“‘Hot’？”
“I misspoke. You’re a troll.” I smile tightly.
“Hardly.”
I shrug. “Whatever. Guys like you are a dime a dozen. It takes a lot to impress me.”
“What if you’re the serial killer?”
“You’d twist me into a pretzel in a heartbeat.” I snatch up one of the prosecco bottles. “Guess I could kill you with some miniature prosecco.”
“So you might kill a man if you had a better weapon? Please tell me you’re not armed.”
“I only kill scorpions,” I say. “Better check your bed tonight.”
“I’d prefer a scorpion to this.”
“I’ll send them all your way,” I snip.
Ten seconds of silence pass. It’s so quiet I can hear the drip of the faucet in the shower in the bathroom. The air buzzes with tingles of electricity. Oops. Perhaps I should have been nicer.
“You’re brave,” he says softly, dangerously, as he studies my face, roving from one feature to the other. His piercing gaze makes the hair on my arm rise, goose bumps popping up. His eyes seem to see dig under my skin, right to the heartbreak I’m trying desperately to hide.
Gray eyes land on my mouth and linger. My tongue darts out to wet my lips as he watches avidly. Oddly, his perusal doesn’t make me feel exposed, like Fake Clint’s did.
I look like something the cat dragged in. I saw myself in the mirror when we walked in. My hair falls in a wet tangled mess down my shoulders, my face is angular, with high cheekbones, and my eyes have dark smudges beneath them from a lack of sleep—and crying. The freckles across my nose and cheeks look stark against my pale complexion.
His gaze hits my neck, and his eyebrows jerk down as he sucks in a sharp breath. Eyes flash back up to mine, and I fidget as I pop the collar on my shirt to hide the bruises. He opens his mouth to say something, and I just know he’s going to ask about them, so I cut him off.
“Ever read Death in the Desert?” I ask, my brain scrambling. “It’s a true crime story about a serial killer, Wayne Hopper. He murdered women staying at a motel like this one and buried them in the desert. Absolutely chilling. I wanted to go for a walk earlier but couldn’t stop thinking about the book. Clint gave me Wayne Hopper vibes.”
A few tense moments pass; then something about him softens as if he’s come to a decision about me. His lush lips relax. The furrow leaves his forehead as he uncrosses his arms and tucks his hands in his pockets. Body language is an art, and I’ve perfected it at the bookstore by people-watching.
“I haven’t. Is it any good?”
“Yes.” I nod an affirmative as I offer a tentative smile. “Look. I’m sorry, really. I practically jumped on you, then dragged you into my room. You have every right to be upset with me, and I’m sorry for that.”
“I get that a lot.”
A laugh bursts out of me, more nerves than anything, but wait, he’s serious; this isn’t a joke. I straighten my face. “You’ve had women pull you into motel rooms before?”
“It makes me sound like an ass, but yeah. None were as wacky as this one, though.” He shrugs, avoiding my gaze.
Is he famous? A celebrity? There’s a familiarity to his features, but before I can place him, he pulls off his ball cap and rakes a hand through his hair. My thoughts stutter as thick raven waves settle around his face as if they had been choregraphed. No man should have hair that shiny and layered, with soft curls that glint in the light.
“So, back to this guy outside . . .” He nudges his head at the window.
I clear my throat. “Right. He wanted to know if I was here alone. He blocked my door so I couldn’t get inside. He could be a killer.”
Anger tightens his eyes. “Fucking asshole. I hate guys like that.”
“I have a younger brother, and he’s a sweetheart. I’ve tried to teach him better manners.”
“He really scared you, huh.”
“Normally, I wouldn’t be on edge, but . . .” I look away and brush my fingers over my throat.
“I see. Should I go out there and put my fist in his face?” His voice deepens to that dark velvet, and I shiver.
“Nah, I hate violence, and you don’t want to go back to prison, honey bunny.”
His lips twitch until it spreads into a slow, wondrous smile, turning him from a cold, handsome guy into a sexy AF man.
“That’s cute,” he drawls. “Never been called that before. Your ‘unicorn love’ was, um, something. Did you see his mouth gape?”