“I have a business proposition,” Roman murmured, trapping her into a corner out of view of the door. He smelled like toothpaste and cologne—the good stuff. It was making her dizzy.
“What?”
“Focus, Mila.”
She was. She was focused on the way his lips formed her name. He sure wore a beard well.
Roman leaned forward, his smile widening as he did. His lips were right by her ear when something brushed her hand, and he said, “There’s no way you’re making enough here to cover your bills. This place is a pit.” He held a folded piece of paper against her palm. “Let me guess, your alpha chased all the paying customers out. Not shocking. Rhett is shit at leadership. You know he’ll split this town and throw suspicion on the pack in a year tops.”
Actually, he’d managed that in the first week of being alpha, but Roman didn’t need to know that.
“Or has he already done that, I wonder?” Roman asked. “Has he, Mira?”
“Y-yes.” Shit. Stop talking.
“Good girl.”
His body was so warm against hers now. She normally would’ve felt trapped about now, wanting to curl up in a ball and disappear, but something was happening to her body. She was tingling, and fire was flowing through her veins from where he held her hand up her arm and into her chest. That felt nice, but after a couple of seconds, another sensation took over. Roman was too dominant and way too close, and her lungs were slowly freezing in her ribcage.
Roman’s nostrils flared as he scented the air. “Still a little chicken.”
Mila hated the acrid scent of her fear, but that was the curse of the submissive wolf that dwelled within her. She was in a constant state of fear—especially in Rangeley.
Roman backed off a few paces, and that worked enough for her to drag a shallow breath in. She looked down at the paper he’d left in her hand. There was a drawing of a dick on it. It had a frowney face on the balls.
“Why did you give me a cartoon penis?” she asked.
“What?” Roman frowned at the paper and then chuckled an amused sound. “Oh yeah, I was drawing Asher. Open it up. It’s a present.”
Mila unfolded the worn paper carefully. It was a Now Hiring announcement for Winter’s Edge, the rival bar in town. The one Roman’s father had run before he’d been silenced by Rhett. She checked the door again real quick and then looked around for Tim, but she and Roman were alone. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Roman, what are you doing?” She held up the paper. “This can’t happen. I can’t go work at your bar!”
“Why not?” Roman wore a cocky grin as he leaned back against the counter. She could see the perfect indentations of his abs right through his shirt.
Focus.
“You keep looking at my dick.”
“I’m not! I don’t. It’s your”—she waved her hand at his stomach—“freaking…twenty pack. Do you work out all the time now? I mean…is a million crunches a day really necessary?” Stop talking.
“You look mad. Or flustered. Am I flustering you, Little Chicken?”
“Stop calling me that. We aren’t kids anymore, Roman. There is a hundred years and a canyon between now and where we used to be. You can’t just come back in here looking like…that…and think you can pick up where we left off.”
“Where did we leave off?” he asked innocently.
Games. Now she remembered it all so clearly. Roman loved playing games. He loved toying with people, and apparently he had his sights set on her tonight. Mila crumpled up the paper and chucked it at him. When it bounced off his chest, he caught it without even looking down. Of course he did. He was probably great with his hands.
Stupid boy.
Mila dug deep and found enough bravery to jam her finger at the front door. “Leave.”
“I’ll pay you double what you make here, and you don’t have to share your tips with the other servers.”
“Roman,” she pleaded, “you’re going to get me hurt.”
The smile fell from his face, and he stood up straighter, taller. Something terrifying flashed in the melted-gold color of his eyes. He clenched his jaw once and smelled of fury for just an instant before he huffed a breath and softened his face again. One side of his mouth turned up in a crooked smile that probably got him a lot of blow jobs. “No one will hurt you, Chicken.” Roman turned and strode toward the door, tugging on his winter hat as he went. “Interviews are at nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” he called over his shoulder without turning around. At the door, he pulled it open and turned that crooked grin on her once again. “You’re my first choice.”
He stayed locked on her gaze for a moment more, then ducked his chin and disappeared out into the windy parking lot. When the door slammed closed behind him, Mila jumped at the bang.
You’re my first choice. She had longed for those words from him through school. Longed for him to notice her, but he liked other girls. He liked the dominant girls—the ones who were loud and fun and stayed the center of attention. And now, eight years later, he’d finally uttered the words her heart had wanted so badly to belong to her.
But she was a game to him.
Mila could see it in his smirk and his dancing eyes. Roman had never learned how to be serious—not really. And now he was tempting her to go against Rhett, tempting her to put herself in danger just so he could play?
That hurt.