The man glared at me before he tossed his car back into drive and pulled from the curb.
Fingernails curled into my upper arm. “Holy shit, Eden Jasmine Murphy,” Tessa hissed. “What was that? And you better fess it up now, because I can already feel your denial coming on, and there is no denying whatever the heck that was.”
She waved a turbulent hand through the air as if she could capture that feeling.
Something unattainable but real.
“That?” I let my eyes follow the car that whipped out of the drive far too fast. “That was my new boss.”
Five
Eden
Life is a series of choices. Some are easier made than others. Some take days or weeks or even years of contemplation, while others are made in a split second. Some are destined to be mistakes and others are made of sound judgement and mind. Fueled by wisdom and foresight and discernment.
Black and white.
But sometimes?
Sometimes they are grayed. Blurred. Obscured in a hazy cloud of smoke.
Vapors and mist and uncertainty.
That’s exactly what it felt like as I slipped into the murky shadows of the hall outside the dressing room where I’d just placed my bag into a locker and pulled a clean apron over the jeans and tee I’d opted for as attire tonight.
I felt as if I were stepping into uncertainty.
Into a different world where I didn’t know the rules. Where I questioned the unsteady terrain on which I traveled.
Or maybe subconsciously I knew full well I was making a mistake by following this path. That I was begging for trouble.
Maybe I sensed it as a premonition as I edged down the confined passageway toward the kitchen. An omen that whipped and whirred through the dense, thickened air that held fast to the cramped quarters of the hall.
I was standing at a clear line where I had to make a choice. Keep moving forward or turn and run.
I supposed I was the fool who continued to edge toward that destiny.
I was almost to the turn that hooked into the kitchen when I felt the dark presence emerge from behind.
As if he’d felt me pass by his office.
Or maybe he’d just been watching.
Waiting.
The hunter who wanted to play with his prey before he went in for the kill.
My heart skittered and my flesh prickled, and I inhaled a shaky breath as I slowed and turned around.
Trent Lawson hovered at the doorway of his office, those sooty eyes taking me in like he wanted to see deep inside. Sift through my makeup.
More than likely, he’d read everything written inside, anyway. Had already picked up on the scent of who I was. Smelled the desperation. Sensed the vulnerability.
But the thing about vulnerability? It didn’t always make you weak. Sometimes the only thing it did was make you fight harder. Make you more determined to go after what you needed in your life.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t little Miss Murphy.” He tsked it like it were a sin. “You came, after all.”
My chin lifted in defiance. “You thought I wouldn’t?”
He chuckled a rough sound and moved to lean against the wall outside his door. He stuffed those tattooed hands into his pockets and slung himself back so nonchalantly that one might mistake him for blameless. But I wasn’t fool enough to believe he wouldn’t strike at any second.
“I would have thought you’d think it a…conflict of interest.” His head cocked to the side.
I tried to ignore the way my heart raced, thrumming so hard it had to be a palpable thing. “Conflict of interest?”
Undeniably, him coming at me this way was the conflict of interest. The dude was my boss. Clearly, he didn’t give a crap about that.
I got the sense he didn’t just ignore the rules, he made his own.
Coarse assumption flowed from his wicked mouth. “I have to admit I was shocked to see you standing with my son’s hand in yours when I rolled up this afternoon, but I shouldn’t have been, should have I? A place like that is exactly where you belong.”
Just like I’d known he would, he struck. Only it was slow. Like a wolf stalking…prowling…slowly stealing in closer until its target was cornered.
Nowhere to go.
My back hit the wall, and he was right there, invading my space, the man pure masculinity and greed.
Energy crackled.
A seething intensity that lashed through the air.
I inhaled a shocked breath, a mistake because the only thing it achieved was a rush of his essence sucked deep into my aching lungs.
Leather and nutmeg and the faint vestiges of cigarette smoke.
Only a fool would have the urge to lean closer and inhale.
But I did.
I had the sudden desire to press my nose to his hot flesh. To drag it up his throat over the tattoo etched there—a baby owl in full flight, its wings stretched wide around his neck, though its face was a disfigured skull.
My fingers itched with the need to trace it.
There had to be something wrong with me.
But I couldn’t help it.
The way my eyes traveled, so close, unable to stop myself from devouring as much of the exposed skin as I could.
Tonight, his tee dipped low enough that I could make out the words hidden in the whorl of colors and designs on his chest—Live to Ride, Ride to Die.
My mind spun, no clue why I felt compelled to understand. Why I wanted to ask him to explain. Who he was and why he was. How this hardened, terrifying man was the father to that adorable little boy. And why I cared so much.
I’d only met him yesterday, and the few interactions had already left me caught up. Swept away in a torrent.
“Aren’t I right, Miss Murphy?” He angled in closer, his voice dropping to a lure. “You’re meant to be there…with those children. Amid all that innocence.”
His lips were suddenly at my jaw.
Touching.
Igniting.
Destroying something inside me.
Chills streaked, and my head rocked back as sensation rushed across my skin and desire leapt in my belly.
Those lips murmured the words like an accusation as he ran them up to my ear. “I bet you even teach Sunday School.”
God.
What a dick.
I forced myself to pull back. “And what if I do?”
I totally did.
But I didn’t owe him a single explanation. Funny, how I wanted one from him.
Trent chuckled a menacing sound. “It would prove exactly what I’d recognized about you the second I saw you last night. You don’t belong here.”
I crossed my arms over my chest to put some space between us. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“One look at you, and I know everything I need to know.”
“What is your freaking problem?” I hissed.
He shocked me by suddenly moving to the other side of the hall, taking my breath with him as he went. He propped his back against the wall, smirking the whole time.
Even with the three feet separating us, he filled the space. Everything about him overwhelming.
Intoxicating.
I knew better than letting myself get drunk on this man.
“My problem? Not the one with a problem here. I’m doing you a solid, Kitten.”
“Wow, aren’t you ever the knight in shining armor?”
He scraped out a raw laugh. “Nah, not even close, but for you, I just might try.”