Romancing the Bachelor (A Hamilton Family 2)

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “I just feel like I need to make things right, and show you I’m not the guy you think I am.”

“And who is that?” she asked softly.

“A spoiled, rich, pompous playboy.”

She cocked her head, and even though she wore shades, he could feel her studying him. Measuring him up. Finding him insufficient. “I never threw spoiled in there. The rest?” She shrugged. “Guilty as charged.”

He laughed.

The wind blew her hair into her face, and it caught on her shiny lip-gloss. She tried to blow it off, failed, and gave up. “So who are you, really, if you’re not those things?”

“I don’t know.” He swept her hair out of her face for her, his gaze on her plump, kissable mouth. If he leaned in and tasted her, what would she do? Run. She would run. He sensed that about her. “But I want to find out.”

“And you think I can help you?” she asked, her observation of him spot on.

It was a little unnerving; the way she saw right through him like that.

“I don’t know,” he said again. He owed her complete honesty if he was going to pursue her—and he was. Even now, talking to her, he felt alive in ways he’d never felt before. Every nerve in his body was charged, every sense heightened, and he needed more. “But I feel like something is different inside me when I’m arguing with you. It’s like…”

She hesitated. “Like you’re alive?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “Do you feel it too?”

She didn’t say anything.

Just stared at him.

And then: “My name is Shelby. Shelby Jefferson.”

Satisfaction punched him in the chest. That was the only explanation for the breathlessness he was experiencing. “Eric Hamilton.” He held his hand out. “Nice to meet you, Shelby Jefferson.”

She stuck her bagel in her mouth and shook his hand.

Her skin on his was electrifying.

She started to pull away, but he caught her fingers, not letting go. “I’m not a man who plays games, Shelby. If I want something, I go after it, and I get it. And right now? I want you.” He let go of her, fisting his hand. “Normally, I’d pursue you until I got you naked in my bed. It’s what I usually do with women I want. With you, it’s different.”

She took the bagel out of her mouth and stepped back, like she needed more distance. Did she feel it, too? The charge between them?

“What do you mean? How is it different?”

“You clearly don’t like me, and I don’t want to chase you unless you might want to be caught. I’m having a hard time reading you, because your words say you don’t want to be my friend, but I can see the way you look at me. I know women, and I know what you’re thinking when you lean close and hold your breath…because I’m thinking it, too.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, and she trembled, leaning in just like he’d said she would. “So tell me, Shelby, would you ever consider being caught by me, or am I reading the signals wrong?”

“I…” She bit her lip. “Uh…”

“Fair warning. If you say yes, I’ll stop at nothing to have you.” Leaning in, he brought his mouth close to her ear, stopping short of touching her. “Nothing.”

She swayed closer, then stepped back. “I’m not one to ignore a warning like that.”

“So, what’s it going to be?” he asked. “Should I go to hell, or should I take you out to dinner and see how it goes?”

“Something tells me that if I tell you I’m not interested, it’ll only increase your interest in me.” She pursed her lips. “Guys like you love the chase.”

Generally, that was true.

There was nothing wrong with admitting that the chase was most of the fun for him, or in admitting he lost interest once he caught someone. But only if the woman he was chasing wanted to be caught. “Shelby—”

“Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock.”