“Sorry?” I say.
His smirk widens. “Are you going to answer my question?”
It takes me a moment to sort through all the confusion inside of me. Then I remember.
“There isn’t much to tell,” I murmur.
He moves closer. The way he’s staring at me, it’s like he’s giving me no choice but to return his gaze.
He won’t let me look away.
“I don’t believe you,” he says.
I shrug. His eyes flit to my chest. For a second, I think he’s staring at my breasts. My skin tingles and teases with the idea as the sensations move up and down my body, coiling hotly around my limbs, making me feel that at any second, we could collapse into a kiss.
“I work as an online chat advisor, but you already know that,” I say. “I live with my sister… you met her. She’s protective, a little crazy, and I love her.”
I shrug again. Again, his eyes flit to me. It’s like we exist on two planes. One is where we’re having this regular conversation. The other is all body language, as though we’re communicating silently.
“Tell me what you’re passionate about,” he says.
I laugh, shaking my head, risking a look at him.
His eyes are fiercely locked onto me, intense in a way they didn’t seem online. His photos don’t do his smoldering seriousness justice.
“Singing,” I reply, with a shiver in my voice that could be fear.
At least, he might think it’s fear. But really, it’s something else altogether. It’s the prospect of our future opening up, rolling out like a red carpet, beckoning me.
“I have always been passionate about singing,” I go on when he keeps watching me. “Ever since I was a little kid. Our….”
I was going to say our parents, but that would mean getting into the whole bloody mess. A piece of that came out just now, with the homeless man… the way Autumn freaked when he pretended as though he was going to reach for a gun.
That wasn’t a coincidence. That was learned.
“Our childhood wasn’t the best,” I go on quietly. “But singing helped me escape. I know how that sounds. How can singing – especially when I was so freaking quiet sometimes it was more in my head – help anybody escape anything? But it’s passion. I guess, as you said. It made me feel like I had a purpose. Then I started writing songs and….”
I trail off, risking another glance at him. His expression has changed from severe and ready to tear the world apart…to softer, more attentive, more like a wolf at rest rather than a beast ready to spring into action.
“That’s amazing,” he says quietly. “What sort of music do you sing and write?”
“Love songs, mostly.” My cheeks couldn’t be flaring a hotter red if my body was intentionally trying to betray me. “Not about anybody in particular. I guess it’s more about the person I think I could, uh, you know… anyway, what about you?”
I’m stuttering, fumbling. My gaze moves to anywhere but Ryland, unwilling to study the way he looms over me, the way he seems to be getting closer.
Is that jealousy I feel radiating from him?
And then I realize my mistake – no, that should be mistakes since there’s more than one.
I can’t feel any particular emotion emanating from Ryland. And, even if I could, it definitely wouldn’t be lust. I’m definitely not lucky enough to feel an emotion so strong, so overwhelming…except he called me beautiful.
There’s such a strange split in my mind, as though half of me fully believes I’m going to wake up in bed, laptop balanced on my knees, the live chat service still open.
“I’d love to hear one sometime,” he says. “And, when you’re ready, I’d like to hear more about your childhood. But there’s something I want even more.”
“Hmm?”
I’m forced to turn when I feel him set closer to me.
He looms over me, all six and a half feet of him. His shoulders are wide, and a vein pulses in his neck as though he’s on the verge of erupting.
“What?” I whisper.
Kiss me? I almost add.
It’s the way he’s glaring at me, his eyes glassy, his lips twisted into a savage configuration I find difficult to read. He takes a small step forward, his body brushing against mine.
I can feel the rock-hard muscles beneath the fabric of his clothes.
“To take you on a real date,” he says after a pause, making me wonder if he was going to say something else. “Now that you know I’m really who I say I am, let me take you out?”
“When?” I ask.
“Tonight,” he replies quickly. “Right now.”
“I’m working tonight.”
The lie comes out without me deciding to tell it. It’s a reflex, as though, deep down, I know I need more time to process what’s happening.
My heartbeat is a concussive force in my chest, pounding and slamming every time he looks at me.