Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Lucas is leaning against the counter when I turn the corner.
Of course he is.
“Heading out?” he asks, voice casual, eyes sharp.
“Yes,” I state. I don’t stop walking.
He falls into step beside me. “Thought maybe we could reset. Yesterday got a little awkward.”
“That happens sometimes,” I reply evenly. “Good night, Dr. Reeves.”
I push through the employee exit before he can respond. The evening air is cool, a relief after hours of breathing in different perfumes and body odors. I breathe deep as I step into the lot, keys already threaded between my fingers out of habit. My car sits under a dim light at the far end, and I head for it with my head down, shoulders tight.
I’m halfway there when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Danae.”
I stop. Dammit. I don’t turn around right away. I know who it is. I knew he’d follow. I just hoped, stupidly, that he wouldn’t.
“What is it, Lucas?” I ask, keeping my voice level as I face him.
Up close, he smells like old cologne and confidence. His smile is easy, like we’re old friends catching up instead of coworkers standing alone in a dark parking lot.
“Relax,” he says. “I’m not here to bite.”
“I asked what you want,” I reply.
His gaze flicks to my car, then back to me. “I want to talk. Without an audience.”
“This isn’t appropriate,” I state. “We can talk at work about work.”
That makes him laugh. “Come on,” he says lightly. “Don’t be like that. You shut me down yesterday like I insulted you.”
“I said no,” I reply. “That’s not an insult. It’s an answer.”
He steps closer. “Is it personal?” he asks. “Or do you just not date coworkers? Because it doesn’t have to get messy.”
“It’s not personal,” I respond quickly, a line forming in my head even as I speak it. “I’m seeing someone.” Did I just lie? Yes. Do I think it’s ridiculous to do so? Yes. I declined his invitation and that should have been enough. Some men, though, they need a good reason to back off. And another man sounds like the way to go.
He freezes for half a second. Then his smile widens. “Really.”
“Yes.”
He looks me up and down, slow and deliberate. “Funny. I’ve never seen you with anyone.”
“He travels,” I state making sure not to stammer. My heart starts to pound, but my voice stays steady. “A lot.”
Lucas chuckles. “Of course he does.”
I lift my chin. I told myself I was breaking my habit of being the people pleaser. I promised myself this year I wasn’t explaining things to everyone. But his eyes, the glare, he needs something solid to get through to him. So the words tumble out, “He’s a biker.”
That gives him pause, but only briefly. “Is that supposed to scare me?” he asks.
I meet his gaze. “It’s supposed to make you understand that I’m not available.”
He tilts his head, studying me like he’s decided the bluff is worth calling.
“You’re lying,” he challenges. “You don’t strike me as the type.”
I swallow, anger flaring hot and sharp. “I don’t care what type you think I am.”
He steps closer again, close enough that I can smell his breath. “Look,” he states firmly but quietly. “You turned me down. Fine. But don’t insult me with some made-up boyfriend story.”
“I’m not insulting you,” I reply. “I’m simply explaining to you that this won’t work. It needs to stop.”
He laughs, actually laughs, and the sound scrapes along my nerves.
“You really think some imaginary biker’s going to come roaring in and save you?” he says. “This isn’t a movie, Danae.”
My pulse hammers. “Let’s just forget this,” I change tactics. “Pretend nothing happened. We work together. That’s it. I’m not available and you can find someone who is to take to dinner.”
He reaches out, fingers brushing my arm.
I flinch. “That’s not how I forget things,” he murmurs, leaning in. “I prefer a—”
The sound of an engine cuts through the air. Low. Powerful. Close.
Lucas’s head snaps up as a single headlight sweeps across the lot, stopping just short of us. The bike rolls to a stop a few feet away, engine rumbling like a warning.
A man swings off. It’s him.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a black t-shirt, tattoos crawling down his arms, black jeans, black boots, and a scowl that could make Greek God’s cower. He moves with an easy confidence that makes space bend around him, like he expects the world to get out of his way.
My breath catches.
He walks toward us without hurry, gaze locked on Lucas. There’s no smile on his face. Just calm. Cold. Controlled.
He stops beside me and holds out a helmet. “For you,” he explains. His voice is low, steady. Familiar in a way that doesn’t make sense because I know him, but I don’t actually know him.
I take the helmet automatically, my hands shaking just a little.
Lucas scoffs. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”