My nose scrunches up. It’s weird to have such intimate information on someone, without having been told it by them.
“Don’t make that face,” Aiden says, walking behind me. “You can’t judge before you’ve experienced it.”
“I don’t know what I’m—”
His hands come down over my eyes, and on instinct, I pinch them closed, my entire body going stiff as a board. The rings on his fingers are cool against my skull, but the compromising position keeps me from being able to enjoy it.
Reflexively, my hands reach up, grabbing his wrists.
It’s a mistake; they’re thick, and the pulse in his corded veins has mine flaring to life, as if I’ve just been resuscitated.
And I would know—I’ve been brought back to life once before.
A shiver works through me, goose bumps sprouting along my skin at his touch, mingling with the cold air.
“Relax,” he coos, words coasting across my hair. No other part of him touches me, just his hands and damp breaths. “We’re on a crowded street in New York City. Every other person that passes by can’t help but look at you, so I’m sure there’d be no hesitation to step in if someone thought you were in danger.”
I scoff, my shoulders still tight. “They’re probably looking at you.”
“If they noticed me, we’d be swarmed by a sea of paps right now. Trust me, angel, all eyes are on you.”
Ignoring the way my insides deflate a little, I slowly release his wrists, my hands dropping to my sides. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
He doesn’t answer me, forcing my legs into motion, and a fresh wave of panic floods me. “Tell me what you smell.”
You! That spicy cologne of his invades my senses, overpowering literally everything else. Makes it difficult to breathe or concentrate on anything but the fire zipping along my spine.
On the one hand, Aiden James is touching me! And Jesus, he smells better than any magazine ever described him.
On the other, a complete stranger has stolen my vision, and every lesson from my brother—even my absentee father—comes hurtling back, filling me with a severe sense of dread.
Leaning forward, I try to lessen the weight of his hands on me. It doesn’t work; he continues moving with me, as if this is a game.
“Don’t you have security?” I ask. “Aren’t they gonna wonder where you went?”
“I’m not a prisoner,” he says, though there’s a sudden edge to his voice that makes me wonder if he really believes that. “What do you smell?”
“Oh, my god, you’re annoying!” Huffing, I stomp my foot on the ground and jerk against him, redoubling my efforts as I suck in a lungful of air. It burns, like ice filling my chest, but I get a hint of something else.
Something warm and fresh, like my favorite bakery back home.
“What is that?” My eyebrows draw together, and he slowly slides his hands away, fingers grazing my cheekbones.
When I open my eyes, I’m staring into the storefront of a dilapidated dry cleaner. The red awnings are tattered, the glass windows in dire need of a wash, and there’s a broken padlock hanging off the front door.
I glance up at Aiden as he grins, rocking back on his heels. Confusion threads through my paranoia, and I frown. “Your idea of adventure is… taking me to the dry cleaners? You know, these exist outside the city.”
“I’m aware, yes.” Walking over to the door, he wrenches it open, pushing it back against the wall. With a sweep of his arm, he gestures for me to go inside. “Adventure comes in many forms, though, and I thought ours would go smoother if we got you into a change of clothes.”
My cheeks heat and I cross my arms, digging my fingernails into my biceps. “You don’t like the dress?”
Shame coats my skin like a thin layer of sweat, and I berate myself internally for thinking he might. For thinking it was attraction that made him bid on me, rather than something like pity for the lonely little girl at the bar.
“Didn’t say that.” His smoky eyes rake over me, agonizingly slow in passage, and I see his throat bob as he swallows. “I just thought you’d be more comfortable.”
Our gazes stay locked for several beats, and I swear I could pass out from having his undivided attention.
Lifting a shoulder, I acquiesce, ignoring the pounding of my heart. “Why a dry cleaners, though? We must’ve passed a dozen different boutiques.”
Grinning, Aiden nods. “True, but none of those shops have the world’s best, most authentic New York bagel.”
My eyes narrow. “A bagel.”
“You scoff, but trust me. It’s life-changing bread.”
Trust me. It’s the second time he’s said that phrase to me tonight, and even though I shouldn’t… I want to.
For once, I want to believe that someone I don’t know, who isn’t invested in my well-being, isn’t out to get me. And if not this man, then… who? And why not him?
I already know more about him than he does me, so it’s not like he has an intellectual advantage here. When he looks at me, I don’t see the apprehension or sadness that people who know me usually have, and I like the way his gaze doesn’t leave me hollow.
So, instead of running the way my brain wants me to, I let my heart push me forward, hoping this doesn’t become a night I regret.
6
Aiden shoves a pair of NYU sweatpants into my arms, while the shop owner moves to the back to grab our bagels.
I glance at the gray sweats, then up at him, disbelief narrowing my gaze.
Removing his cap, he swipes a hand through his messy brown hair and the smile from before slips off his face.
“Problem?”
“How did you…” I trail off, realizing that the end of the sentence is stupid.
It’s not possible for him to know I used to dream about going to school there, or that I feel most at home in baggy clothes.
Questioning coincidence only leads to trouble.
Shaking the thoughts away, I blow out a breath and look around the tiny store. Checkered linoleum tile covers the floor, and there are racks of bagged clothes hanging against each wall. A conveyor carousel sits behind the checkout counter, occasionally moving forward when the brunette manning the register hits the button.
She’s flipping through an old issue of Vogue, one I recognize from the stash I kept in my nightstand when my mother was still alive.
Aiden graces the cover, along with headlines about his favorite vacation spots and the best sex positions. My mouth grows dry as I slide my gaze from the print version to the human in front of me, trying my best to reconcile the two.
“This is weird,” I say when his hand finds my elbow, and he guides me to a back corner near the family restroom.
“You’re weird.”
The brunette jumps to her feet, shoving the magazine in our direction. “You’re Aiden James! Oh, my god, can you sign this magazine for me?”
He winces, stepping up to the counter. “Sure thing, sweetheart. Think you can keep my being here a secret?”
She nods wildly, practically drooling as he takes the pen she holds out. With a flourish, he signs, and then she scurries off to the back of the store without a single glance at me.
“Sorry about that,” he says, once again pushing us to the back.