Page 11 of Daring to Love

She leans her head back, capturing her hair in a long ponytail.

“What do you mean?”

I decide honesty is my best approach.

“You captivated me.”

Her arms still. “You’re very kind.”

I smirk even though she can’t see me.

“I’m not really a kind man.”

“Aah, no…you’re a journalist.”

I can’t help but grin at her matter-of-fact tone.

“Why do you talk about my occupation as if it’s worse than dirt under your feet?”

“Look, Mr. Jensen…”

“Finlay,” I interrupt.

“Okay. Finlay, I’m not sure what you’re doing here, or why you followed me to begin with, but something tells me you aren’t going to go away, so…”

“So?” I prompt.

“How about I get myself put back to rights, and you can meet me outside in twenty minutes?”

I’m not altogether sure she isn’t going to disappear on me again, but what can I do? Whether I like it or not, I need her.

“Right, okay,” I huff. “But not until you promise me you aren’t going to run away from me again.”

“I thought I just did that?” she huffs.

“Humour me, please. Say the words.”

“Fine,” she sighs exasperated. “I won’t run away again.”

“I believe you,” I answer softly. “See you again soon.”

I watch her as she turns away from me, hoping she’ll trust me long enough to hear what I want from her. What I need. My instincts tell me I’ll have to treat her with care.

And that I need to be completely honest with her.

I turn away from the shadowy stage and head outside, squinting as the harsh light in the hallway flare into my eyes. I settle down to wait for her, my right leg propped up against the wall behind me, already forming a plan to tear down her defences, but I draw a blank.

Why is she so reluctant to do this interview?

I hope she’ll tell me tonight, because things shifted while I held her as she cried.

I know I have a job to do, but I have a feeling she’s about to become so much more.

While I wait, I check my emails and text a few of the freelance photographers employed by the newspaper I work for, all the while my heart drums in my ear. If she agrees to do this, I’ll need someone to take some photos of her.

She’s true to her word. She appears before me nineteen minutes later, and I do a double take when I raise my head from my phone. Her face is free of makeup, cheeks and lips a soft, rosy pink, and the freckles on the bridge of her nose stand out against her pale skin. Her long hair looks damp, though it’s hard to tell exactly as she’s pulled it back and piled it atop her head in another messy bun. The high-neck, black pullover covers her slender neck, causing me to bite my lower lip to prevent myself from leaning down to pull it away from her milky-white skin with my teeth. Her huge bag hangs down her straight back and her arms are hidden in her jacket hanging down in front of her.

Man, she looks good enough to eat.