He allows me to leave, watching me with that playful intensity and keeping himself turned to face me, never letting me out of his sight or reach. If he wanted to, it would only take a single second to trap me in his arms again.
Not that I want him to.
Definitely not.
"What I said was that you've been in the news a lot lately," I mutter. "Which is true."
Tilting his head, he presses. "You knew my name but not that I was released."
"I— yes, that's true," I swallow.
"So you weren't following the case, yet recognized me right away," he nods to his own explanation, finding the truth even through the half-truths I shared in hopes he would leave me be. "And you called me by my name, not whattheycall me."
My eyes fall on the bat at his neck, the namesake for his moniker. My curiosity begs to be unleashed, but I don't think asking him about a tattoo he might not even remember getting is the best choice right now. I can't let myself get distracted from the very real danger I'm in with him here.
"Anyone who paid even a little attention would have known your name," I suggest. It's not a lie, but it's also true that his name doesn't carry the sensationalism that his nickname does.
"The longer you avoid the answer, the more convinced I'm going to be that it's something indecent,” he comments. "Maybe evensomething a little more gossip worthy than a prim and proper lawyer that frequents an underground fighting ring."
Fuck.
"How do you?—"
That wicked smile comes back with a vengeance as he interrupts me with an answer that drains the last bit of hope I had of remaining uninvolved with all of this: "As it turns out, Mingle is part of Balor Industries.”
My mouth goes dry, "Like your liquor company."
Now it makes sense why they carry every single one of their products, both the liquors and the wines.
"Balor Mead & Spirits, yes," he takes a step closer, angling his body to trap me against the island again without so much as touching me. "Now, I've answered your question, Brigit, and I highly suggest you answer mine, or this conversation might not stay so friendly."
"You call this friendly?" I scoff, "You broke into my home.Twice. Threatened me with my own gun once then a knife the second time."
Tilting his head, he drags himself closer to me, his proximity sending both fire and ice through my bones, “You knew who I was before. Tell me how.”
"It's really nothing," I shrug.
He quietly laughs, hanging his head before meeting my eyes again, "Humor me."
I don't really understand why that's so funny, but I relent, hoping it might get rid of him before his flitting emotions and completely debilitating smile make me do something reckless.
"We met less than a handful of times," I force a polite smile.
His eyes narrow for a split second before he raises a single brow, the expression taunting, mischievous, and nearly obscene in its blatant desire.
Shaking my head, I realize the mistake I made.
"No, we met very briefly," my smile turns nervous. "Professionally.Nothing as salacious as you're implying.”
"No?" With the question on the air, he stares intently at me. "Nosalaciousactivities at all?"
I shake my head.
"Shame," he mutters, covering me completely with his large frame, crowding me against the counter, his face only inches from mine as his eyes lock on my mouth, "What did theseprofessionalmeetings consist of?"
Before allowing me to answer, his hands both land on my hips, bracketing them with a commanding hold.
"We just happened to be at one of the same major charity fundraisers,” I close my eyes, willing myself to just breathe and not think about the calloused fingers pressing into my skin with intentional fierceness. His grip doesn't hurt, but I feel the force of it from the top of my increasingly foggy head to the tips of my toes. "And then you offered me a job."
