Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Is he still there?” she asked, the anxiety in her voice evident.
“He’s gone now. Were you being followed?” I asked, sliding in across from her.
“Y-yes.”
I had a lot of other questions, but I remained silent, knowing I had to tread carefully.
Taylor slid my whiskey and a glass of wine on the table and walked away. I pushed the glass toward her. “Have a sip.”
She shook her head.
“Of course, I’m sorry,” I replied, shaking my head. She was scared and being followed—she wasn’t going to accept a glass of wine from a stranger. I picked it up and took a drink.
“It’s perfectly safe,” I assured her.
Her hand trembled, and she took a long sip from the glass, letting out a sigh.
“I’ll pay for my wine and leave. I’m sorry.” She met my gaze, the beauty of her eyes startling me again. Set under delicate eyebrows, they were wide and lovely. Even scared, they were beautiful.
“I ordered you dinner. You can eat and relax. You’ll be safe.”
She frowned, her brow furrowing. “Why would you do that?” she asked.
I shrugged, leaning my arm across the back of the booth. “Because I can,” I replied. “Obviously, you’re in trouble and you need help. I can offer that help to you. But first, you need to warm up, relax, and eat, then you can tell me what happened.”
She blinked. “Why?” she repeated.
I smiled. “Because you chose me to help you. You kissed me.” I couldn’t help winking at her. “Not that kissing you was a chore.”
“Really,” she replied, edging toward the end of the booth. “I’ll be fine.”
I put my hand out to stop her. “Don’t go.”
She looked down where my hand rested on her sleeve. “I don’t want to cause you trouble.”
I shook my head. “Trouble and I are old friends.”
Taylor arrived with dinner, the shepherd’s pie bubbling in the casserole dishes, the steam wafting in the air bringing the delicious aroma to my nose. The mixed salads and warm loaves of bread rounded out the tray. I looked at her after he left, the food sitting on the table.
“You wouldn’t make me eat alone now, would you?”
She hesitated.
“Please,” I said simply.
Her shoulders slumped. “Okay. Just dinner, though. Then I’ll leave you in peace.”
I leaned closer. “You might want to rethink that, pretty lady. Of all the men you chose to kiss, I was the right pick. I can help you.”
Her eyes widened, but she said nothing.
I held out my hand. “Damien DeSalvo.”
She let me wrap my fingers around hers. “Raven Bailey.”
Raven. The name suited her.
“A pleasure. Now eat up. You have a story to tell, and I want to hear it.”
CHAPTER TWO
Damien
The shepherd’s pie was delicious. The salad crisp. My unexpected dinner companion had little appetite, though. Every time the door opened, she tensed. Each time a new voice rang out, she jumped. Finally, I slid my hand across the table, covering hers that held her fork like a weapon.
“That’s for eating, not gouging someone’s eye out with,” I stated mildly. “And if you’re still really worried, you should know that I could take whoever was threatening you out in about forty-five seconds. They wouldn’t even get close.”
Her worried eyes met mine, a frown between them. I smiled, wanting her to relax. “You picked the right bar to come into, Raven. Trust me on that.”
“Are you some sort of assassin?” she asked, half joking.
I slid a card from my wallet and handed it to her. She read it, mouthing the words. “Damien DeSalvo. You own a security firm?” she queried. “Really?”
“The best in the business. With my background, I’m highly trained. You’re perfectly safe, so I would like you to eat this delicious meal and relax. While you’re with me, nothing will happen to you.”
She glanced down, and I slipped my hand under her chin. “And I’ll make sure nothing happens after either.”
I tapped her nose. “Eat, please. The food is incredible, and you are far too pale. A meal will help.”
She let out a long exhale of air, her shoulders loosening. She picked up her fork again and began to eat. “It’s good,” she agreed.
“Way better than what I make.” I chuckled.
“You don’t cook?”
I shrugged. “I get by. Simple things. I like to grill. But I enjoy a well-made meal. My old boss used to get his frustrations out by cooking. Some of the best Italian food I’ve ever eaten.” I winked at her. “Sometimes we’d rile him up just so he’d go upstairs and cook.”
She smiled, a soft laugh escaping her mouth. She was extraordinarily pretty when she smiled. Her unusual eyes lit up, and a small dimple appeared by the left one, giving her an impish look. Her hair was beginning to dry, the dark color almost black against her creamy skin. She had pierced ears with three earrings in each ear, and I spied a hint of ink behind one of them. I felt a burning curiosity to know what it depicted and what it meant to her. All my ink had a story, and I wanted to know hers.