You Know I Love You (You Are Mine #3) - Willow Winters Page 0,21
overworked. So I stopped to grab a bite to eat.”
“You’re getting your dinner from here?” he asks, gesturing to the store and I nod. “A woman like you should be taken out, not eating dinner from the gas station.”
A woman like you plays over and over in my head. He doesn’t know what type of woman I am. “You don’t even know my name,” I say, the half smile and challenge firm on my expression.
He nods and grins, flashing me a cocky smile as he replies, “Don’t make me guess.”
I chew on my lip for a moment, rocking from side to side. He’s bad news and I’m flirting with fire … but I love the thrill. I can’t deny it. “It’s Kat,” I tell him and a smile is slow to form on his face. One of complete satisfaction, as if hearing my name is the best thing that’s happened to him all night.
“I’m Evan,” he says and I taste his name on the tip of my tongue, nearly whispering it. “Let me take you to dinner, Kat,” he suggests with an easiness I don’t like. I wonder how many times that’s worked for him before.
“I’m not your type,” I respond, intentionally looking past him at the bars that wrap around the glass door to the convenience store. I just need a late-night snack to hold me over till morning. That’s all this little errand was supposed to turn into.
“I don’t think you should tell me what is and isn’t my type.” Although it comes out playful, there’s a hint of admonishment, and my naïve little heart doesn’t like that. “You might be surprised,” he adds.
I clear my throat and try to breathe evenly, wanting this flirting session to end so I can get back to work. I have to admit the attention is very much appreciated, though. And the desire in his eyes looks genuine.
“Sorry, Charlie, didn’t mean to upset you,” I tell him with a playful pout as I walk past him.
“It’s Evan,” he says, repeating his name and that makes a wicked grin play at my lips, “and you’re wrong.” The last part is spoken with a seriousness I wasn’t expecting. His tone is hard and when I turn around to face him fully, finally taking a step onto the curb, he’s no longer leaning on the hood of the Mercedes. He takes a few strides across the asphalt parking lot and stops in front of me as I ask, “Wrong about what?”
Up close he’s taller than I first thought, more intimidating too and his shoulders seem broader, stronger. Even his subtle moves as he brushes his jaw with his rough fingers and licks his lower lip again, are dominating. He glances to the left and right before opening his mouth again and letting that deep, rough voice practically ignite the air between us.
“You’re wrong that you aren’t my type and that I’m not your type.”
The compliment makes my body feel hotter than it already is in the hot summer night. Someone behind me exits the store, the telltale jingle of the bells and the whoosh of air-conditioning reminding me that I’m supposed to be in and out of this store. Reminding me that Evan isn’t a part of my to-do list tonight.
“I never said you weren’t my type,” I say and my voice comes out sultry, laced with the desire I feel coursing in my blood. I try to hold his gaze, but the fire and intensity swirling in his dark eyes makes me back down.
I can try to be tough all I want, but he’s a bad boy through and through and I should know better.
“Good to know,” he says with a cocky undertone that makes my eyes whip up to his. I half expect him to blow me off now that his ego’s been fed. He licks his lower lip and my eyes are drawn to the motion, imagining how it’d feel to have his lips on every inch of my skin. “Come out with me tonight,” he says. As if I don’t have anything better to do. As if he can just command me to do what he wants.
“Sorry … Evan. I can’t tonight,” I tell him and turn back around, hiking my purse up higher on my shoulder, ready to go about my business.
“Tomorrow night then,” he says, raising his voice so I can hear him as I wrap my hand around the handle and pull the door open. Again the chill