“Very deducing.” The pitch of his voice raises, like he’s teasing me. “But that’s unfair for you to know my last name, then leave me in the dark. So, what’s yours?”
“Tucker.” The response comes out on its own, and I blink once.
“Is that a married name or a maiden name?” His hand slinks farther down my spine onto the fabric of my gown, and we know how dangerously low that thing is. My insides melt with his long agile fingers now touching the very end of my spine. Something I’m sure he’s well aware of.
“What if it is a married name?” I retort, refusing to address the issue of his hand placement.
“What if it is…?”
The way he says it … something tells me it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. And an even smaller something tells me that I like that fact, like him, and I have no control over it. This is all far too dangerous.
I don’t respond. My inner safety with this man is too precarious. I shrug.
“Ah,” he breathes. He has to know I’m digging my heels in. “And seeing me now, do you see a man who’s worried about honor, or do you see a man who’s used to getting what he wants?”
My stomach flips at the cool answer. We deadlock, and I can’t help but lose my breath at his unwavering look. Fuck, he’s sexy, but I can’t go down like this. Ignoring the sharp lump in my throat, I tilt my head back and skirt up a brow. “I like to think every man I meet acts with honor until proven otherwise.”
“Ohhh,” he rumbles, ducking for my ear, his cheek grazing mine. “Then you’re going to be disappointed with me.”
What should be a terrifying statement sends a delicious shudder through my body. I’m helpless to stop or control it, and given the bright glow on Brexton’s face, my reaction is obvious, and he’s enjoying his effect immensely.
“Fancy a little bit of danger with those wide eyes of yours, do you?” he purrs in his most charming voice. “That might make us an interesting combination—your curious innocence and my infamy. Have you even considered that?”
My heart hammers at the odd flirtation. He makes us sound like a match, and I don’t know how he came around to the conclusion that we could be compatible. We would never be.
Still, I’m wondering how much more I can handle of this cat-and-mouse exchange, or if he’s going to up the ante with a proposition. And if that happens, how will I fare?
He intakes a shallow breath, and I’m praying for strength, but rather than pushing for another earth-shattering challenge of my composure, he changes the subject.
“You speak and read German well.” He makes an observation of the gathered crowd before moving me to a less populated spot. “Where did you study?”
“Actually, I’m mostly self-taught.” `The rapid eye blink says he’s colored impressed, and I allow myself to continue. I trust myself with this subject. “I worked with some native speakers, however, at a kitchen several years back.”
“Interesting,” he muses. His pause has an unusual weight to it, but I’m not sure if pushing for more conversation is wise. “I’m in need of a full-time interpreter and secretary. I’m glad I found someone.”
My pulse stops. So does my dancing. He couldn’t have just uttered those words, but as I look up and see the self-assurance in his eyes, I know he did. “Who says I’m going to work for you?”
“Who says you’re not?” Unlike my snippy tone, his is calm control.
The song ends, and that’s my cue. I wrench myself from his grip and take a step back. Blood rushes through my ears as I forget about manners.
“Where do you work?” he asks, refusing to address my actions.
I scowl and surprise myself with what flies out of my mouth next. “Piss off.”
“And what street is that on?” The question doesn’t miss a beat. He allows his eyes to roam all over my body. A second ago, I would have liked it, regardless of his reputation, but now the way he looks at me, makes me wish I hadn’t backed up at all. It allows him to see too much. I feel like he can see me, not the timid Olivia I’ve become. “You’ll start Monday.”
My mouth falls open, and a huff blows out. He’s unbelievable.
Screw this. The last thing I need to get tangled up with is some egocentric asshat who thinks they have the power to change my life.
With my heart slamming in my throat, I turn on my heel and storm off the dance floor. My party is over, and I’m going home. Forget Brexton, and even the Brauns right now, although I’m sure I’ll regret bailing on them in the morning.
I’m half shoving through the crowd, when something breaks above it. A deep tone, filled with authority.
“Mark my words, Olivia…” Brexton’s voice grows in volume and forces me to glance over my shoulder. He’s standing where I left him, but there’s no downcast look. If anything, he’s more determined. “You are going to work for me.”
I remain silent this time, moving through the crowd to leave. But while I want to ignore his final words, something deep in the pit of my stomach tells me Grant Brexton isn’t making a threat.
He’s making a promise.