Free Smoke and Mirrors by Tiana Laveen Page B

clicked at that moment who this fucker was.
    Oh shit…it’s THAT son of a bitch! It has to be!
    Though she’d never seen him in person, she’d heard enough about him. Although her libido should have dropped at the realization, it actually intensified a bit, sickening her so.
    “What do you want?” she snapped, clearing her throat in a nasty way, hoping it would disgust him to the point that he’d move on to other terrain to travel, explore and hassle.
    “I’d like to ask you out to dinner.” He clasped his hands over his crotch and rocked ever so slightly on his heels. Such an air of quiet confidence—she’d never seen a man carry himself that way and actually mean it, as if he believed his own bullshit. Oddly enough, when he ‘performed’, it didn’t come off as an act. He felt grittily authentic, but of course, he would . He’d had plenty of practice. She placed her phone on her lap and removed a skinny cigarette from its sleek, hot pink container trimmed in leopard print. She rarely smoked, but would occasionally break out one during a stressful situation…and her damn underarms began to itch as sweat collected. He made her nervous as hell, and she hated the man for it.
    What the hell does he want? Just go away, please!
    She gripped the cigarette case. Her name was etched in gold, real gold, across the shiny cover. He looked down at it and nodded.
    “So your name is Paris.”
    “What gave it away?” She casually picked her phone back up and called Art, without waiting for an answer.
    “Well, Paris is a location, but I—”
    “Art! Where the hell are you?!” she hissed between gritted teeth. “Traffic? It’s not even rush hour. You could have at least called to let me know you’d be running late. How long do you think it will be? What do you mean you don’t know?”
    “I can take you home.”
    The tall tree stood there rock solid, rooted under the material of his dark charcoal suit, not flinching or phased by her behavior, tone and demeanor. She quickly looked away from him, refusing to see him as an option.
    “No. That won’t be necessary…” she dismissed. “Uh, Art, please get here as soon as possible. I’ll be waiting outside.” She disconnected the call and abruptly got to her feet, ready to make her grand exit, but she moved a tad too fast, causing her heel to turn slightly inward after taking a few awkward steps. She swayed a bit, legs wobbling like a newborn fawn, but through it all, she didn’t miss the amused expression on his angular face.
    “Watch it there…would hate for a beauty like you to fall and break her ankle.” He slicked his index finger across his chin as he stared at her shoes, seemingly admiring them. “Then I’d have to pick you up and carry you out of here. But of course, that would be just fine by me.”
    She whisked past him, tired of the game. She squinted as she walked back out into the sunlight, holding her arm over her eyes as if she were a vampire thrust into an early morning death. She could feel his damn glare on her. That bastard was staring at her ass. She didn’t dare turn around to confirm; instead she inwardly prayed for Art to make like the wind and afford her an extraordinary getaway.
    “I’d like to introduce myself.” He corralled around her, standing so close, she took in his masculine scent. He extended his hand, waiting for her to shake it, but she looked away, only causing him to lightly laugh. “My name is Smoke.”
    “I know who you are.” She forced a yawn, wanting him to see just how sick and tired she was of him already, and they’d only just begun.
    “Oh, do you?” He remained calm as his thick, dark brow lifted and he slowly lowered his arm like a robot whose battery had just drained dry. “Who am I, Ms. Raven?” He smiled pleasantly, like a child in anticipation of a spoonful of honey.
    “You’re a damn pimp. Now if you don’t mind—”
    “No, actually I do mind,” he said a bit roughly, the syllables folding