His by Brenda Rothert Page A

and smiles at me as he pulls the handle open. It’s not the look I’m used to from hotel doormen. Usually, they either look right through me or sneer.
    Andrew waits for me to walk through the open doorway and then he follows. He joins me on the sidewalk and points to the left.
    “There’s a little café a few doors down,” he says, rubbing a hand over the dark stubble on his face. I can see there’s something on his mind.
    He walks so fast I have to scramble to keep up with him. I push my hands into the pockets of the coat Dawson bought me. It’s so warm. I traded my coat for food in the tunnels last winter, and it’s really good to have one again.
    The only table we can get at the café is right in front of the large window that looks out on the street, and Andrew can barely fit his big frame into the small chair.
    “Are your knees touching the bottom of the table?” I ask, amused.
    “I’m fine,” he says impatiently. “Quinn, what’s your answer?”
    “My answer is probably. I need to go over a few things with you.”
    His shoulders sink a bit with relaxation. “Of course.”
    A waitress stops at our table. “Coffee?”
    “Please,” Andrew says, turning over both empty mugs on our table. She pours steaming coffee into both of them. He takes a sip of his and then rests his forearms on the table, looking at me expectantly.
    I clear my throat. “Can you pay me in cash or a blank check?”
    “Sure.”
    “Is there anything you’re not telling me? I don’t want surprises later.”
    A line of confusion appears between his brows. “No. It’s just what I told you.”
    “No sex with other men? Or women? I’m not doing that.”
    He shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”
    “No whips or chains or tying me up,” I say. “That’s nonnegotiable.”
    “I’m not into hurting women.”
    “Good. I get to keep my knife. And I can leave at any time I want if it’s not working out.”
    He nods. “Of course. But if we go to a social function, you’ll have to leave the knife at home.”
    “What kinds of social functions?”
    “Dinners, fundraisers, cocktail parties. I have to do a lot of that stuff.”
    I hate the thought of going anywhere without my knife, but he’s right. I can’t take it to those kinds of things. Begrudgingly, I nod. But then a new worry sets in.
    “Look, I have to be low profile,” I say. “I can’t be in photos as your date or anything like that.”
    “Okay. There’s not a whole lot of that, anyway. I’m pretty low profile myself.”
    Somehow I doubt this tall, polished bachelor is very good at not drawing attention.
    “Hey,” Andrew says. “I know you need time to trust me. But Quinn, my home is highly secure. You’ll be safe.”
    The waitress returns, and we both order. He gets oatmeal and an omelet. I get pancakes. As soon as we’re alone again, Andrew continues.
    “Most of the security at my place is unseen. But trust me when I say it’s one of the safest places in this entire city.”
    I don’t mention that it’s him I was concerned about being safe from. I know how to take care of myself on the streets.
    “So . . . okay,” I say. “I guess it’s a yes.”
    He smiles at me, his dark blue eyes warm. “I’m glad. I’ll be sending Dawson to pick you up here later this morning. He’ll take you shopping and get you settled.”
    “Okay. Are you going to work?”
    “Yes. I always work Saturdays.”
    “So you’re only home on Sundays?”
    “Pretty much, unless I’m traveling for work. I come home most weeknights, but I actually have a small bedroom off of my office at work so I can sleep there if I’m working on a project.”
    This is sounding better and better. I get to live at his place and will only have to sleep with him sometimes when he’s there. I’ve decided I’m good with losing my virginity to him. I’m twenty-one. I probably would’ve given it up to some guy in high school if I hadn’t run.
    The waitress delivers our plates, and we eat in