Oh, and he gives off a criminal vibe, but not the petty, ordinary kind. He’s in a league of his own.
A dangerous criminal vibe.
The mastermind controlling countless thugs, who usually lurks behind the scenes.
And somehow, I happened to appear in his path.
Having lived my life surrounded by men who eat the world for breakfast, I can recognize danger.
I can also recognize people I should stay away from.
And this American stranger is the epitome of those two options.
I need to get out of here.
Now.
Despite the nerves attacking my already fragile mental state, I force myself to speak in my no-nonsense tone. “I wasn’t planning to die.”
He raises an eyebrow and the cigarette in his mouth twitches with a slight movement of his lips. “Is that so?”
“Yeah. So can you…pull me up?”
I could use his forearm to do that myself, but any sudden movement will probably have the exact opposite effect and he could release me to meet my maker.
Still grabbing my wrist with a nonchalant hand, he retrieves a lighter with his free one and lights the cigarette. The tip burns like rich orange dusk and he takes his time before he throws the lighter back into his pocket and blows out a cloud of smoke in my face.
I usually gag on the smell of cigarettes, but that’s the least of my problems now.
“And what do I get in return for helping you?”
“My thanks?”
“I have no use for that.”
My lips purse and I force myself to remain calm. “Then why did you grab hold of me in the first place?”
He taps the edge of his camera, then caresses it with the sensuality of a man touching a woman he can’t stay away from.
For some reason that causes my temperature to rise.
He looks like the type who does that a lot.
Often.
And with the same intensity he exudes.
“To take a picture. So how about you finish what you started and give me the masterpiece I came here for?”
“Are you seriously saying that your masterpiece is my death?”
“Not your death, no. It’d look too bloody and displeasingly gory when your skull is smashed against the rocks below. Not to mention that the current lighting won’t be able to capture a good picture. It’s your fall that I’m interested in. Your pale skin will have a wonderful contrast against the water.”
“You’re…sick.”
He lifts a shoulder and blows more toxic fog. Even the way he slides his fingers against the cigarette and smokes appears effortless, when it’s shackled with tension. “Is that a no?”
“Of course it’s a no, you psycho. You think I’d die just so you can take a picture?”