She felt tension thrumming through him and nearly took the question back. She shouldn’t be offending hotel guests. She already had one strike against her for telling a hotel guest she wasn’t a pimp when she’d dropped off room service and he’d asked her to arrange an escort for the evening.

“I’ll tell you my name if you tell me yours,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

“Fair enough,” she agreed. “My name is Yasmin.”

“Volkan Kartel.”

“Okay, Volkan, you can’t be out here.” She hefted her garbage bag and made her way down the ramp to the dumpster. “You’ll have to finish your smoke and go back inside. Next time, use your room’s balcony.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and friendly. The cigar smoke followed her down the ramp. Before she could shove the metal top of the bin open, he reached up and did it for her.

Taking advantage of his help, Yasmin hurled the bag inside, then wiped her hands down her skirt. “Thanks,” she said, turning to look at him through the dim light.

He was tall… much taller than her 5’3”. Broad shoulders, broad chest, long limbs. He was bigger than average, but not a monster. If he attacked her, she might be able to take him. Besides being a little on the short side of life, Yasmin was pretty much average. She blamed her height for her slightly rounder-than-she-liked curves. If she were five inches taller, everything would stretch out.

The guy was wearing a suit jacket, tailored, she thought, from what little she could see. The jacket seemed to strain at the seams, his biceps outlined beneath the material. His white dress shirt was open at the throat where the strong cords of his neck were clearly defined. He wore his hair clipped short and his face, which was strong and rugged, was clean shaven.

“Do you make it a habit of bossing around hotel guests?”

Thankfully, he didn’t sound angry.

“No,” she said, then thought about it. “Okay, sometimes. But rules are rules and since I work here, it’s my job to enforce hotel rules.”

“Maybe I don’t like rules,” he said casually. “I like to make my own rules.”

“Then you must have a lot of money,” she countered. “Only rich people can get away with breaking rules whenever they like.”

She could feel tension thrumming through him and worried that she’d overstepped and he might complain to her manager.

“Do you always say what you think?” he asked, echoing her thoughts.

“No. Sometimes I keep things to myself.” She fidgeted, then said, “I’m going back in now. Have a good night. Remember to smoke on your balcony from now on.”

She walked back up the ramp toward the door, but his voice reached out through the shadows, stopping her.

“How old are you?”