“Can’t a girl hide in this town?”
His eyes darkened, and his lips twisted into the bad-boy smile that lured her in like cheap cologne did when she was fifteen. “You trying to hide?”
He backed her against the wall. She let her gaze skitter away from his, but not for long. She snapped it right back, drinking in the rugged features of the man who she couldn’t stop thinking about.
His nose had been broken at some point, and if she hadn’t seen dozens of broken noses in her lifetime, she’d never notice the slight bump on the bridge. Add those piercing eyes and crooked smile, and she pulsed with want.
He’d shaved, and damn, it looked good on him. Being rumpled by wind, his hair was never neat, but he’d finger-combed it into order. Ever stared at it.
“What are you looking at?”
He raked his fingers through it. “Why?”
I want to mess it up. All night.
She dropped her gaze, but that was a mistake, because all she saw was the bulge in his jeans.
Fighting to keep from panting like a dog, she curled her fingers into her palms. Each blunt fingernail bit into her skin. She focused on the sting rather than Jamison.
“Baby.” He nudged her chin with his knuckles, raising her gaze to his. “I’ve never had to work so hard to get someone to talk.”
“I imagine not, considering the coercion you typically use.” That bump above his boot was definitely a gun.
He arched a brow, his silent way of pushing her for an answer. “You don’t know enough about me to believe that.”
“I know the type.”
Chuckling, he leaned in close until their lips were inches away. “Oh yeah. Dirtbag.”
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