Page 19 of Falling in Between
And…he has depth. I’m screwed. I’m really, reallyscrewed.
His gaze strays to the masses, and I can’t help but watch him. The advertisements from the screens cast an iridescent glow over his face. My chest clenches. Getting to know little details about Elijah isn’t safe. He’s aesthetically pleasing, intellectually stimulating, and one-hundred and ten percent a danger to my well-being.
His gaze eventually falls back to me, and the man in the designer suit gives me a boyish smile.Jesus,he has an endless supply of tricks up hissleeve.
“What?” heasks.
“There’s more to you than you let on, isn’tthere?”
“There’s more to most people than they leton.”
“True.”
Our eyes lock. He keeps glancing at my lips, then starts to inch closer. My pulse hammers in my ears. I have to do something. I’m not ready for this type of a man. I’m not. Just as he moves in, I take a breath and turn my head, directing my attention to one of the street performers dancing to Vanilla Ice. Elijah’s stare burns into the side of my face, but I keep my gaze set straight ahead while the man does abackflip.
“You think that’s his job?” I nod toward the dancingman.
“Performing?Possibly.”
There’s passion in each fluid movement. “I don’t think it’s his job…” I say, glancing atElijah.
“And whynot?”
“Look at his smile. He’s enjoying it. The second a hobby becomes a job, all the passion isgone.”
He leans in again, this time, so close I can smell the mint on his breath and the spicy scent of his aftershave. “You’re a cynical little thing, aren’t you?” I need to put distance between us before I end up lip-locked in the middle of Times Square. So, I place my palms on the bleacher, scoot a little to the right, and cross one leg over theother.
“Maybe I am cynical,” I say with a roll of myshoulder.
“So, Demi, what hobbies doyouhave?”
Drinking boxed wine and binge-watching Netflix doesn’t sound fancy enough, so I settle with: “I read suspensenovels.”
“Ofcourseyou would.” There’s snark to histone.
I glare at him. “And what exactly is that supposed tomean?”
“You’reskittish.”
“I’m notskittish.”
“You ran out of a hotel room.Naked…”
I cover my eyes with my hand and shake my head. “Not my proudestmoment.”
“Let me guess, you were afraid I was amurderer?”
“No.” I part my fingers and peek through the opening. “I thought you were a cartel boss…or possibly a druglord.”
He throws his head back with a gruff laugh that, I swear to God, I feel between my thighs. I drop my hand from my face to watch him. Laughing shouldn’t be sosexy.
“A cartel boss?” heasks.
“Sure, why not? ItwasMexico,andyou havetattoos.”
One of his brows shoots up in a curious arch. “Only cartel members havetattoos?”
“No, but it stood toreason.”
