Jasper chuckles, rich and smooth as my morning’s melted chocolate chips, and swipes a hand over his angled chin. “I do, actually—have an interest in philosophy, I mean. I find it quite relevant to my work. Though I must admit, I haven’t made use of children’s books just yet.”
“Not such a hit with soldiers, I guess.” I smile and pluck free two heavy—and beautifully illustrated—atlases. “Though I can’t imagine Lucky objecting, for some reason.”
“Lucien—” Jasper stops, and I look up to see he’s watching me carefully. After considering me a moment, he sighs. “Lucien is an exception. In many respects.”
I wait a beat, but he doesn’t elaborate. Feeling like I’m missing something, I turn my attention back to the shelves. I wonder if this is yet another one of those things he’s decided I’m not to know, and the thought sinks my stomach. He doesn’t need to share anything with me, not under the rules of this deal.
This deal that is starting to grate in unexpected ways. Perhaps I’ve been too focused on the perks they included on their end of the deal . . . and not enough on the things they didn’t.
“Well, I don’t mind the theories,” I continue, rearranging the books in my arms and ignoring my thundering pulse, “but so many philosophers just waffle on in self-importance. It’s a common fault in clever men—they so like the sound of their own voice. Oh! Get that Frank Herbert novel? That shouldn’t be here either.”
When I don’t get a response, I turn. He leans against the bookshelf. His crisp white shirt is open at the throat, revealing a glimpse of corded muscle. The sleeves are rolled to just above his elbow. He’s a study in elegant disdain, regarding me with a neat, arched brow.
I color as I realize I was ordering him about in his own library and am about to stammer an apology when he slowly plucks the book off the shelf, his gaze never leaving mine.
I’m not too dense to miss the gentle mockery in it.
Or the warning.
Moving closer—closer than he needs to—he places it on the pile in my arms. With one finger, he tilts my chin up toward him. “I have found many things are best demonstrated without words.”
My thoughts liquify, and I can’t remember exactly what we’re talking about.
As his finger strokes along my jaw, my mouth grows dry, and I watch as his darkening gaze fixes on my mouth.
“Hey, hands off. It’s my turn!”
The sudden sound of Lucky’s voice makes me flinch back, and there’s an undertone to it that I can’t quite decipher. Jasper doesn’t drop his hand, though, nor does he acknowledge Lucky’s presence.
Lucky comes up behind me. “Come on, beautiful, I have the whole afternoon planned.”
I want to greet him, but as though he senses it, Jasper’s grip tightens briefly on my chin, holding me captive. His lips thin, and I shift uncomfortably as that off feeling returns. “You are more than welcome in my library, Eden. And you may reorganize it if you wish.”
Ah. I should have asked before I started doing that, too.
“Do you enjoy chess?” he asks. His dark gaze finally flicks from my mouth to my eyes, and something distant and calamitous lurks in its shadows.
“I—” I pause, hearing how husky my voice has become. His presence isn’t Dom’s thundercloud, or Lucky’s warm sunshine; it makes me shiver, like ice sliding down hot skin. “I’ve never played.”
“I think you might be good. Join me tomorrow for a game.”
My arms are beginning to ache under the heavy books, but I hold his gaze. A streak of daring darts through me.
“If you say please, I might be persuaded,” I tell him, though my voice comes out far more shaky and less tart than I intended.
The lighting catches the hollows of his cheekbones as he straightens, turning him villainous.
“A simple, ‘Yes, Jasper’ will suffice, Eden.” His voice is cultured, casual. Rippling with the warning of a great white beneath the waves. “You might do well to teach her a few lessons before she comes to me, Lucien, since you’re fond of her.”
Indignation pricks me. Now that was a threat.
The warm, easy intimacy of moments ago is nowhere to be found, and his chilly censure seems oddly pointed. Is he mad?
My gut starts a slow, queasy roll as I run over our conversation in my head, trying to pinpoint where I might have gone wrong.
As I study his punishing face from beneath my lashes, my brief burst of nerve curls up and dies. I can’t seem to summon any of the courage I’d found yesterday with Jaykob. Something about Jayk’s challenging stare had encouraged me to meet his fury with my own—I understand the chip on his shoulder, even while it infuriates me—but under the faint disappointment in Jasper’s expression, I want to cringe into nothingness.
“Ah . . . you know, I’m not really the lesson-giving type.” The uneasiness in Lucky’s voice catches me, and I dart a glance between them. Lucky avoids my eyes and color is high in his cheeks.
What in the world . . . ?
“Manners should be taught during childhood,” Jasper tells me curtly. Everything about him is strung tight now, and I’m sure I’ve made some horrible faux pas. “But if that was somehow missed in your education, I’d be happy to assist you. Now, I made you an offer. Answer me, Eden.”
I stop my lip from trembling. Barely. He brushes the pad of his thumb over my mouth, as though sensing the movement.
Lucky sucks in a breath.
My grandmother had plenty to say about my manners, and so had my husband. No matter how I’ve tried to leave my past behind me, I know my trailer-trash upbringing still shows. It makes me self-conscious about every reference, every turn of phrase, because despite all the books I’ve read and the study I’ve thrown myself into, it’s those small, habitual slips that will always betray me. That will tip off my betters that I am poor, and lazy, and ill mannered, and whatever other attribute they choose to ascribe to me for the past I can never change.
Jasper is as calculated and wealthy as Henry’s family was. He’s the man Henry always strived to be. Articulate. Assured.
Intimidating.
Of course he sees right through me.
Of course he’s disappointed by what he sees.
The years since my husband’s death crumble, and all at once I’m the insignificant, lonely girl who so desperately craved his approval.
I tear away from his penetrating gaze, lowering my eyes. “Yes, Jasper.”
I know this part. I play it as well as any actress.
I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I won’t embarrass you.
I’ll be good, I swear.
Jasper stills. His stare is intense. Finally, the grip on my chin gentles. After a long moment, he makes a sound of frustration in the back of his throat and drops his hand.
“It seems I’m on a roll today,” he mutters, sounding unhappy. “That will be a problem.”
Of course I am.
I keep my mouth pressed shut, but the sudden sting behind my eyes surprises me—as does the waver of my lip that, this time, has nothing to do with arousal.
You don’t need them, I remind myself fiercely. You can leave at any time. You’re a survivor now. You’re not that same girl anymore.