Christ, Stella! I silently berated. Get your shit together. It was hard as hell, because I could have sworn the man was leaking pheromones into the air like a broken faucet, but I somehow managed to drag my mind, kicking and screaming, out of the gutter.
“If the reason you dragged me back here and away from all other people was to tell me that, I might have a case for harassment.”
He chucked again, and it sounded really freaking nice. Head in the game, Stella!
“As much as I wish that was the only reason I had to talk to you, I think we both know better.”
Uh oh. I felt an irrational spike of annoyance that this man had caught me a-freaking-gain. Was I seriously off my game, or was he just that good?
Instead of trying to find the answer to that question, I thought back to the Ryan Rules for Grifting. Rule number eleven flashed into my mind: deny, deny, deny.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He arched a brow. “I clocked you the moment you walked through the door. I think you do.”
Damn it! My sixth sense was all kinds of wonky tonight. Deny, deny, deny. “Nuh uh! I was just having a beer before you rudely pulled me into a dark corner of the bar. Speaking of which, I’d really like to get back to that beer. It was yummy.”
He pushed on like I hadn’t said a word. “You’ve got piss poor taste in marks, grift,” he told me. “That asshole you were about to fleece was already in a shitty mood, and you were seconds away from making it worse. Vibe on that guy, he wouldn’t have hesitated to take a swing at a woman. What the hell were you thinking? If you weren’t so damn good at what you do, I’d think you were a newbie.”
That got my hackles up in a very big way. “I was thinking he was an asshole that deserved it for how he was treating his woman,” I defended vehemently. “Not to mention, the guy was a sore loser. I mean, if you know you’re shit at pool, don’t play, asshole! And I usually have excellent taste in marks. I don’t know why the hell I’m so off my game right now. Maybe I’m coming down with the flu or something.”
His expression turned wry, and I knew I’d just played right into his hand. Like. A. Newbie. Goddamn it. I curled my lips between my teeth before I could say anything else that could be held against me in a court of law.
“You can’t do that shit here,” he stated plainly, no humor whatsoever in those words. “Not in my town. Not my people.”
I could not walk away tonight without a big haul. My family was depending on it. I lifted my chin stubbornly. “You said yourself, you’re not a cop, so there’s nothing you can do about it.”
He stepped in even closer, his chiseled, rock-hard features all I could see. “I think you know that’s not exactly true. You’re here tonight for more than just a few wallets, aren’t you?”
Was this dude a mind reader or something? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Pretty sure you do.” His voice was low and gravelly, causing a tremor to trickle across my spine. “Not a coincidence you picked this place tonight, is it?” His lips curved up in a smug grin. “You ask around about me?”
I hadn’t, but only because I didn’t have anyone to ask. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t grilled Serenity on everything she knew about Alpha Omega so I could get a feel for West. And even though I knew it wouldn’t turn up anything, I’d still googled the hell out of the man religiously, so often that his name auto filled every time I tapped the W key on my laptop.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” was all I said, because something told me he’d see the lie in an outright denial and wouldn’t hesitate to call me on it. I was clearly off my game tonight due to an impending illness that hadn’t made itself known quite yet, and the smell of West’s cologne was only addling my brain more. The moment he pressed in on me, I’d actually forgotten why I was here. Something about . . . feathers and my dad?
Oh shit, that’s right.
Desperation tinged my words as I said, “Just pretend you never saw me and walk away. Please.” And I was begging now. Freaking perfect.
A frown marred his gorgeous face as he took a single step back, but it was enough for me to suddenly miss his closeness. “You in some kind of trouble, grift?”
I rolled my eyes and dropped my head back against the wall. “For the love of God, please stop calling me that.” Yes, I was a grifter from a long line of grifters, but it wasn’t like I was proud of it, and I found myself hating the reminder of what I was coming off his plump lips.
“Fine. Stella.”
I righted my neck to look at him, my back shooting straight. “How do you know my name?” I rewound to the night at the bar, trying to remember if I’d ever given it to him. I was almost certain I hadn’t.
“Checked your license before I gave your wallet back at the hotel that night,” he answered shamelessly.
“How?” I cried. “I didn’t even see you lift it, for crying out loud!”
That son of a bitch. Oh, he was good. Better than me! And that was really saying something. Well, usually that was really saying something. Maybe I was cursed.
“Stop avoiding the question. Tell me what’s going on.”
I let out a snort and fisted my hands at my sides. “You’re kidding right? You’re a complete stranger who, no offense or anything, hasn’t exactly proven to be all that sane the two times we’ve run into each other. For all I know, you could be stalking me right now. How else would you explain being in the same bar twice, huh?”
It was a little hypocritical, considering one of the reasons I’d decided on this place was in the hopes of seeing him, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Pretty sure I’m not the one doing the stalking,” he teased. “You’re in my town, darlin’.”
“That’s . . . neither here nor there.”
He smiled again, telling me I’d just played right into his hand, but before I could say anything else, he spoke again.
“If you’d tell me what kind of trouble you’re in, maybe I could help.”
If only, I thought, but what I said was, “Doubtful,” in a sardonic tone.
“You don’t know that. I have certain skills.”
“So did Liam Neeson in all those Taken movies, and his ex-wife still got dead,” I threw back at him. “And it bears repeating: You’re. A. Stranger.”
“That was a movie. This is real life,” he stressed, then asked in a teasing manner, “You can tell the difference, right?”
My cheeks heated as indignation swelled up inside of me. “Of course I know the difference,” I snapped. “And why are you so eager to help me? You got some weird knight-in-shining-armor fetish or something? You don’t even know me.”
“I want to help because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you first walked into that hotel bar a few weeks ago.”
None of my radars were pinging, no sirens or red flags went off. He was telling the truth.
My throat suddenly felt like I’d swallowed sand. “That’s crazy,” I told him while a war raged to life inside of me. My lady parts were doing the freaking “Cupid Shuffle” and my belly swooped again while by brain yelled at them both to get their shit together.