“What are you doing?”
She peered up at him through her lashes, fingers stalled on his collar. Trademark move right there. Every woman should learn and master the lash-look. Drove men crazy. More than likely because it reminded them of the way women looked at them when their jeans were around their ankles. Sometimes they were such predictable creatures. And if she wanted to gain the upper hand, she had to go all or nothing. “This isn’t a tie atmosphere.”
Nodding his response, he continued to watch her as she returned her attention to his shirt.
After she unbuttoned the top three buttons, slightly revealing his chest, she went to his wrists, unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling each one up to his elbows.
Her eyes immediately lifted to find his. “Hmm.”
“What’s your ‘hmm’ for?” he questioned, studying her carefully.
She simply shrugged; however she assumed he deduced her reason from the cocky glint that flashed in his eyes.
Both his arms were covered in ink that began at his wrists and disappeared beneath his shirt. And she imagined if she unbuttoned it the remainder of the way and pushed it from his arms, she would find that the tattoos covered them completely.
What was it about a man with sleeves of tattoos? Was it the ink itself that detonated a physical reaction from women, or was it the assumption of what was behind the ink? What the tattoos portrayed?
It gave off the stereotypical impression of a bad boy, a man with edge, a glimpse of danger.
But even before she saw the ink on his arms, she knew. She saw the flash of danger flecked in his eyes. He was a sexy bad boy in a tie. Now, with the tie gone and his tattoos on display, he became lethal.
Gone was the bad boy, replaced by a man who threatened her resolve.
“There,” she said, inspecting her quick moderations. Fallon seemed to be attracted to men who were put together—well dressed, well groomed. Blame it on her shallow upbringing. But now, sitting next to a man who couldn’t possibly look more unkempt if he did it deliberately, she found herself second-guessing her typical type.
“Let’s go, tough guy.” She opened the door and gracefully stepped out of her car. Rafe met her around the front and placed his hand on the small of her back—and she flinched.
A deep groan hummed in his chest, barely audible, but they were so close she heard him. “Don’t be scared of me. I know I lost my control back there, but I’d never hurt a woman.”
The rough texture of the asphalt beneath her stilettos complicated her turn as she spun to the side to face him. “You didn’t—and you don’t—scare me,” she said, trying to remove some of the anguish she felt in his words. “I’ve got enough sense not to take a man on a joyride if I think he’ll hurt me. So stop worrying that pretty little head of yours. You just startled me,” she admitted, once again facing the bar in front of them.
Her steps echoed through the nearly empty parking lot, but the second Rafe’s hand swept along the small of her back again, the sound stopped. She stopped.
“I believe I can walk without your assistance, thank you,” she muttered, irritated with the way his touch seemed to scorch her skin.
“I’m sure you could.” He didn’t move his hand from her; instead, he only pressed it against her more firmly. The heat from his palm felt as if it was singeing the fabric of her dress, smoldering the remains onto her flesh, heating her from the outside in. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”
So they’d crossed over to the rough part of town. Little did he know she lived alone on this side of the economical line not too many years ago. They might not be in Kansas anymore, but she was well acquainted with this half of the yellow brick road.
“So, what, you feel the need to protect me?” she asked, slightly annoyed, slightly intrigued.
“You’re with me tonight,” he stated, urging her forward with his hand, forcing her feet to move one in front of the other. She was rummaging through her stockpile of witty comebacks when she felt warm breath on her ear. “You okay with that?” he whispered.
She didn’t like this. He was trampling on her control and she felt defenseless. But was she okay with the way it felt to have his lips so close to her skin? Surprisingly, yes.
“I’m a little conflicted at the moment, so I don’t have a logical response to that question,” she replied honestly, willing her confidence to command her words.
“Well, let me simplify it for you,” he whispered, shifting behind her. His free hand swept her hair from her back, pushing it over her shoulder. Then he leaned his mouth to her ear again. If he wanted to simplify things, he wasn’t doing the best job, because now she was even more conflicted than before.