He chuckles and looks at me. “Not every woman,” he mumbles and sips his beer.
That was a stab at me. Does he feel like I’ve rejected him? The urge to defend myself or address the giant elephant in the room rises, but I fight it back down. Acknowledging that night might only make it worse.
“Why don’t you talk to one?” I say, jutting my chin in the direction of two blondes that won’t stop staring at him.
He sighs and runs a wide palm down his face. “They only want to fuck me because I’m a convict.”
I scowl. “How would they know that?” I ask.
“Everyone in this town knows, Demi,” he huffs before chugging down the rest of his beer and motioning to the bartender for another.
“They do?” I question, baffled. “No one has breathed a word to me.”
“That’s because they’re scared you’ll tell me.”
My heart hurts a little with this news. Connor is so . . . good. I hate the thought that people sum him up as one thing: bad.
“I’m not into that shit.”
“What shit?” I ask, shaking off my thoughts.
“Women that only want to sleep with me so they have something to gab to their friends about.”
I narrow my eyes. “Well, what shit are you into?” The question causes him to rear his head back slightly. It’s a pretty bold question. I’ll admit, I want to know. What does Connor Stevens want in the bedroom? What does he look for in a woman? I know I’m crazy for asking him, but I’m so enthralled now waiting for the answer I feel like I should have a bucket of popcorn and be sitting cross-legged on the floor.
He raises his head to the ceiling and clenches his eyes closed, but when he looks at me again, I see something I haven’t before. He drops the wall. That wall where he talks to me like I’m his cousin’s quiet and sweet widow. That wall where he works so hard to be respectable. But I’m not afraid to hear his answer. I want to know, and I refuse to back down or shy away. “If I tell you, will you tell me?” he asks.
I swallow hard. Then I shy away . . . slightly.
He certainly knows how to turn something around on a person. How did I not think this would somehow get flipped around on me? But I refuse to back down from the challenge. Maybe he thinks I’ll get shy or meek, and that’s why he seems so . . . crass, but I won’t. I’m a big girl. I can talk about what I want in bed . . . even with Connor Stevens, who happens to be the person I want in bed.
“Okay,” I agree, straightening my posture.
“It’s not just about what happens in the bedroom,” he begins.
“Okay.”
“I’m looking for a woman that . . .” he pauses and scratches the back of his neck as if stalling, searching for his next words, “can put her full trust in me.”
I stare at him a moment, hoping he’ll elaborate, but he doesn’t. So I ask, “What does that mean?”
“I have a need to . . .” again, another pause, “to take care of people. I want a woman that trusts me to do that.”
I sip my beer while I try to understand his meaning. What would it be like to be taken care of by Connor Stevens? I imagine he means in the bedroom as well. My cheeks heat at that thought. I want to ask him more, but even in my drunken state, I control myself. Connor chuckles and I snap my gaze to his.
“What?”
“You were doing some deep thinking just now.”
My cheeks just went up in flames.
“Your answer while intriguing was somewhat vague,” I sass, hoping my face isn’t as red as I know it is. “I was just trying to understand.”
“Well . . .” he looks at me.
“Well, what?”
“It’s your turn.”
“Oh no,” I argue. “You’re answer was vague. It didn’t really answer anything.”
“Can’t keep your end of a bargain,” he teases.
I scowl. “Yes, I can. You just didn’t answer the question.”
“You’re really not going to tell me?” he confirms.
“Do you really want to know?” I laugh.
His gaze flickers and I can feel the heat. “I definitely want to know.”
Damn.
We’re flirting.