Mirage - Alice Tribue Page 0,7
with a grin that would melt the panties off most any woman.
“Nathan Lennox,” he says, holding a hand out for me to take. It’s a strong hand—
not pretty, not freshly manicured, not free from scars or calluses; this hand has known hard labor and that makes him even more appealing to me. I shake his outstretched hand, noting that his initial touch sends an unexpected rush of warmth through me.
“Victoria Powell.”
“Nice to meet you, Victoria. Can I join you for a drink?”
“Actually, I was just about to leave.” I answer hesitantly because my mind is telling me to leave, but my body is begging me to have a drink with the man.
“I think you should stay and have a drink with the guy who just saved you from that asshole, and we’ll call it even.”
“Oh, I see,” I drawl, making a face of mock horror. “So, you didn’t come to my defense out of the goodness of your heart? You expected a payment.”
“Very few things in life are free, Victoria, but in this case, all I’m asking for is a little company.”
“I suppose a drink wouldn’t kill me,” I say, clearly siding with my body.
A sexy grin forms on his mouth as he signals the bartender for drinks. “Attagirl.”
“I haven’t seen you at one of these things before.”
“You’ve attended that many that you recognize the regulars?” He looks at me with questioning eyes.
“I’ve been to my fair share.”
“I see. No, you’re right, I don’t attend many of these at all. I’m actually here in a professional capacity.”
“A professional capacity?” I question. My interests have been piqued. “How so?”
“Overseeing security tonight.”
“Ahh. I see. So then how would it look to whoever hired you that you’re sitting here with me?”
“It’s all good; my job here is just about done. Everyone is in place and everything has run smoothly; my presence here is no longer really necessary.”
“Hmm.”
“How long have you been working security?”
“A few years. Spent some years in the Marines, did some freelance work when I got out and one thing led to another.” I watch him closely as he speaks, divulging information about himself. I watch the way he moves—no big gestures and no big effort—just calm, easy, and confident.
“Fascinating.” I say the first thing that comes to mind because I am, indeed, fascinated by this man. I would love to know everything about him. How old he is, where he’s from, what side of the bed he prefers to sleep on, how long it would take him to become just another disappointment. I try not to be cynical, but when you’ve known nothing but a steady stream of letdowns, you come to expect nothing more. It doesn’t mean that I don’t hope that someone will eventually surprise me, but I guess I just find it highly unlikely. I’m thirty-seven years old with no prospects, no family, and no children. If it wasn’t for my father, I’d be completely alone in the world.
“Are you going to tell me anything about you?”
“Nothing to tell.”
“I find that very hard to believe.”
“I should really be going.”
“Avoiding talking about yourself—that can’t be good.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I question, taking offense.
“People who don’t like to talk about themselves usually have a lot to hide.”
“What are you, an FBI profiler?” I challenge him, half annoyed at his comment. “I have nothing to hide. I just don’t know you well enough to give you the intimate details of my life.” No statement has ever been more true or more full of shit. The irony of that is not lost on me. The truth is that I have plenty to hide, but I also don’t know him well enough to trust him, and I probably never will. Only a handful of people know my secrets, and I’m not looking to add to that number. My discretion is the thing that has helped my business to grow this much over the years. It’s also the thing that has kept me away from the long arm of the law.
“I just know what I know.”
“And you think you know me.”
“No, but then again, I don’t think many people know you.”
Talk about hitting the head right on the nail. Am I really that easy to read, or is it just that he has some sort of insight on me? “Now you’re getting somewhere.”
“Have dinner with me.” It’s not a question; it sounds more like a command. And though I’m not the type of girl to cave to the demands of others,