In the dimly lit storeroom my shop, a place he had no business being. Not just standing, no less. Standing with his booted feet planted wide, his muscled arms crossed over his broad chest, and his green eyes fixed, with startling intensity, on my face.
I couldn’t help but notice those eyes held not one trace of the ice I usually saw in their depths. They weren’t cold. They were the exactoppositeof cold. In fact, they were so damn heated, they set fire to every one of my senses as I backed slowly away from him, trying not to balk under the scorching gaze that tracked my every move.
I dragged an unsteady breath into my lungs.
What… the actual…hell… was going on?
Chapter Four
I thought “ghosting” meant he was a real freak in the sheets.
- Gwen Goode, wondering why her last date never called
The heavy door clicked closed behind Graham, enclosing us together in the dark storeroom. I forced myself to stop retreating like a coward, planting my feet on the tile floor. I hoped my face didn’t reveal my deep unease at being alone with him. My grip was so tight on the box of amethyst, I was pretty sure I’d lost circulation.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” I hissed, my voice thrumming with outrage.
“I told you, we need to talk.”
“We don’t need to talk. We don’t need to do anything.”
He ignored this. His eyes flickered beyond me for a brief moment. “Anyone else back here?”
“No, but—”
“Good.”
My mouth was gaping like a fish out of water so, with considerable effort, I clicked it closed. Graham’s eyes scanned the L-shaped space, taking in the stock shelves — these were metal, utilitarian, nothing at all like the expensive, ornate, wood-carved ones in the shop — piled high with books and boxes of merchandise. Against the opposite wall next to some filing cabinets sat a small, organized desk — also metal, also utilitarian — where I often spent my nights pouring over the ledger books. In the far corner, beneath the only window in the elongated room, which looked out to the cobbled alley behind the building, was a mini-fridge, an industrial sink, and an old emerald sofa that had been there for as long as I could remember. I used to crash on it as a kid whenever I stayed late at the shop to help Aunt Colette with inventory, often falling asleep there while she sat at the desk trying to sort out what she called the ‘Sisyphean horseshit’ that came along with running a business. (Also known as paperwork.) The canvas slipcover was a bit frayed at the seams with age, but the cushions were so broken in they felt like a cloud when you sank down into them. I’d never get rid of that sofa, not in a million years. To this day, it was one of the only places I ever managed to get some decent shut-eye.
Graham appeared to examine and catalogue all these details in a nanosecond before his sharp gaze returned to mine. He took a step toward me and, despite my desire to hold my ground, I backpedaled with the box still clutched in my arms.
“You can’t be in here,” I informed him, retreating farther.
“I’m in here,” he returned, following me.
I took three more steps, moving blindly backward through the shelves. I tried to tear my eyes away from Graham, but I couldn’t seem to accomplish it. The look on his face as he advanced on me was not one you turned your back on. Not if you were smart.
“You scared to be alone with me, Glinda?” his voice was soft and, somehow, that was even scarier than the look on his face.
“For the last time, my name is Gwendolyn,” I snapped to cover my unease.
“Not an answer.”
“No,” I clipped. “I am not scared of you.”
“Uh huh. Is that why you bolt like a spooked horse every time I get close to you?”
“Maybe you just have that effect on women.”
His lips twitched. “Not historically, no.”
Arrogant!
My grip on the box tightened so much, the sides began to concave inward. Before I could destroy its structural integrity, I shoved it onto an empty shelf on my left, next to a bulk package of funky taper candles with whorls and spirals carved into the wax. They looked like they belonged on a ceremonial altar of blood, burning against the night to summon a demon. In other words, they were the absolute shit.
“Look,” I said, turning back to Graham. “You—you—”
I stuttered into silence when I realized I’d repeated my mistake back in the shop. He’d used my momentary distraction to close the distance between us again, coming to a stop less than a foot away from me. I actually had to crane my neck to meet his eyes.