Lois Declines His Offer

"No thanks," the reporter said. Lois could feel how oddly frisky and eager she was, but something about this man triggered her instincts. His pearly white smile stayed on his face, but the dark eyes narrowed.

"Don't be like that, baby," the Black man said. One hand reached out and touched her shoulder. "We haven't gotten to know each other. I'm Tyrell."

Lois resisted the urge to give him her name. She shrugged, trying to shake off his hand, but he stepped closer...close enough that she could smell the strangely floral aftershave, see that his shirt was open enough she could catch a hint of the dark hair on his chest.

"Let me buy you a drink. You must be thirsty, right?"

Her hand shot out, slapping his hand away from her shoulder...but he seemed to anticipate the movement, and caught her wrist in his hand. Pulled her closer to him.

Their eyes met...and Tyrell's next words were whispered so low that only the reporter could hear them.

"You're in danger, Miss Lane," Tyrell said. "They're watching you. Sit down. Have a drink. Let's talk."

The hair rose on the back of the reporter's neck. She felt the strange yet familiar sensation of eyes on her. A part of her instantly believed what he said—that someone was watching her. Yet the very suddenness of that trust was suspect. Lois had just met this man, he had acted strangely, suspiciously, and her own reactions were unusual...something was going on here, and ignorant as she was of Blaze's aphrodisiac, she knew something was wrong.