"Sorry, that was a rather unsophisticated demonstration of how much I like it."
"You can be unsophisticated anytime," he says in low voice. My nipples bead, moisture laces the space between my legs, and I squeeze my thighs together. His eyes flare. The air between us grows heavy with unsaid words. I feel like I’m swimming through a thick syrup to get to a place I’ve never been before. The silence stretches. The hair on my forearms rises. My scalp prickles, and every cell in my body seems to light up under his single-minded attention.
I’m the first to glance away. I reach for my flute and take another sip of the bubbles. When I look up, he’s busy cutting into his steak.
"Don’t you want to marry for love?"
He pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth, then slowly completes the action. He chews, swallows, then reaches for the next forkful. "I’m not keen on marrying, per se, or having children. The only reason I’m doing it is because—"
"You need to protect your ownership of the company. I’m aware of that. But haven’t you wanted to find the right woman and find love?"
"No." He continues eating, then takes in my features. He must see some of my shock and surprise for he shrugs. "I was focused on protecting my country and now, on growing my company. I’ve never had time for anything else."
"And women?"
He takes another forkful of food, then places his utensil down. "What’s with all these questions?"
"Just getting to know you better, so I can draw up a more appropriate profile. That’s what this meal is about, right?"
"What does my profile have to do with my views on marriage and love."
"Because it’s supposed to attract the right woman, duh!"
"One has nothing to do with the other. What you need to put down is, I make a billion dollars a year, their monthly allowance is a million dollars, with another two million for each child they push out, and another five million for every year they stay married to me."
I purse my lips. "I’m surprised you didn’t specify two million for a male child and a million for a female child."
"I don’t differentiate between genders."
I scoff. "You only have a traditional view when it comes to the women who work for you."
"One woman in particular, yes."
I gape at him. "You’re not even denying the fact that you’ve treated me worse than anyone else in your employment."
"No one else has as much access to me. It makes sense that you see the unvarnished truth."
"Which is that you’re scared and hurting and striking out at everyone in sight?"
We stare at each other. To my surprise, he doesn’t protest. He simply looks at me with a steady gaze. "You came here to ask me questions, didn’t you?"
"The list of questions are in my bag." I begin to rise from my seat, but he shakes his head.
"Sit down."
My butt hits the chair.
"Ask me your questions from memory."
"But I don’t remember all of them."
"You’re wasting time. Also"—he jerks his chin toward my plate—"you’re not eating."
I pick up the burger and take a huge mouthful. The juiciness of the patty, the chewiness of the bread, the tanginess of the tomatoes, the fresh creamy taste of the coleslaw—all of the different flavors and textures fill my mouth. I close my eyes and moan around the mouthful of food, then take my time chewing it and swallowing it down. "It’s so good." I open my eyes to find he’s staring at my mouth, his jaw clenched. There’s an almost angry look in his eyes.
"Sorry, I clearly have no manners when it comes to eating."
He reaches out, then drags his thumb across the corner of my lips. He scoops up some of the coleslaw that’s dripped from the corner of my mouth, then brings it to his own and sucks on his digit.
The heat shimmering under my skin blazes into a forest fire. Every part of me seems to be awake, alight, more alive than I’ve ever been before in my life. I place the half-eaten burger on the plate, then snatch up the flute of champagne and down it. That only makes my head spin further. He places his fork down and tops up my flute.
"If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me drunk," I murmur.
"And you and I know, I don’t need to get you drunk for you to allow me to do as I want with you."
I draw in a sharp breath. "I thought you said this was a working dinner?"
"And you said it was a date."
I stare at him, then chuckle. "Touché, soldier."
His own lips quirk, then he leans back in his chair. "Eat," he orders.
I focus on the food, take another bite, and another, and stop only when my plate is clean. He pours water into a glass and slides that over.
"Thanks." I take a few sips, then sit back with a sigh.
"Now ask your questions."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and snap out a 'Yessir.' That’s only going to distract the both of us, and I need to complete the job I came here to do.
"What’s your favorite color?" I ask.
His forehead creases. "That’s what you want to ask me?"
"Humor me."
He looks skeptical, then takes another bite of his food, before placing the fork down. "Black."
"What a surprise," I mumble under my breath.
He arches an eyebrow. "You say something?"
"No, no, of course not." I smile at him sweetly. "Do you prefer to call or text?”
"Neither."
I frown. "Indoors or outdoors."
"Either, as long as I’m on my own."
I scoff, "What do you want to do on your next vacation?"
“Climb Uluru.”
I blink. It must be a coincidence he mentioned one of the must-do’s from my bucket list.
“Something you’ve always wanted to experience?”
“Swimming with dolphins.”
I gape at him, then shake my head. Another coincidence, that’s all it is.
"Dark chocolate or white chocolate?"
"Bitter chocolate."
Of course, it’s bitter. I stifle a snort. "Pineapple on your pizza?"
"I hate pizza."
My jaw drops. "Who hates pizzas?"
He gives me that 'Knight look' which says, 'hurry up and get on with it, you’re wasting my time.'
"What is your hidden talent?"
The left side of his mouth curls. "Giving women orgasms."
Now, I do roll my eyes. "I walked into that one."
"You did." His smile widens, only a teensy bit. But it’s enough to light up his features. He looks younger, more innocent. Is this how he looked when he was younger? Before he went into the military? Before he was taken captive?
"Do you prefer to drive or be driven—" I raise a hand. "No, don’t answer that. What do you think about PDA?"
"What’s that?"
"Public displays of affection?"
"If you mean sex in a public place—"
I flush. "I don’t."
"But if you did, then, as you’re aware, I’m all for it."