He just gazes up at me, taking small sips from his beer, like he could sit there and watch me forever.
It’s hot by the fire. Hot enough that I need to either take off my jacket or step away. But I’m too curious about the dark splotches on the rug to move away, so I reluctantly set my beer down on the coffee table and slide my jacket off.
Rooke checks me out with a slow, lingering scan—not even bothering to be subtle about it.
“It’s a pity you had to leave in such a rush yesterday,” I say, turning my back to the fire and picking up my beer again. “Felt like we were just getting to the good shit.”
If I sound awkward, it’s because I am.
Rooke as a suspect doesn’t intimidate me in the slightest.
Rooke as aman?A man who’s obviously bisexual and made no secret of wanting to fuck me?
Lord, where to begin…
“The good shit being what, Fox?”
Yeah, Idefinitelyshouldn’t have given him my name. If I hadn’t opened this bottle myself, I’d be wondering if he’d drugged me. Else why would I still feel so warm, so prickly, so…
Off center.
I came here thinking we could pick up where we left off. I had all the power last night, because he was propositioning me…but now the roles are reversed, and I’ve given him an upper hand he didn’t fucking need.
I clear my throat, shrugging. “The truth,” I say simply, leaving it at that.
Rooke drinks a little more beer, then sits forward and beckons me with a flick of his hand.
I don’t move.
He tilts his head and beckons me again.
Lord.
I take another swallow of beer—probably too much, but I need something to calm my fucking nerves.
“So I assume this is a quid pro quo situation?” I’m supposed to sound amused, but my voice is too strained.
“You assume correctly,” Rooke says.
Only when I take a hesitant step toward him does he relax—and only then do I realize how perfectly he orchestrated this entire interaction.
So why the hell was he so tense in the first place?
…because the stakes are astronomically high.
He couldn’t turn me away at the door—I’d have grown suspicious, and either stuck around or come back with a warrant. He couldn’t rush me out after a few pleasantries—I’d have known something was wrong.
His only option was to continue yesterday’s dance.
But his heart isn’t in it anymore.
Something’s changed…but I don’t have a fucking clue what.
One way to find out.
“You didn’t mention you were going on a trip.”
“It didn’t come up,” Rooke says, taking a casual sip of his beer.
