Page 42 of Bronson

Bronson growls through clenched teeth. “She certainly will not be calling.”

I’m speechless. Embarrassed. Feeling terrible for Peter.

Yet can’t deny that tug of hope in my heart.

Peter leaves.

Bronson takes Peter’s empty seat across from me at the table. He carefully arranges my coat on the back of his chair. Picking up a menu, he says, “Nice kid. He checks out, by the way. And he got really good grades in college. So, what’s good here?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask.

“I had a full background check run on him before you went out with him tonight.” He casually turns the page to the entrée section.

My mouth drops open. So that’s why he’d asked for his name in the office.

He looks at me over the top of his menu. “Aren’t you going to put your necklace back on?”

“You checked on him? Had him investigated?” I squeak.

“Of course. Why else do you think I let him pick you up?” he asks with a shrug.

“Let him? Let him?” Icicles form at the edges of my words.

He gives an exasperated sigh. “You know what I mean.”

I roll my eyes to reflect my frustration.

But deep within, passion wells. He’s overly protective of me. And I love it. I have come to crave his dominance like a drug.

Bronson shrugs. “Nice guy.”

“Yeah. He’s a nice guy,” I agree. I am starting to feel hot. Bothered. Bronson is suddenly too near. I shift in my seat.

Placing the menu down on the table, he leans in toward me. His smoldering eyes lock on mine. He lifts one dark brow. When he speaks, his voice is low, husky. “Nice is not what you want, though. Is it?”

He reaches across the table. The tip of his finger trails down my cheek. “You want a man who’s not very nice. One who will push you out of your comfort zone. One who will punish you. Make you beg. Make you cry. Own you.”

A shiver runs through me.

Leaning back in his chair, he picks up the menu once more, feigning interest in the dinner options. “Got the chills? Should have worn your coat. I believe you remember exactly what I said I’d do to you if I caught you without it.” He gives me a long, hard stare.

My panties dampen.

He puts the menu down again. His tone is soft. His gaze rests on my face. “But we will save your transgressions for another time. I’m here to apologize for mine.”

I swallow hard. I clear my throat. I steady my voice. “Let’s hear it, then. What do you have to say for yourself?” I ask, ignoring the pulsing in between my thighs.

He smiles, leaning in further. “Paige, I apologize. I was rude, and uncouth, and selfish⁠—”

“And uncouth.”

“I’ve already said that.”

“I know. But I’ve never heard anyone use that word before. And I liked it. Say it again.”

“I was uncouth.”

“And you were a jerk.”