Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(79)

“No.”

“You look like you’re going to be sick.”

He banged his head against the wall, alarming her further.

“It’s just a mirror, for goodness’ sake. You don’t need to look at it. But I wonder: Why would they put it on the ceiling?”

“Because, Sage,” he gritted out, “some people enjoy watching.”

“Watching what?” Her gaze lifted back to the mirror when she realized. “Oh…”

“Are you sufficiently shocked?” he deadpanned, waving a hand toward it in disgust.

“I’m sufficiently intrigued,” she admitted, tilting her head to the side now.

There would need to be an investigation at some point to find how The Villain managed to make such strange sounds. This one was a cross between a roar and the echo of a wounded goose.

“Don’t tell me that.”

Really, the man had seen people’s guts spilled out onto the floor, but this was what turned him into a blushing adolescent?

“I’m going to remove my sandals,” she warned, carefully moving to the ties going all the way up her calves.

“Why are you telling me that?”

“Because my ankles are about to be fully exposed, and I don’t want to give you a stroke.”

“Don’t confuse my manners for a lack of depravity, Sage. It’s a courtesy to you and self-preservation for me that I remain restrained.”

Oh.

He was implying that… “Are you insinuating that your tepid composure is for my sake?”

The room was dimly lit, the low ambient lighting casting a glow on his face that emphasized the darkness of his irises, swallowing his pupils.

He didn’t need to touch her. Didn’t need to lay a finger upon her skin for her to feel his voice like a caress. “I am,” he stated so simply, so seemingly harmlessly, and yet it was so terrifying. Suddenly she was desperate, desperate to repair the barrier she’d been slowly tearing down, desperate to fortify it for both their restraints because it was feeling far too much like they were on the precipice of great change.

The problem with change was in its novelty. The desire for it was often plain, but every inch closer to things altering made it all the more real. She had been teasing him, pushing him, probing him, and he didn’t like it, didn’t want it.

She had to fix it.

“I don’t actually know that I’m good in bed!” she blurted.

The darkness of his eyes receded and was replaced with a wild sort of shine. “Why the fuck would you say that?” He gaped.

“I don’t know! I felt like it would sort of cut the tension in the room if I admitted it. I never heard any active complaints from Rick, but he’s really the only person I’ve ever been with, and that was years ago. I could be terrible at it. I have no clue!”

His hands closed over his ears, and it made such a comic portrait that Evie laughed, nervously wringing her hands. “This must be divine punishment,” he said incredulously to no one in particular. “It’s the only explanation.”

“I take it that did not help.” She kicked off both shoes, feeling instant relief for her sore toes. The boss watched her as if she were a hardened criminal about to commit some heinous act against him. Very well. She’d been attempting to disarm him to help; she’d have to try again.

Grabbing one of the candelabras, she found the plushest chair in the corner, sitting daintily and folding her feet underneath her. “At least the bed is huge,” she commented.

When he looked on the verge of something bursting in his skull, she frantically finished the sentence. “Because we can both sleep in it without risk of anyone touching anyone else.”

“We are not both sleeping in that bed.” He pointed to it. “No way in the deadlands is that happening.”

Her chin tipped back. “If we both sleep on either side, you won’t even notice I’m there!”

“I promise you I’ll notice. No, I will not feed into the cliché where we both start off on each side of the bed and then we end up tangled together in the morning. I refuse!”

She began picking shells and bits of glitter out of her hair. “I hadn’t planned on being tangled with anything in the morning except that blanket.”

A knock at the door caused them both to jolt, as if they’d been doing something scandalous instead of having a debate on the clichés of there being but one bed in the room.

A scantily dressed footman carried in a large bathing tub, facing it toward the corner and dumping steaming pails of water into it. “His lordship sent for a bath before you continue on with the evening’s festivities. After this, he will send up dinner for two.” With a jaunty bow, he moved to skip from the room, but Trystan had the man by the collar before he could make it halfway over the threshold.

“Naturally, if she is seeking to bathe, I will wait out here.” The Villain moved to leave but stopped when the footman steepled his fingers together, giving Evie a little smile over Trystan’s shoulder. “Don’t look at her. Look at me. The hallway,” Trystan stated. “I will wait there.”

“You’re certainly welcome to do so, Villain, but I believe Lord Fowler has stipulated that should either of you leave the room before the night is out, he’ll open the pooling to a replacement for The Wicked Woman’s prize.”