I look around to find my purse and realize it’s not here. Taking a step back into the room, I say, “Hey, have you seen my…”
I stop in my tracks. My trusted gun dangles from Leon’s pinky, his jaw set in stone, his eyes narrowed to slits.
“Why are you carrying a gun? Specifically, whyare you carrying a gun in my casino, where it’s strictly prohibited?” His voice is level, but it makes me shudder.
“You went through my bag?” My voice breaks as tears start forming in my eyes. I was beginning to trust him.
Now I’ll lose him.
“My phone was underneath it. I picked it up, and it fell open.” He dangles the gun again. “Answer the question.”
My vision is blurry as a weight lands on my chest. It’s done. I can’t tell him why I carry a gun, and he deserves more than for me to lie to him. “Excuse me,” I say, sidestepping him and taking my purse.
His fingers wrap around my upper arm, sending shivers down my body. “Alex, please.”
The sound of his pleading voice is my breaking point. The man is typically larger than life, power pouring out of him. But there’s currently desperation in his dark eyes, as if heneedsme to say something. Anything to make this better. It doesn’t make sense. We’ve just been each other’s distractions for the last couple of weeks. We barely held a normal conversation. Knowing how desperate for distraction he is only makes me relate to him more.
Maybe I can share something. A small, unidentifiable part. I close my lids to gather myself. “It’s for protection. I carry that gun to protect myself. There’s plenty of security here, but I need it to get here and make it back home after.”
“What are you protecting yourself from?”
“Men,” I huff. “I had some bad experiences before, and even if it was a long time ago, leaving the house without the gun would send me into a spiral.”
“Someone hurt you.” It’s not a question, but more of a statement.
I bow my head, pushing the tears down my cheeks.
“Who was it?” There’s a frosty edge to his tone.
“An ex.”
His expression changes.
“Don’t worry, I got away.” I shoot him a comforting smile,though it’s hardly the full truth. I did get away, but I’m now forced to be on the run for the rest of my life, so he doesn’t find me.
The corners of his eyes turn downward.
“I’m sorry for breaking your rules. I know it’s important for you to keep your customers safe.”
“You did what you had to do.” He reaches his palm out, handing me the gun back.
With shaky fingers, I take the weapon and slide it into my bag. It’s then I realize how frantic my heartbeat had been while I was unprotected.
But now, with my gun back and some truth out, I feel a thousand pounds lighter. I kept things quiet for so long that they’ve festered inside of me, spreading through my bloodstream. Speaking about it poked a hole in my flesh, letting some of the poison out. I inhale deeply to stop my tears only to find Leon looking at me with all the care in the world.
“I’m sorry for putting you on the spot.” He runs a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m a wealthy man and sometimes, it can be dangerous. Security has to be at the top of my priorities.”
Fuck, I haven’t even thought about that. I’m this random woman who started coming into his casino with a gun, and got close to him. No wonder he wanted answers.
A knock breaks through the emotional tension between us. “That’s okay. I should go.” I point a thumb at the door.
“Stay. Let’s have dinner and forget all about this.”
Even though the flutter in my chest screams at me to get away, because getting close can only mean danger, my feet are rooted to the spot. He opens the door to roll the food cart inside and gestures at the couch. My feet unglue from the floor and make their way to the couch, showing their stance loud and clear. My body doesn’t want to leave him.
Leon carefully serves up all the food on the coffee table, and my stomach rumbles. The stress must have starved me. His shirt still fully unbuttoned, he takes his jacket off and places it over the back of the chair.My gaze darts to the tattooed planes of his chest, and a different kind of hunger stirs within me.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, staring at my shoes, and he’s right; my feet are killing me.
