“Not normally, no.”
Oh. She’d rather thought eighty would be a good starting point. “Maybe I should tell you about the job.”
He grunted. “Maybe you should.”
She risked a glance around. No one seemed to be paying them much attention, yet she had the weird feeling that everybody in that place was aware of her conversation with the stranger. Crazy, of course. But…
She pulled her stool closer to his. Their shoulders brushed. “I just want to sit with you.”
“Excuse me?”
“It will be the easiest job of your life, I promise.” Her words came out in a fast, soft rush.
“You smell like raspberries.”
“I—” She got caught by his eyes. “Scented soap.”
“It’s fucking delicious.”
Whitney swallowed. Her gaze drifted over his face. A line of stubble covered what was truly a phenomenal jaw. Strong. Hard. His thick, dark hair was swept back from his high forehead. And his eyes weren’t just brown. They were golden brown.
“Back to business,” he murmured.
Oh, crap. Had she just been staring at him? How embarrassing. And unprofessional.
“You want to pay me eighty bucks so that you can sit with me. That’s a new kink.”
“It’s not a—” Her breath huffed out. “If I’m with you, then no one will look twice at me.”
“Don’t be too sure of that.”
“They’ll think we’re conducting business, and I’ll be left alone.” Her brilliant plan. She’d figured she’d be the one who picked out her partner-in-crime, so to speak, but the helpful bouncer had done the job for her. “Then I can do my work.”
His face hardened. “And what exactly is your work?” A new note had entered his voice. A low, harsh note that sent chills skating down her spine. “You a cop?”
“No! Nothing like that!” Once more, she glanced around. “And I don’t think you should be throwing out the ‘C’ word in this place. You don’t want to get us in trouble. If Ramsey hears you saying that, he’ll probably throw us both out.”
“Doubtful. I’m pretty tight with him.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Obviously.”
Her gaze darted back to him.
He was watching her. “You don’t look like a cop. Don’t have cop eyes.”
“That’s because I’m not a cop.”
“Then what are you?”
She leaned in even closer to him. “I’m a psychologist.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, I really am. And I want to have the chance to observe the behavior in this bar because I am—”
“Crazy?” he interrupted.
“Uh, no.”
“Delusional?”
“No, not that, either. Thanks for asking.”
“You sure?” He hadn’t taken her cash. He had turned fully toward her. “To me, it seems like you must be nuts. Because otherwise, why the hell would you walk into this place? You must know how dangerous it is.”
Of course, she did. “That’s why I’m here.” This wasn’t an official study. Not sanctioned through her college. This was an observational process that she wanted to do for herself. She’d been shut away in the classroom too long. She needed to get out. To experience the real world.
“You know the bar is full of criminals.”
“I have heard that, yes.” Which went back to…That’s why I’m here.
“And you want to play with them? What the hell? You get off on screwing dangerous people?”
“I’m not here to screw anyone! Why do you keep getting fixated on that point?” Her breath huffed out. “Never mind. You are obviously not interested in helping me. I’ll just take my money and find someone else.” Her fingers closed around the cash.
His fingers closed around hers. A surge of heat flew from her fingertips all the way through her body. One of those electric jolts that people wrote about in books but that had never happened to Whitney before in her entire life.
“You’re not finding anyone else.”
Their heads were close. Their mouths were close. Why was she thinking about kissing him?
She licked her lips. His gaze followed the movement of her tongue, and she could have sworn that his stare heated. Whitney tried to de-escalate what felt like a majorly tense situation. “I’m not looking for trouble.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“I just want to sit here. I want to observe.”
“You want to run a freaking experiment on the people in the bar. People who are armed and dangerous and could hurt you in the blink of an eye. Did you even think about that? Did you think about how easy it would be for you to be hurt before you sashayed in here in those tight jeans and those screw-me shoes?”
“I have mace in my purse.”
His eyes squeezed shut. “Not going to fucking help you much.”
“I’m not helpless.” Her spine stiffened. “I know self-defense. And I’ve been in plenty of dangerous situations.”
His eyes opened. “That does not reassure me.” A pause. “Your name.” It was an order.
“Whitney Augustine.” She stared at him.
Nothing.
“Uh, this is the point where you are supposed to tell me your name,” Whitney prompted.
“How about we take a walk?”
“But I just got here. If you’re not going to take my job—”
“A walk.” He closed his hands around her waist and lifted her off the stool. “We’re going to take it now.”
“I am not going anywhere with you!” Whitney snapped even as she tried to ignore the heat that his touch had just generated. Why was she reacting this way? “Kindly take your hands off me.”
His hands dropped from her waist, but he didn’t back away. “You think this is the type of place where some white knight will rush to your rescue if you get in trouble?”
Actually, no, she rather believed the opposite. She suspected this was the kind of place where people ignored most types of trouble.
“That’s what I thought.”
Wonderful. He seemed all smug and satisfied. Good for him.
“How about this…” he murmured. “How about I promise to be on my best behavior with you? I will keep my hands off you, and we can go into the back and have a polite, private conversation. Sound good to you?”
No, it most certainly did not sound good. “You must the crazy one if you think I’ll just wander into a back room with a stranger.” Especially one as muscled and dangerous as he appeared. “My job was simple. I wanted you to just act like we were conducting business. We would have stayed right here where we were surrounded by plenty of other people. It should have been easy.” Then he’d gone and complicated things.
“I don’t think anything about you is easy…”
Was that an insult? Or a compliment? She couldn’t tell. “Just forget it. I’ll find someone else.” Whitney marched a few steps away from him.
“I don’t think I can forget you.”
“Try. Try really hard.” Her gaze was already scanning the room. Who would be her partner? Who could she pay to—