“You’re frowning, Savage.”
“Did you start smoking again?”
“No. I wanted to. I thought about it, but I’d already quit, so it seemed silly. What are we doing? Really, Savage, what are we doing?”
He watched her eat. She was beautiful even when she ate. Delicate. Refined. “You got under my skin, woman. Was going to do the right thing and leave you alone. I know you’re too damn good for me, but I couldn’t stand not having some connection to you. Just a small one.”
Her lashes lifted again. A quick glance. His statement meant something. He could give her truth. It was all he had to give her.
“That’s a nice thing to say. I have to admit, I liked hearing from you, even though I’d made up my mind it was for the best we didn’t see each other.” She ate another bite of salad.
“You didn’t answer right away.”
“I had to think about it.”
“Babe, you know me. We have a strange connection and you see inside me. You know what kind of man I am. You don’t do that to me. When I reach out to you because I’m looking to see you’re all right, you fucking answer me or there’s going to be trouble. Consequences. And don’t tell me we barely know one another. You know what I’m like even when you don’t want to.”
Seychelle pushed the food around on her plate, sat back and picked up her drink. “We weren’t even going to be friends.”
“We were always going to be friends. Don’t kid yourself. It didn’t matter whether or not I was here with you, we were going to be friends. I told you, I have Torpedo Ink and I have you.” He indicated her plate. “Are you finished?”
She nodded and stood up. “Thank you for cooking tonight. I’ll do the dishes if you want to clean the grills.” She frowned. “Where did those grills come from?”
“Transporter and Mechanic dropped them off for me. Once I knew you were back in town, I knew I’d need them. They’re small, but they get the job done.” He liked watching her move around, filling the sink, doing little things that were domestic. He didn’t know why. He did his own dishes as a rule and never considered it anything but a task.
Watching Seychelle, doing dishes became something altogether different. He leaned back in the chair, eyes half-closed, legs stretched out in front of him, and found himself content. At peace. For just those few moments, with the sound of the ocean in the background and the scent of this woman drifting through the small room, filling his lungs, the demons always howling for freedom had quieted.
“Tell me what’s really wrong, Savage. I don’t like you so upset.”
Seychelle’s voice was that pure tone, like an angel’s, slipping beneath every guard until she wrapped herself inside him. That was how she got in. He rubbed his hand over his aching chest. He was a big man with a lot of muscle, but still, she got in.
He was used to pain. Taking it. Giving it. He never let pain get to him. He never thought anything could take pain away or give it to him in a way that would distress him to the point that he couldn’t eat or sleep. Or even think clearly. She’d done that to him.
Savage didn’t answer her right away, contemplating what he could say. He would never give Seychelle less than the truth. In this case, he wasn’t certain he knew the truth, only that he had to have her in his life. That was terrifying when nothing ever scared him. He couldn’t afford to be out of control. He couldn’t have anything in his life be outside of his control. He was too dangerous. He lived carefully. He was regimented in the way he lived. He had to be, in order for everyone around him to be safe.
She glanced at him over her shoulder, that hair of hers, all golden and platinum, soft silky strands, flying as she turned her head. His stomach dropped. It shocked him that she could do that to him without even trying. It wasn’t like she was trying to be sensual. She wasn’t trying to seduce him, yet she was the most seductive woman he’d ever met.
Looking at her, he couldn’t stop his mind from seeing the erotic images of her bent over the table while he stripped those little shorts off her body, baring her cheeks to him. She had pristine skin. Flawless. A perfect canvas for a man like him. He’d dreamt about her, tied, body stretched out, completely naked, tears in her eyes, that liquid his. All his. She would wait. Unable to see him as he stood behind her. Never knowing when the lash would fall. When it would land across her, leaving his marks on her. She wouldn’t make a sound because it wasn’t allowed. Only her tears. Those were his. Those she could give him.