"Joanna Wylde - Saurellian 5 - Jerred's Price" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wylde Joanna)

This time there was no hint of a swing in her step as she walked away. She ignored
the wave they gave her at another table, walked right past the bar and down the
hallway to the ladies’ fresher. It was a one-seater, and she locked the door behind her
with carefully controlled movements. She turned to the basin and flicked her hand in
front of the spout. Warm water poured out, and she shook her head in disgust.
“Cold,” she said shortly. Obediently, the temperature of the water changed. She
splashed her face with it, leaned against the counter and sighed. She needed to let
Manya know something was up with this guy. But would Manya be able to do anything
about him? He wasn’t the kind of man to be dismissed lightly. If they just left him alone
until he left, that might be safer for everyone. Only fools provoke predators, she
reminded herself. Lay low and you’ll be fine.


6
 Jerred’s Price


She stood there for a moment longer, then took a deep breath and opened the door.
He stood in the hallway opposite her. Waiting.
“I have to get back to work,” she said, trying to duck past him. He stepped forward,
blocking her. She looked around nervously, hoping someone would see them, come to
her rescue. There was no one.
“We’re going to talk,” he said shortly. He stepped forward again, backing her up
against the door. She fumbled at the handle, damning whatever idiot had decided to
install it so the door opened outward. Otherwise she might have just been able to duck
back inside. Not that a door would stop him. She would just have to brazen him out.
“What can I do for you?” she asked brightly, trying to sound confident. Up close he
was huge, much bigger than she’d realized before. Her head came to the middle of his
chest. She could smell him. Male. A hint of something else, maybe the leather?
Something inside her uncurled and she felt a tingle between her legs. She was actually
attracted to the man, she realized in disgust, despite the blaster. How had that
happened?
“How much?” he asked shortly, breaking through her mental dialogue.
“What?”
“How much?” he asked, reaching one hand to her chin, tilting it up so that she
looked into his face. His features were grim, strained. The gash of his scar twisted the
skin along his left cheek, a dark-red tangle of rigid flesh.
“For what?” she asked, confused. “Look, I won’t tell anyone about the blaster.”
“You.”
She burst out in nervous laughter—this was just too surreal. Instantly his face grew
colder, and she fell silent. She had provoked him far too much already.
“I’m sorry, but I think you’ve got the wrong impression,” she said carefully,
searching his face. “I’m a waitress, not a whore. I’m not for sale.”
“Really?” he asked, his mouth twisting. “That’s not what I saw.”
“Just because I flirt with a customer doesn’t mean that I’m selling myself,” she said
softly, eyes darting down the corridor. Where the hell was everyone? “I’m allowed to
flirt. I like flirting.”
“You carry yourself like a whore,” he said grimly. He reached between them,
slipping his fingers into her cleavage and pulling the credit chit out. “I saw them giving
you money. Do you think you’re too good for me? You’re not.”