Chapter 6

I have never met someone so impulsive in my life. She drags me into her room and slams the door, hard, in the face of her boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend. I don’t know. I don’t care. Then she turns, and freezes.

A towering stranger stands just a breath away in the dim light of the hotel room. Her shoulders rise, eyes wide, breath caught. Just like a bunny.

My smile spreads with teeth. This little bunny wants me to eat her. But her actions don’t line up. She’s scared and daring in the same breath, talking about how she doesn’t do one-night stands. I step in closer, studying her.

Red hair, too red, like it’s bleached, pinned up with little pearl flowers. Pretty. Cute. Her gown, same color, clings to her full chest. My gaze lingers there. I like that part. Everything else? Not my type.

I don’t even do redheads. None of the women I fuck have been redheads. And I’m not exactly in the mood to fuck this one either. But the way she keeps dumping herself in my lap, literally, has me reconsidering.

“Y-you’re too close,” she stammers, backing into the door.

“Look, little bunny,” I say, my smile widening. My eyes strip her down with no apology, and her breath hitches. That sound, it’s a soft, pretty thing. “When you drag a man like me into your hotel room, it usually means one thing and one thing only.”

I lean in. My lips graze her ear. Her scent hits me, something with a hint of flowers and fruit. “To fuck,” I pressed directly into her ear.

She squeaks. Her face burns red. I can see it even in the cool blue wash of the lights. That’s how pale she is. I like how red she gets. My fingers lift to her cheek. I stroke gently, skin soft, warm, trembling under my touch.

“So,” I murmur, “do you want to start? Or should I?”

Her hand comes up, trembling as it presses to my chest. I let her. Step back just enough. Keep her pinned with my stare. She can’t meet my eyes.

“I’m sorry for– for leading you on,” she says, stumbling over the words. “I really didn’t mean to... make it seem like that’s what I want.”

My brow furrows. I let my voice go cold. “Then did you just waste my time?”

She jumps like I struck her. Another tiny sound escapes her throat, followed by a frantic shake of her head. “I’ll make up for it,” she says quickly. Swallows. “Just tell me what to do.”

I step away from the door, slowly. “What to do,” I echo, glancing around the room.

It’s cheap. Generic. A hum from the old TV, a low whir from the fan. The air smells like air freshener and damp clothes. The bed looks used, probably by people who don’t know how to wash and definitely don’t know how to fuck.

My lip curls. What the fuck am I doing here? I followed her with no plan. I’m not even interested in fucking her. I glance back.

She’s standing there. Small, trembling and cute. Okay. Maybe I want to fuck her. But not enough to be trailing her like this. What is this? Boredom?

I sit on the bed, the mattress creaking beneath me. I clasp my hands together.

“Then tell me,” I say, watching her. “What you’ll do to pay for my time.”

She clears her throat. Her eyes never leave me. I know that look. Want. I see it all the time. But with her, it’s tangled with fear. Shame. She’s probably a prude. But not a virgin.

“I could pay for dinner?” she asks with a small hopeful look.

“Dinner.” I make a deep, unimpressed sound. “Try again.”

“Then what do you want?” she mutters, dropping her shoulders and, finally, the fear. “I’m not sleeping with you,” she adds, shifting her feet. “I don’t even know you.”

“You know my name,” I say, as if that counts for something. As if I’m encouraging her. I should leave. There are other places I could be. Other women. Better rooms. But I don’t move. I don’t even twitch.

She sits on the chair across from me, watching me like I might pounce. My lips twitch, but my face stays neutral. “Just your name isn’t enough,” she says firmly. “I don’t... I don’t know what kind of man you are.”

Her grey eyes fix on mine like she’s accusing me of something.

“What kind of man do you think I am, little bunny?” I ask, bringing my finger to my lips as I study her.

Her eyes travel over me, land on my chest, and narrow. “Is that...?” She doesn’t finish.

I glance down and pull out the small black journal I always carry. Her eyes widen. Her mouth parts. “It was a book?” she says, like it’s the last thing she expected.

“What did you think it was?”