Damn, he manipulated that question to his advantage. I need to think of something that he has no choice but to answer in a straightforward manner.
"What makes you angry?"
"People who waste my time," he growls in a pointed fashion.
"What makes you laugh?"
"You."
His eyes almost twinkled when he said that. I swear they did.
"Are you a forgiver or a forgetter?"
"Neither." The creases deepen from the edges of his eyes.
Damnit, think of a trickier question. Go on, you can do this!
"What is your idea of beauty?"
"You."
I frown. "Be serious."
"I am being serious."
"So, you want your wife to look like me?’
He rubs his finger under his lip, then shrugs. "Sure, why not."
"You could be more enthusiastic, considering how this is going to change your life."
"Not as much as it’s going to change her life."
I roll my eyes. "Favorite movie?"
"Shark attack."
"You’re joking!" I accuse him.
"Nope, I like sharks."
"That’s because you’re like them."
"Are you talking about my pointed teeth? Or the fact that I like to circle my prey before I move in?"
Is he talking about me? Am I the prey? I push the thought aside and ask my next question, "What book are you reading these days?"
"I’m not, but if I were, it would be Harry Potter."
I swear, hearts appear in my eyes, and I blink them away. "You want to read Harry Potter?"
"Sure, time I found out what all the fuss is about, don’t you think?"
"Personally, I prefer the fanfic."
"Fanfic?" A furrow appears between his eyebrows.
"Yep, especially the one featuring Dramione."
"That’s a character from the story I take it?"
"Actually, it’s the 'ship between two characters, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger."
"Ship?"
"I mean, relationship. The two are at each other’s throats all the time in the Potterverse; that’s the setting of the series."
"I guessed that," he says dryly. "And I take it Draco and Hermione hate each other in the series, but the fans want them to poke each other?" He touches the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and inserts the forefinger of his other hand through the gap created.
"Eww, you’re such a man."
His smile widens a tad more, before he seems to remember himself, and his features straighten again. "Any more questions before I get dessert?"
"We’re having dessert?"
"Yes." He rises to his feet. I rise with him. We gather our plates, and I follow him inside. I place mine in the sink and turn to find he’s pulling out another dish from one of the canisters.
"Whoa, that’s a chocolate brownie, my favorite." I frown. No doubt, another thing he found out from Abby.
He cuts off a slice, plates it in a dessert bowl, then adds a dollop of vanilla ice cream. He walks over to stand on the opposite side of the counter from me. He scoops up a generous portion then holds it up. "Open."
My pussy spasms on command. It’s just a word. A simple order. And he made it sound like pure sex. I realize I’ve been staring at him when he arches an eyebrow. I part my lips, and he slides the food between them. The rich taste of chocolate, mixed with the delicate floral taste of the vanilla pods, explodes on my palate. He dips the spoon into the dessert and brings it to his mouth. I watch as he pulls the spoon back, then licks off the dregs of the treat. The fires that ignited across my skin intensify. I shudder.
"You cold?"
I shake my head. "It’s getting late. I think I need to leave." I round the counter, head toward the coffee table, and pick up my handbag. I slide it over my shoulder, then turn and gasp, for he’s standing right in front of me.
24
Knight
"Flying away so soon, Little Dove?"
She laughs, the sound nervous. "I, uh, have everything I need."
But I’m only getting started.
I reach out and tug her handbag down her arm, then drop it onto the couch behind her.
"What are you doing?" She sucks in her breath through her lips.
I hold out my hand. She looks down at it, then back at me. "Knight—"
"What did I ask you to call me?"
She hesitates. "Sir," she says under her breath.
"I didn’t hear you."
She clears her throat. "What are you doing… Sir?"
I allow her voice to sweep away the myriad of thoughts running through my head. Allow my attention to drop back down into my chest, my arms, my legs. I push my feet into the ground and anchor my gaze on the gorgeous siren standing in front of me.
"Whatever you want me to do to you, Little Dove."
The pulse at the base of her throat drums faster.
"You’re going to be married soon."
"And I’m never going to be in a relationship—not with her, not with you, not with anyone."
"So, this…" She nods toward my outstretched hand. "What’s this?"
"Sex."
"A quick and dirty fling, and then we go our separate ways?" Her lips quiver, and she manages to flatten them.
"It’s going to be anything but quick. And dirtier than anything you’ve read in your Dramione fanfic."
"How do you know, when you’ve never read it?"
"Why don’t we put it to the test, and you can tell me, hmm?"
Color flushes up her throat. "I’m not sure that’s a good idea."
I search her features, then nod. "Okay."
She seems taken aback. "That’s it? You’re just accepting what I said?"
"It’s your choice. You can stay and be fucked on every surface in this house and in every way and in every orifice over one night, and I’ll see you in the office tomorrow. Or you can leave, go home to your own bed, and I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.
Her forehead furrows. She glances around the apartment then at me. "My choice, huh?"
I nod.
"You won’t stop me if I leave?"
I hold up my hands. "I won’t."
She picks up her coat, shrugs into it, then picks up her bag. She hooks it over her shoulder, and the tempo of my heart accelerates. It’s as if wild horses have invaded my chest as I watch her head for the elevator. She presses the button to call the cage, and the doors part. Of course, they do. It’s my private elevator. Only I use it, so it’s always at my disposal. For the first time, I curse the benefits my money is able to buy.
I never missed it when I lived off my military salary. And didn’t pay much attention to the luxury that came along with moving into this flat. I needed somewhere high enough from the ground that I wouldn’t have to look at it and remember what it was like to be buried six feet deep. I wanted a place with enough light that there were no dark corners I could step into.
This penthouse delivers on all those fronts. I decided to move it because it would give me the solitude I crave. Now, I wish I hadn’t been so quick to seek out the trappings that feed my desire for seclusion. A first, since I returned from my captivity.