“Brilliant.”
I turned to him and saw an amused expression on his face. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. I’m happy for you and your fire.”
Parking a hand on my hip, I cocked my head. “Did you come here at five in the morning just to make fun of me?”
“No. But not gonna lie, it’s for sure an added bonus.”
“What are you doing in town anyway?” I pulled a knife from the block and began carving up chicken breasts I’d poached yesterday. “Aren’t there enough women to torment in the metro Detroit area? Or perhaps you’ve exhausted that supply and you’re on to another city by now.”
“I’m still in Detroit. And I don’t torment women. I adore them.”
“Several at a time, I bet.”
He shrugged. “Occasionally. But hey, they all know the deal. It’s just for fun.”
Having only been with Dan, I couldn’t imagine what it was like to have sex with random people outside a relationship, but Miles’s sex life fascinated me in a sort of gawkerish way. “Yes, I know. I’ve read all about it.” I dumped a handful of chicken in a large bowl.
“You read my stuff?” He sounded surprised.
My turn to shrug. “Occasionally. I particularly liked the one about going to a sex dungeon for your birthday.”
“I didn’t even have sex there.”
“I know but you—did other stuff. Crazy stuff.” I shook my head as I recalled reading what he’d asked the dominatrix to do to him. I’d been shockingly turned on when I read his account of it, and secretly I’d reread it a dozen times. Did that make me a pervert?
“It was slightly crazy. And a bit painful.” He shuddered and adjusted the crotch of his pants. “Don’t ever tie anyone’s balls to a hook on the wall and then crawl around naked in front of him.”
I snorted. “Please. I don’t do that stuff.”
“What do you mean ‘that stuff?’ What’s wrong with playing around a little?”
“Nothing, if you’re into that kind of thing.” I tried to sound dismissive.
“Jeez. So judgmental.”
“I’m not judging you, Miles, I’m just saying I’m not into the freaky stuff the way you are.”
“I bet you’d like it. I bet there’s a little freak in you just dying to get out.”
My stomach flipped. “What? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a normal person.”
“Normal people can be kinky, Nat. I’m telling you. You’re missing out.” His voice quieted. “And I bet there’s a part of you, deep down inside, that’s curious.” He paused, moving closer to me, his tone low and serious. “I’d like to reach that deep part of you.”
I went still, my skin prickling with heat. What the hell was going on here?
He burst out laughing. “You should see the look on your face right now.”
Pressing my lips together, I focused on chopping chicken again, but my vision clouded for a moment and I nearly took off a finger. “Enough. You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”
To my relief, he moved away and leaned against the counter again. “I’m working. I’m writing a piece about sex in haunted places, and I remembered that old asylum up near here. I drove up yesterday and snuck in there to get some pictures last night. Then I hung out a little to see if any ghosts popped up.”
“Looking for a supernatural sexual encounter, are you?”
“Not necessarily, but that’d be awesome. I’d totally fuck a ghost if she was hot.”
Shaking my head, I pulled a jar of homemade curried mayonnaise from the fridge and poured some over the chicken. “Sick. And ridiculous.”
“What, you don’t believe in ghosts?”
“No. But I did have a psychic reading a few days ago.” Mixing the mayonnaise and chicken with a large wooden spoon, I shook my head as I remembered our vodka-fueled Sisters Night Out. “From Madam Psuka.”
“Oh yeah?” Miles sounded interested. “What did she say?”
“A bunch of bullshit about my life being upended by a stranger. A man.”
“Maybe it’s me.” Miles sounded happy about that.
I rolled my eyes, elbowing him aside so I could get to the plastic wrap in a drawer. “It’s not you. She said it was a stranger. She said I didn’t even know his name.”
He paused. “Bet you don’t know my name.”
“What?” I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him, perplexed. “Yes, I do. It’s Miles…” But I couldn’t think of his middle name. What the heck was it?
He shook his head. “Miles is my middle name. Do you know what my first name is?”
I gaped at him. “Wait. Miles isn’t really your name?”
“Nope. It’s Edward.” He looked smug.
“Edward?” I repeated, as if it were the most preposterous name in the universe. “I don’t believe you.”
Setting his coffee cup down, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took out his license. “Look.”
And there it was. His full name, address, and vital stats right next to his grinning mug. I shook my head. Who the hell smiles in their driver’s license picture?
Edward Miles Haas.
That’s who.