Chapter 5 #2
“Not age. Maturity.”
“One and the same.”
“Not to me.”
I frown. I’m really enjoying our verbal sparring.
I’m also oversharing, which some say is a sign of loneliness.
“Anyway…” I swat at the air in front of me, open my mouth to continue whatever conversation we were having before.
“I forgot what we were talking about.” I stare at him pointedly.
“Since you’re so youthful, perhaps you remember? ”
The man laughs. “You were about to take my money and run off.”
Ha! “I wish.”
He props his elbow on the counter and runs two fingers over his lips, his gaze distant. “I can offer you twenty-five thousand pounds.”
Mentally, all my bills get paid, and my lawyer fees are cut by half. “Fifty.”
He gives me a side-eye. “Thirty-five.”
“Forty.”
He tsks. “Thirty-five. That’s the max weight I carry.”
“Hm?”
“I only have thirty-five on me. You can have it all.”
“Only?”
He nods. “In my bag.”
“And you want to give it to me?”
“Mmhm.”
“I was only joking about the money. I’m not going to take a penny from you.”
He closes his eyes and puts his hands together in a prayer again. “Please take my money.”
Is this man serious? “Listen, I’m too old to swoon at your pretty face or your good manners.
I did hit you, and for that, I am sorry, but I think letting you stay here the night or even two is enough payback.
We can negotiate something more while you recover, but I don’t need your money.
I can take care of myself.” Barely, but it comes with no strings attached.
“I’m not offering you anything else.”
“Except that I’ll owe you money.”
“You won’t owe me anything. It’s compensation for your help.”
“Are we going to sign a contract saying that?”
“No.”
I throw up my hands. “I’ve learned many lessons since I got divorced. Contracts are one of them.”
“You ex-husband, Sergei? He’ll close your hair salon, and he’s already late making payments on the house, so you’ll lose the money you planned to cover the lawyer fees from the sale of that.”
“The house is in Chi-chi’s name, so it’s fine.”
“It won’t be for long if he can’t make payments.”
Jesus. “How do you know all this?”
He tosses me my phone.
“Check your messages.”
I do. My inbox was full. There’s none pending. “You listened to my messages?”
He nods.
“All of them?”
“Hundred and twenty-seven.” He pauses. “On 4x speed.”
“Where was I while you did this?”
He hooks a thumb behind him. “I showered alone.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Next time, I’ll invite you to join me.”
I blink. My brain conjures images of me and this man in the shower. It’s a merry-go-round of sexy stuff in my head. My vagina is thinking. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know, but I couldn’t help it. You blush prettily.”
“I don’t blush.” I’m sure I’m blushing right now. I press my palms against my cheeks, hoping that will stop the silly thing from happening.
He must sense my discomfort since he turns toward the TV. “Consider my offer. Nobody will ever find out we had a deal, and I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll never ask for any of it back.”
“Fine. Where’s the money?”
“In my bag.”
I look around and find the bag near the couch. I walk over there, ignoring his protest. His ankle means he shouldn’t be walking. I’m woman enough to buy my own flowers and carry my own bag. His bag. Whatever.
“This thing’s heavy.” I drag it across the floor. The handle slips from my hand, and I drop it. It thuds to the floor.
“Careful,” he snaps.
“Sorry. Sorry.” I pick it up again and drag it behind me. “This thing needs wheels.”
The man looks pale, as if all the blood drained from his cheeks. Once I reach him, I struggle to lift the bag onto the counter. He lifts it effortlessly. Well, those biceps aren’t just for show, I guess.
“Don’t touch my bag again.”
“I wasn’t going to snoop in it.”
“Good.” He unzips the bottom and flips it open to reveal neatly arranged stacks of cash next to a row of phones, cables, and several closed plastic containers I can’t figure out the use for.
He takes out all the cash and piles it onto my kitchen bar, then zips the bag closed. He’s carrying something large. It’s not his clothes. It’s not his money. It’s not a laptop. His bag is long and pretty scary, to be honest.
“Do you ski?” I ask. Skis are long.
He shakes his head.
“Snowboard? Play hockey? Is it an instrument?”
The man snatches my wrist and pulls me to stand between his legs. He cups my face and gently kisses my nose. “You’re so cute. Please stop asking about my bag. I would hate it if something happened to you.”
I stare into his eyes, painfully aware of our proximity, of the fresh soap he used. Mine. The orchid shower gel smells differently on him. It’s more serious, more potent, masculine. As masculine as his energy, his big, rough hands, his hard chest that I rest my hands on.
Then I push.
He releases me, and I step away, unsure if he threatened or warned me. Even a threat from his lips sounds sexy.
I’m going to buy myself a dildo with his money.