Page 9 of Beneath My Skin

“He’s an antiques dealer?” I squeaked.

It seemed wrong, somehow. It wasn’t the picture I’d gotten from him. Nothing about him screamed antiques. Not the tattoos and definitely not the gold hoops in his ear. This might just turn out to be one of the strangest days of my life. I hoped the twist in my gut wasn’t a premonition of bad things to come.

“Whatever he is, he’s going to get it.”

I zipped my coat for good measure and spared one last look at myself in the mirror. My blue eyes were too innocent. Dax would never think I was hardboiled. I practiced drawing my brows down, crinkling my nose, and raising one side of my mouth in a snarl. Now I looked deranged.

A little tweaking and soon I had the perfect scowl.

“Okay, you butthole,” I whispered to myself but directing it to Dax. “Time to pay up. No, I mean literally pay up. Because you promised to fix my car and I’m not walking out of there without cash in hand. I have an estimate for the repairs and my insurance agent on speed dial. So don’t even think about messing with me.”

Grabbing my keys and scarf, I locked the car and hurried across the lot toward the front door to Rohn Antiques.

The door opened on a gust of dry air bringing with it the slightly musty smell of history from other people’s treasured possessions. The showroom was kept shadowed with dim lights coming from several floor lamps and chandeliers hanging from an ornately plastered ceiling. The decorations were tasteful, with the best pieces in the back and the furniture growing larger the farther I walked.

“Hello?” I called out. “Anyone home?”

I wandered past a rosewood secretary and let my fingers trail along the polished top. The space was formal, with a quiet charm. It didn’t take long to notice the security cameras stationed throughout the room recording my every move. I walked from one spot to another with a distracted air of someone killing time. Trying to gather my nerve.

“May I help you, ma’am?”

It was through sheer willpower I didn’t spring out of my shoes. I tried not to look spooked when I turned to the clerk. Who hadn’t answered me when I called out earlier, might I add. “Yes, please. I’m here to talk to Mr. Parker.”

The man looked confused. “Who?”

He was dressed in a sleek navy-blue suit that made him look too skinny. He quickly managed to size me up and dismiss me as a browser.

“Mr. Parker. Dax. He, um, gave me this card the other day.” I fumbled around in my pocket until I managed to take hold of the paper, worn from the oils of my worrying fingers. “I need to talk to him about the car accident.”

“Car accident?”

“Yeah, he hit my car. Is he in?”

“I’ll go check.” The clerk slipped away.

I could only hope he’d do as promised and not just stand in the back room and wait for me to leave.

Seconds later I heard, “It’s Mariella, isn’t it?”

I squealed and spun around. Face to face with a not-so-smiley Dax. “Blerg.” I admit the word sounded better in my head. Slipping off the tongue, it was nothing short of a gargle. He looked better the second time around, I decided, in tight jeans and a button-up blue shirt left open to reveal a V of dusky skin and dark tattoos beneath his chest hair. The blue color made his green eyes even greener.

“Can I help you?” he asked, looking displeased. Was it something I said? Or didn’t say?

“Um, yeah. Hi. I need to talk to you.” Blood pounded in my ears.

Dax shook his head. “No. No, no, no.”

“What?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

A surprised chuckle rumbled in my throat. “That’s the second time you’ve told me that.”

“Get out of the building right now,” he replied, doing his best to shoo me out the door without touching me. I might have been intimidated if I wasn’t so confused.

I didn’t know what stunned me more—him wanting to boot me out or the strange effect his nearness had on me. “Then why did you put your address on the damn card?”

“It’s not my— Ugh.” He broke off on a strangled groan. “I’m sorry I gave it to you in the first place. This is not good. Why couldn’t you keep your distance?”

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