Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
“Anything you don’t like?” He picks up the menu.
“Um, I don’t eat most meat,” I tell him honestly.
“Most?” He raises his eyebrows and I giggle, acting like he’s so funny for making a penis joke.
“I’ll have fish every once in a while,” I go on. “But I just feel guilty eating farm animals. I have a horse so I see things differently, perhaps.”
“Ohhh, a horse. So you’re a good rider then, huh?”
And he’s back to sex references already. Good lord this man really thinks I’m going to just jump on his dick.
“I mean, I suppose you could say so. I’ve been riding for, uh…” I pause, acting like I’m mentally counting. “…twenty-five years.”
“Then you definitely know how to ride.” He wiggles his eyebrows again and takes a big drink. If he asks me to ride him like I ride my horse then I’m drinking, too.
“Eh, maybe.” I hold up my left wrist, showing him a surgical scar. “I did fall off a few years ago and broke my wrist.”
He takes my hand and runs his finger up and down the scar. Normally, I can compartmentalize like a pro, but right now all I can think is that those hands have taken a life. Damn, it’s different sitting at a table with a cold-blooded killer and reading about them in the dark romance novels I love so much.
“Looks like it hurt.”
“Yeah,” I say and get hit with another unwelcome thought. Though this one was about the day I fell off Thor and had to call Cory. Instead of rushing to the hospital to make sure I was okay, he finished his workday, stopped for food but didn’t offer to bring me anything, and then sat in the ER with me, grumbling about how bored he was and how his back hurt in the chair. Then, right as I was being discharged, he looked at me and told me I wasn’t getting in the BMW he bought—with my money—because I was in “horse clothes”.
He left me for over an hour while he went all the way back to our place to switch cars. I had been discharged from the ER and had to sit in the busy waiting room, all drugged up and in pain, assuring a concerned nurse that, yes, my husband was coming back.
“Have you ever ridden a horse?” I ask, taking my hand back.
“I have, and I can say I’m not good at it. You’ll have to give me pointers.”
I laugh again and ask when and where he rode, thinking maybe they have a family farm somewhere that the authorities don’t know about. But he was on vacation and I think the whole story is a tall-tale anyway.
“It’s busy in here tonight,” I comment when we order food, using it as an excuse to turn around. I spot Mason, though the sight of him takes me by surprise because he’s…on a date?
I mean, he’s not really, I know, but that’s what it looks like and it’s not making the oddest feeling of jealousy rise inside of me. He’s sitting next to a pretty woman with short brown hair. They’re talking and laughing and he gives me a tiny nod when I look at him. I turn back around, not hearing something Enzo is saying.
Smiling and nodding, I realize he’s bragging about flying on a private jet to somewhere in Greece.
“Try to get more info on his apartment,” Mason’s voice comes through the earpiece again.
I will when it comes up naturally, I think. It would be weird to just bring it up now and would make Enzo think I’m eager to get back to his place. Which I’m not doing.
“That’s one place I haven’t been yet,” I say.
“Really? It’s gorgeous. Like you.”
“Awww.” I deserve a fucking Emmy for my performance tonight. “You’re too kind.”
He leans forward and takes my hands. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?” His eyes lock with mine and he seems genuine. I’m sure he said the same thing to whoever he ended up taking home last night. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”
Mason lets out a snort of laughter, and I tip my head to the side, smiling back at Enzo. Thankfully, the waitress comes to take our order before I have to respond to that ridiculous line. He orders for me, forgetting I told him just a minute or so ago that I don’t eat meat. I switch gears a bit, and instead of trying to catch him in the act of cheating, I get him to reveal things about himself that clue me into his psychological profile.
I was really good at this back in my university days. My professors said I have a certain way about me that is inviting, making people want to open up. I’m a good chameleon, quickly figuring out how to mirror whoever I’m talking about so they feel comfortable in a short amount of time. It’s manipulation at the root, but hey, it is what it is and right now I’m using it to my advantage.