nod along.
But I came here for an adventure, merde.
Frustrated from listening to a hypothetical demon and angel, I trudge back to the storage room. Dominic’s group asked for the bill and they will all be driving their dazzling cars into London’s traffic.
If I’m lucky, I might see them tomorrow. Oh. It’s the weekend.
My lips twist. I need to read some psychology fiction or something to take my head off this.
It’s becoming a dangerous obsession.
I sigh and go back to stacking boxes. I put on my earphones, blast Coldplay, and hum as I lift boxes.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on alert. Just like every time he comes into the coffee shop. I gulp, and it’s audible even with the music in my ears.
I slowly turn around while peeling out the earphones. My stomach clenches when I stare up at Dominic’s deep brown eyes.
“Hello, Camille.”
Chapter Three
Dominic is here.
It isn’t strange that he’s in the coffee shop considering that he’s been a regular even before I came along. What’s strange is that he’s here in this small storage room, talking to me.
Up close, he smells of cloves and a deep masculine scent that weakens my knees. His black jacket stretches over broad shoulders like a second skin. He hovers over me like a domineering presence, blocking the exit – and any rational thoughts. His posture is upright but not stiff. He carries himself with infinite ease like he owns the place and everyone in it. If anyone doesn’t submit, he’d rip them to pieces and tear them apart just because he can.
It takes me a second – or a few – to close my gaping mouth and regain my voice. “How do you know my name?”
He motions at the nametag on my apron, and I can’t help following the lean finger.
I briefly close my eyes and curse my stupidity. “Right. What can I do for you?”
Perhaps he wanted some direction in the coffee shop. Although he probably knows this place better than I do.
“You’re French.” His deep voice with that hint of huskiness does weird things to the bottom of my stomach. I’ve always loved the British accent – I’m an anglophile to heart after all, but on him, it’s tenfold more sinful and makes me think of him saying dirty things.
I clutch one of the coffee bean boxes close to my chest to focus on anything but him. And to hide the maddening rhythm of my heartbeat. “Yes.”
His forefinger caresses his bottom lip while he appears deep in thoughts. I pause my task. How the hell am I supposed to concentrate on anything but the back and forth of his forefinger on his lips? Heat coils down my back. When has it become so hot in the small storage room?
La vache. I’ve been ogling for too long.
I snap my eyes to his. I suck in a breath at how he’s watching me. His deep brown eyes darken with interest and something else I can’t pinpoint. My body leaps to attention, and I barely hold my weight against the shelves.
His forefinger drops from his lips, and I curse it and him for forbidding me from the show.
“Meet me at lunchtime.”
It isn’t a request or an order. It’s a simple declaration like he has everything figured out and all I had to do was accept.
This is how sociopaths work. They just enchant people with their natural charm and overwhelming confidence. The next thing I know, I’ll be fighting to keep my life together – or worse, to stay alive.
Dominic might have drawn me in like the devil to hell ever since the beginning, but if he thinks I’m one of those gullible girls who fall for his charm unknowingly, then he has another thing coming.
I push the box in place and face him. If there’s one thing Papa has always taught me then it’s to never run away and face things heads on.
“What makes you think I want to meet you at lunchtime?” I’m so glad my voice comes out even.
“A hunch.”
“A hunch?”
“You’ve been watching me, Camille.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. He knew all along? I thought I was careful enough.
“I was watching your group.” I keep my ground.
“Why?” His question takes me by surprise.
“What do you mean?”
“Why were you watching us?”
“Everyone in the coffee shop does. Rich, young, and pretty kind of draws the attention.” I’m proud of how I got myself out of that one.
“Perhaps.” He closes in, and his proximity turns on the heating in the small