“Latte, please,” I say to the lady behind the counter.
I’m at the coffee shop I saw Raide at the other day. After our little intense moment together outside the gun shop, I think I’ve gotten to him just enough to up my game. I need to get him in daylight and strike up a conversation, get the ball rolling on this seduction business. I can’t just keep running into him. I need to use the familiarity I’ve been establishing to get him out on an actual date. And that’s going to happen today. I have no idea if he’ll show, but he did yesterday and the day before, so it’s a good bet he’ll do it again.
The coffee shop is actually a really nice place, with cream walls and delicate little booths spread out across polished wooden floors. Old memorabilia line the walls, and all the waitresses wear frilly white aprons.
“Not a problem, I’ll bring it to you. Take a seat.”
I turn and strut to an empty booth. I made sure to wear my shortest skirt and my tightest blouse today, not to mention my killer heels. I left my dark hair down in soft curls around my shoulders. My sisters would be so proud. I slide into the booth and glance around. I have a few different ideas on how I’ll play this, depending on his response to me. Fortunately, I think I’ve hooked him enough to do it fairly effortlessly.
The waitress brings me my coffee, and I thank her with a smile before leaning back and sipping it. I’m nearly through my second one when the bell above the door dings. It’s done that about eight times, and each time I’ve turned, but it’s never been Raide. This time it is. He enters the coffee shop with sunglasses covering his eyes. Damn, he looks fine.
He strides up to the counter with purpose, his powerful body making everybody in the café stop and stare at him. He’s got that feel, that aura—he’s simply magnificent. I let my eyes run down the length of his body, from his broad shoulders to his tight ass. He’s wearing a black tee that fits him like a glove, and a pair of old, faded blue jeans. He looks divine.
He orders a coffee and turns, scanning the shop. I keep my eyes on him, and when his stop on me, he jerks. Then a slow, sexy grin spreads across his face. Oh boy. He strides over to me. I lean back in the booth with a sugar-sweet smile on my face, my legs crossed and showing a great amount of skin. He stops and removes his sunglasses, showing me those perfect amber eyes. Then he rakes his gaze down my body, over my legs, and then back up to my eyes.
“Gracie,” he says, his voice husky and sexy.
“Hi there, handsome.”
“You following me?”
I smile again. “I like coffee.”
“We done playin’ games long enough for you to have one with me?”
My smile gets bigger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just here having coffee. What are these games you speak of?”
His grin widens, and he places his palms flat on the table, leaning down close. He smells like chocolate and … something awesome … something so sexy, my breath hitches. “You know, I don’t have a great deal of patience.”
“Really?” I match his grin. “Neither do I.”
“You going to have a coffee with me or sit there giving me those fuck-me eyes for the rest of the day?”
Bingo.
“These aren’t my fuck-me eyes, Raide. You haven’t even begun to see what I can do with these eyes.”
He narrows his eyes and stands up straight, all traces of humor gone from his face. “How do you know my name?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“I, ah…” Oh my God, he’s onto me.
“I said”—he’s growling now, scary and deep—“how the fuck do you know my name?”
“You told me!” I blurt. “The night we met.”
He takes a weary step back. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No,” he snaps, “I didn’t.”
Shit. He so didn’t. Think, Grace, think.
“Well, your, ah, girlfriend told me.”
He gives me a disgusted look. “No, she fuckin’ didn’t.” He studies me and then hisses, “You’re in places I’m in, takin’ the same cab, at my gun shop, at my coffee shop … You’re fuckin’ stalking me!”
Wait a second? Say what? Oh no. No no no. Raide thinks I’m … stalking him?
“It’s wasn’t your gun shop,” I protest. “And this isn’t your coffee shop.”
“You live around here?” he mutters.
“Ah, sure, close enough—”
“Fuck me,” he says, reaching up and running his hands through his hair. “I’ve picked up a psycho.”
My mouth drops open. “I’m not—I am not a psycho.”
“You drive a red convertible?”
My eyes widen.
“Fuck me,” he says again. “You were following me! You a fuckin’ cop?”
“What? No!” I cry.
“Then you’re a loony.”
“I am not a loony.”
“You are a fuckin’ loony. Listen, lady. I’m not interested.”
Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.
“You’re real pretty and all,” he continues, and I want to curl up and die. This is not how things are meant to go. “But I don’t go for the crazy type.”