"It isn't any of your business," she said, and knew she sounded uptight and stiff. Well, she was uptight and stiff. And it wasn't any of his business.
The same flash was there in his eyes. Hot. Angry. Pure steel. Her stomach did another flip. He was both scary and sexy at the same time, a combination she wanted no part of.
"I'm making it my business, Kitten, whether you like it or not. After hours, half the men in here are drunk. Why do you think they're in here?"
"I make a mean cup of coffee and word has gotten around. It sobers them up a little. Coming to Poetry Slam gives them some time to wind down."
He made a sound in the back of his throat that alarmed her. A rumble. A growl. The sound found its way to her heart, kick-starting her into flight mode.
"You can't possibly be that naive, woman. Just in the two weeks I've been coming, the traffic between midnight and three has doubled. Mostly men. They come here because they're hoping to get lucky. They spend the entire time staring at you and trying to think of ways to get you in their beds. A few of them may have figured out that you walk home and they may make plans you aren't going to like and can't do anything about on your own."
She jumped up fast, but he was faster, his long fingers settling around her wrist, shackling her to him. He stood too, towering over her. His fierce golden eyes stared down into her blue ones, just as intense as she remembered, more so even. His gaze cut right through her until she feared every secret she had was laid bare in front of him.
"Don't run from me. I'm telling you the truth. Clearly you're living in a dream world when it comes to men and their intentions."
She tilted her head to one side, forgetting to keep her attitude in check. "Would you like to tell me what your intentions are?" she challenged.
His eyes changed and she knew immediately she'd made a terrible mistake. His eyes went liquid gold, focused and unblinking, locked onto her, and this time there was interest. Real interest. Before she'd been the one locked on to him, playing in her head with silly fantasies, but his motivation for following her had been actually watching out for her--she could see that now, at least she thought she could. Until that moment. That second.
She'd put too much sass into her tone. There was no backtracking from that, not with the stark speculation in his eyes. She forced air through her burning lungs and tugged at her hand to try to get him to release her.
His thumb slid over her wrist, right over her pounding pulse, a mere brush, but the stroke sent hot blood rushing through her veins. She wanted to look away, but there was no getting away from the piercing stare of his eyes.
"Now I'm seeing you, Kitten. And you've got a little bite to you."
"Enough to handle myself if someone decides to attack me on my way home."
"I disagree."
"That doesn't matter," she said, and tugged at her hand again.
His hold didn't loosen. He wasn't hurting her; in fact, the pad of his thumb sent waves of heat curling through her body as it continued to brush little strokes over her pulse.
"It matters to me."
"It isn't your business." Now he was back to scaring her. He couldn't follow her around. Especially not to her home.
She was usually adept at spotting and shaking a tail. She practiced. He couldn't see her practicing. He'd wonder what she was doing and why. She desperately tried to remember if she'd done such a thing in the last two weeks. Usually, after working a full shift, she was exhausted and didn't take the extra time.
"I've decided to make it my business."
His voice was so low she could barely catch the sound, but the tone vibrated right through her body, disturbing her balance. She almost felt as if she was caught in a dream, waking up for the first time, suddenly aware of what real chemistry between a man and a woman was. She was certain she'd been the only one to feel it, and even then, it was just an awareness, not in the least harmful--like her silly daydreams of him.
This was altogether different. Her awareness of him, her reaction, was so strong, almost feral, female reacting to a male on the hunt, wanting him, yet wanting to run. Maybe needing the chase to prove something to both of them. She saw the answering challenge in his eyes. It was impossible not to see.
She shook her head and took two steps back, trying to put distance between them despite his fingers around her wrist. In spite of the fact that she couldn't look away from him. What was wrong with her? Her lack of control was frightening. She couldn't blow this. She didn't dare.
"I have no interest whatsoever in a relationship with anyone. I don't do one-night stands and I don't date. I don't want attention from you or any other man. I'm asking you politely to let go of my wrist."
She could barely get the words out. There was something, a part of her she'd never known existed, a part of her that didn't want to walk away from this man. He was beautiful. Sexy. Intelligent. And Dangerous. Everything a woman might find attractive in a man. Everything she found attractive when she hadn't even known she could be attracted.
He didn't release her right away. His amazing eyes searched hers for a long moment. His face softened, and the male challenge was gone from his hard features as if it had never been there. Instead, he looked gentle. Still holding her wrist with one hand, he retrieved her hat with the other and gave it to her.
"You really are afraid of me, aren't you? I'm not going to hurt you, Cat. No matter what you think, I won't do that to you." His voice was pure velvet, stroking over her skin, low and vibrant and all male, almost a purr. His eyes hypnotized her all over again. They hadn't blinked. Not once. She was watching to see. He was absolutely, entirely focused on her and her alone.
Her belly did a slow roll and her breasts ached. Each separate spot where the pads of his fingers touched her bare skin felt as if he burned a brand right through her skin to her bones.
She hated that she was so susceptible to his voice. To his eyes. She retreated back to the character that always served her so well. She let her eyelashes fall, and nodded as if she understood. She couldn't handle a man like Ridley. She knew that. She didn't dare chance becoming his friend. She wouldn't know what to do with him.
He let her go. The moment she was free of his grip, she pulled her arm to her, pushing her wrist up against her body as if she could hold in the heat from his touch. She sent him one look from under her lashes and hurried past him back inside.
2
CATARINA looked at her watch for the hundredth time and then looked at David. He rolled his eyes. He held up his hands, fingers spread wide and grinned at her.
"Last call, everyone," David shouted. "If you want a coffee for the road, come get it now. We're closed in ten."
She flashed him a small, tired smile. It had been a great night for Poetry Slam. Business was huge. Huge. The take was the most they'd ever done. The tip jar was overflowing, which meant extra gas money. It had been a great night, but she was exhausted. She hadn't even been able to keep track of how many different variations of coffee she'd made that night. She could do ten more minutes, but beyond that . . .
Three men swaggered up to the counter to give David their closing orders. She avoided looking at them. One of the three, a man his friends called Jase, had twice tried to engage her in conversation. She'd given him a vague smile without meeting his eyes and stayed busy inventorying her various coffee beans both times.
"Hey, Cat," Jase called out to her, overloud.
She winced and forced herself not to glance toward the corner where Ridley continued to read his book. She was all too aware he hadn't missed both times Jase had tried to get her to converse.
"I can hear you, Jase," she answered, without looking up.
"What's it take?"
She made a mistake in pausing as she made his friend Marty his favorite latte. "I'm sorry?" she said, frowning a little, trying to puzzle out when he meant.
Ridley moved. He put down his book and stared hard at Jase.
"To fuck you. Tell me what it takes. We're trying to figure that out and you're giving us nothing."
The coffee-house went utterly silent. David froze. Catarina blinked and Ridley was behind Jase, one hand on his shoulder. He spun the man around and punched him in the face. He hadn't pulled back his arm for strength. It was a short punch, but Jase's head snapped back on his shoulders and his legs turned to rubber. The only thing holding him up was Ridley's hand on his shoulder.
"Ridley," Catarina protested softly.
"Don't speak," Ridley snapped. "Just get this place shut down." His eyes moved to each of Jase's friends. "Either of you two got something you want to say before you leave? Because you're leaving right now."
Both took one look at the hard, implacable lines in his face, the smoldering golden eyes, and they shook their heads. Ridley, still holding Jase up, gestured toward the door. Without a word they turned and went out, Ridley trailing them, dragging a rubber-legged Jase with him. He thrust the man at the other two and wasn't gentle about it.
He shut the door decisively and turned and walked back to his table. Applause broke out. The spectators liked their coffee.