Soon I lose myself in my work, knocking out the accounting duties and then put my focus on inventory. After gathering my receipts and zipping them up in a deposit bag, I grab it and my reports to carry them to my office.
The loud roar of an engine steals my attention, my excitement instantly peaking. But as fast as it comes, I slump in disappointment when a couple exit a souped-up Mustang.
Shaking my head, I push out a breath and silently vow to forget about Easton. I reach the back room and lock the day’s deposit in the safe, then scan what printed support I have and settle behind my desk. It doesn’t take me long to email my tax professional, so I snag my clipboard and a pen from the corner of my desk and step out of my office with my attention on the paper in my hand.
There’s no one here but me, so when I run into a hard chest, I scream. I can’t make out the face at first, because I’ve dimmed the lights as I do every night so customers know we’re closed.
“Easton?”
He doesn’t speak, but for some reason, I don’t need him to. His eyes are heavy, his posture rigid, and his breathing bated. Anger is evident on his face, but he still doesn’t say anything. We stare at each other, my own breathing racing to match his. He’s so close that I can smell the alcohol on his tongue.
Easton lets his gaze linger over my hair. It’s down again, and I can already see the disappointment burying in his mind. Somehow, I know there’s a punishment at the end of the night for that. Despite the fact he hasn’t spoken to me all night to even request that it’s up. It’s almost like some unspoken rule between us now—hair up, even if he hasn’t opened his mouth to say so. Because he controls this game, no matter how stubborn I pretend to be around him, he always gets what he wants in the end.
I swallow, and he watches my throat which only makes me sweat. Beads of perspiration line my forehead, and he surely sees it. Easton darts his eyes to the top of my head, using the back of his hand to wipe it away.
His touch is different—it’s sensual, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
“Where have you been?” I manage to get out, disregarding the tremor in my legs.
This is how he was at the club, pensive and smoldering. It’s the way he looked at me before making me come on his fingers. My core clenches in response, but when he flips that hand and drags it down my neck where he massages my collarbone, a whimper sneaks out of me.
“Hm?” I mutter, even though I know he’s not going to say anything.
He steps closer, forging his front to mine, the hold he has on my neck tightening. I blink up at him, and he stares down at me, no words, just his overwhelming presence. It’s loud enough on its own, because even without words, he makes me weak. Just a few minutes ago, I told myself he doesn’t get to make me feel, yet here I am, caving without so much as an ‘I’m sorry.’
There’s a low groan from him when he peers at my lips, wetting his in silent protest. Easton kisses me, slamming his mouth on mine and snaking his tongue toward the back of my throat. It’s sloppy, aggressive, and hurts a little. But I don’t stop him, I couldn’t if I wanted to. He grabs my ass while continuing his assault on my mouth.
After a beat, I break away with my hand on his chest. “Where’d you go?” I ask.
Still nothing.
He tries to kiss me again, but I stop him.
My shoulders slump, a twinge of annoyance seeping through me. We’ve been at this stage before of him shutting me out. I thought we had passed that. In his own way he let me see a piece of him, his love for his family, though I sensed there’s more to that story. His talent with cooking the steak he made, even the little connection he has with his neighbors. This Easton, the one standing in front of me, isnotthe guy from last night.
Frustrated with him and confused by his boomerang attraction to me, I sigh. “What do you want, Easton? Hm? Do you want me? Or do you just like playing me?”
There’s a long pause with me continuing to search his features for answers.
“And nothing,” I huff and look away, stepping back to create some distance between us. “Thanks for coming by—Easton. But I have a lot of work to finish tonight.” I press my lips into a straight line and glance in his direction again. “So, you should go.”
I tighten my grip on the clipboard I’m now remembering is in my hand. I step back further and try to turn toward the closest bookshelf to begin counting my inventory. My back is to him, but I can still hear him breathe.
“You want to know me?” he deadpans behind me.
“What?” I frown, confused about what he means, and tilt my head to find that the distance I’d put between us no longer exists.
“Delirium. You want to know what it’s like in my world?”
I shake my head, my frown growing bigger. “You’ve made it pretty clear you don’t want me in your world,” I snip.
“Are you afraid of me, Arloe?” he asks in my ear, his voice low and wanton.
I grunt, then spin to face him and throw my arms out at my sides. “Get to the point. What do you want from me?” I peek at the floor only to move my eyes up and meet his gaze again. “Because I’m pretty sure we aren’t on the same page here. You show up when it’s convenient and then you’re gone just as fast until you’re bored. So unless you can be real with me right now and tell me what it is you intend to do with me—leave. I’m tired of this game.”
“I need to know,” is all he says.
“Need to know what, Easton?” I screech with my face twisted out of aggravation.
