I shrug. “I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“I wouldn’t bother, I’m not that interesting. And I wouldn’t say I’ve done it a lot. But I’ve… tried a lot of things.”
He’s had a lot of sex. Okay then, he’s already one up on me.
“Like what?” I ask.
His gaze catches mine again. And it hits me in the chest just how good looking this man is, in his crisp white shirt and his closely tailored pants, and his eyes that feel like they’re staring straight at me yet not able to focus at the same time.
“I liked chasing you,” he murmurs. “And catching you.”
I shift in my seat, remembering how much I liked that too.
“Have you ever taken part in a hunt?” I ask him, thinking of the book. Of the way the men organized the hunt, letting the women run, chasing them. I have no idea if they exist in real life, but damn, reading about it was hot.
A ghost of a smile passes his lips. “No. I prefer my relationships one on one.”
Oh, thank God.
I blink at myself. Why does it matter?
“Not that I’m looking for a relationship.” He sits back in his chair, running the pad of his thumb along his sharp jaw. “And how do we keep turning the conversation back to me? This is about you. Putting yourself in danger. Getting hurt.”
“What would you have me do?” I ask him. “Lock myself in the house and avoid men?”
He looks at me carefully. “You need to decide what you want before you do anything. You take control to give upcontrol.” He pours a splash of whiskey into his glass and lifts it to his mouth.
“Well that sounds contradictory,” I point out, trying not to watch the way his neck undulates as he swallows.
“It’s not,” he says quietly. “But it’s the only way it’s safe. You set the limits. You choose the person. Or people. You decide when it stops.” His gaze flicks over me, deliberate and hot, before settling back on my eyes. “You don’t hand that over to strangers on a screen without knowing your boundaries first.”
My throat goes dry. Because that control he’s talking about, that’s what I’ve been trying to find. I just don’t know how to get it.
“I don’t want to be hunted by a pack,” I tell him. Because that’s not what I want either.
There’s that flicker again. It looks like relief. “So whatdoyou want?”
“I want someone who sees me,” I say, surprising myself with the honesty in my voice. “Who doesn’t stop chasing once he’s caught me. Who makes me feel… safe, even when it’s rough.” The words come out shaky, half-confession, half-challenge.
For a long moment he doesn’t move. Then his jaw tightens, an unreadable expression crossing his face. “You’re talking about a relationship.”
It’s my turn to take in his words. “I guess…”
“You’re not going to find that on an app.”
“Then where am I going to find it?” I ask him, feeling frustrated. Not sexually, but emotionally.
He closes his eyes for a moment, lets out a breath. His brows pinch like he’s in pain. “I can’t give you what you want,” he says, like he can read my mind.
“I’m not asking you to. I’m not the one who almost throat punched that guy in the bar like you’re my daddy.”
A ghost of a smile pulls at his lips. “To be fair, the guy deserved more. He was being an asshole.”
Our eyes lock.
“Honestly, why are you so concerned about me?” I ask him. And yeah, maybe it’s a loaded question, but I feel like I deserve to know the answer. “You’re not my boyfriend. You can hardly bear to be in the same room as me. So why do you care if I get hurt?”
His gaze drifts over me, slow and assessing, like he’s peeling back layers I didn’t give him permission to touch. I want to shift in the seat again. I want to stand up and walk out of here.
