Siren's Mark

Chapter 7

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"Well, I'd tell you, love," he says with a grin. "But that would spoil the surprise."

I'm pretty sure he's not leading me here to be murdered in this high rise office building. Pretty sure. We continue upward, passing 30, then 40.

The elevator finally dings as we reach level R. Does that mean roof? I mean, if you were going to kill someone, I feel like throwing them off the roof would be a pretty good way to do it. But he's not going to murder me—right?

Pretty sure.

The elevator opens to a barren concrete rooftop overlooking the shining city below.

"So love, what do you think?" he asks.

"It's beautiful," I say. "How do you know about this place? Do you work here?"

"No," he says. "The, uh, attendant lets me up here sometimes."

"Are you friends?"

"In a sense."

"Ah, so we're going with the brooding and mysterious answers then?"

He laughs. "I wasn't aiming for that, no. I'm trying to answer your question honestly. You said you prefer people to be honest."

He does seem like he's choosing his words carefully. Why would he not want to tell me how he knows this guy?

"So then you and the parking guy are... together then?"

He chokes on a laugh.

"No. Me and the parking guy are not together. I take it your conversation with Jen led you in this direction?"

"I uh... maybe?"

He steps closer to me until we're just inches apart, putting one hand on my hip and bringing the other to my neck. He pulls me in closer, his lips nearly touching mine.

"Do you think I'm gay, love?"

I struggle to find words. All I can think about is how his hand feels at my waist, his touch on my skin.

Nope. The signals I'm picking up are pretty much the opposite of gay.

"I... uh... no. Not particularly."

"Good," he says with a smile as he steps away. "Just wanted to make sure you know where my interest lies." His eyes roam across my figure. With most men, this would be an unwanted intrusion, but with Zane I find myself wanting every last bit of his attention.

I'm speechless. One look from him has obliterated my ability to form a coherent sentence.

"I have a way with people," he says. "I've only met that bloke once or twice. I just talked him into letting me up."

"Really?" I ask. "Don't buildings like this have super tough security?"

"Like I said, love. I have a way with people."

"I guess you do," I say. I can't deny he certainly seems to have a way with me. We both sit down on the ground with our backs against a cement structure of some kind.

"So if we're asking questions, does that make it my turn?" he asks.

"I guess so. What do you want to know?"

"Where are you from?"

"That's your big deep question?" I ask with a laugh. "I grew up here in Port Charlotte, went to college in California, and came back here a little over a year ago after I got my degree. What about you?"