkshireman, then?”
He barks a laugh, white teeth flashing in a perfect grin. “Let’s just say I was born in Yorkshire, but I don’t exactly fit in with the locals.”
“Is that why you decided to come to America for college?” I press. “Don’t you like where you’re from?”
His gaze focuses on something beyond me, and the slight distance between us makes it feel as though he’s shut off the sun.
“Yorkshire is beautiful,” he rumbles. “But I wanted to forge my own path.”
Maybe I have more in common with Dane than I would’ve guessed.
“I understand,” I murmur, drawn to open up to him so that he’ll focus on me again. Being the center of his attention is thrilling and addictive. I’ll confess almost anything to get it back.
