Page 18 of The Anchor Holds

He really didn’t know me, then.

“Either one isn’t an honorable or an attractive way to get a woman on a date.” I fisted my hands at my sides, welcoming thefamiliar burn of feminine fury in my throat—much more helpful than the heat of desire. “Call me old fashioned, but I don’t consider coercion a turn-on.” My eyes narrowed as I scowled. “Coercion and a general disregard for women’s rights was the way of the world in the not too distant past. It seems you think you live there too. I promise you, you really won’t like trying to force me to do something I don’t want to do.”

I clenched my fists so I wouldn’t smack the smug smile off his handsome face.

My threat was nowhere near empty. It was a hobby of mine to punish men who thought they could control women.

Elliot didn’t look appropriately unnerved. Men rarely did. Not until their life was falling apart around them because of the woman they weren’t properly afraid of.

“I’d never force a woman to do something they didn’t want to do.” He spoke softly but not without conviction. “But you want to have dinner with me. Just a little.” He held his thumb and forefinger apart.

“What makes you think that?” I balked instead of lying outright, which was the appropriate course of action. Lie my well-toned ass off then get out of there.

“A hunch.” Elliot’s eyes twinkled again.

It was a dare. For me to argue with him some more, prod and poke to find out what he thought about me. What I thought about him.

I was good at that.

Fighting.

I was fuckinggreatat that. And I’d never backed down from a fight. Not once. Which had bit me in the ass a time or too but mostly hardened me into the woman I’d become.

And I was proud of the woman I’d become.

Mostly.

I’d buried a lot of the shame and guilt for my darker deeds, lying to myself about the motivations and the villains in such things.

When I was the villain. If you wanted to get down to it.

Certainly not suitable for a clear-eyed fisherman who likely hadn’t so much as jaywalked.

“You have no idea what you’d get yourself into with me.” Was I warning him? Flirting?

His brow quirked, and his eyes danced down my body in a gaze that felt physical, as if he was imagining what he was going to do to it. Or maybe that was just me.

As oxytocin shot through my bloodstream, I steeled my expression to remain even.

“That’s kind of the point. I like the mystery.” He met my eyes again, his voice edged with a hungry rasp. “What’s the problem, Calliope Derrick? Scared you won’t last through a dinner with me without starting to like me a little?”

There it was again.

Another challenge.

A much more dangerous one.

If I kept pushing, kept fighting, I knew I’d grind Elliot down to ensure he never so much as glanced in my direction again. I had plenty of experience with taking men apart and turning them into nothing but quivering little boys at my feet.

Yet I had no desire to do that to him. He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t actually pressuring me into the date; he was well aware that I was a strong enough woman who wouldn’t hesitate to refuse. Moreover, I had the sense that he never would’ve broached such a bargain if he hadn’t read my subtle signs, showing I might be agreeable, interested in him.

My mind turned, calculating various outcomes before coming to the conclusion that the most logical way forward was to stay firm. Stay cold and take him down so he’d never askme for a thing again. So I’d never see him again and never be confronted with a complicated desire toward something I shouldn’t want.

“Fine,” I relented. “But don’t be surprised when you find yourself out of your depth and regretting this moment.”

The warning wasn’t meant as a threat. The sharp tone was crafted to deftly cover the insecurity I felt, knowing if and when this man truly knew me, he’d be disgusted.

His grin endured. “I find it hard to believe that I’ll ever regret a moment with you, Calliope Derrick.”

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