Page 34 of Brutal Sin
“And there he is, the Brute I’ve come to know and despise.” She slid into her seat across the table, dragging a plate and cutlery in front of her. “But you know what? I think you’re making excuses, because deep down you think I’m super-dooper awesome.” She waggled her perfectly manicured brows.
He couldn’t tell if her pretty smile was annoying, or way too endearing. Either way, it had an effect on his chest he wasn’t used to. And he was surprised her laugh didn’t make him want to shudder. “You’re not toobad.”
She chuckled and dished food onto her plate while he poured the wine. They didn’t talk for long moments. Strangely enough, they didn’t need to. He had no desire to fill the silence. And going by the pleased look on her face, she had no problem with the absence of conversation, either.
While they ate, he took the time to read her. Finding out tiny snippets of her character with the visual sweep. She chewed slowly. Unrushed bites with dazed contemplation. She didn’t gulp at her wine as if consumed with nervousness. She didn’t fidget or fiddle. Despite having a low tolerance to his attitude, she seemed to feel comfortable withhim.
“Have you lived here long?” He had a sudden urge to learn more. To dig deeper.
“About ayear.”
“And you’ve been a widow for howlong?”
Her fork slipped, missing food and splashing sauce onto the table. She stared at the dark brown droplet now marring the wood and frowned. “Long enough.”
The vibrancy of her eyes turned bleak. Her smile faded, and in its place, sorrow grew. She cleared her throat and ran a lazy finger over the dribble, bringing the liquid to her lips to lick away the mess. For a second, he became mesmerized by her far-off contemplation. She was emotionally bare, her pain almost tangible.
He shouldn’t push, and not merely due to manners. He didn’t want to give her the wrong impression and make her think he gave a shit. But he needed answers, for no other reason than to understand who this womanwas.
“How long were you married?”
She reached for her wine, dragging out the seconds as she took a long gulp. “Eleven months.”
“You must’ve been young.” He was fishing for answers because he hadn’t had time to re-read the finer details of her file when he snooped for her café address.
She barked out a laugh. “How old do you think Iam?”
Good question. Trickyquestion.
He scrutinized her—the young eyes, the ruby lips. She didn’t have a wrinkle in sight, yet she grasped her sexuality like a woman far older than her appearance suggested.
“Late twenties?”
Her mouth quirked and he had the sudden urge to kiss her. There was no romance about it. He wasn’t interested in a chaste kiss. What he pictured was something harsh and unforgiving. Something dirty to wash away the tainted widow.
“You just earned yourself a gold star.” She placed her fork on her plate and inched them both toward the middle of the table.
“I’m right?”
“No. But I’ll take it as a compliment.” She pushed to her feet. “Do you want seconds, or should I put the containers in the fridge?”
“I’m good.” Toogood.
He enjoyed knowing they were closer in age than he’d previously assumed. But again, the added information only increased the need for more. He wanted to know everything. Was she still hung up on the love of a dead man? How had she found his sex club? And how did she plan to sate her sexuality if she didn’t return to the Vault?
He shoved the last piece of honey chicken into his mouth as she stacked containers back into the bag. Her loose top gaped at the front, the fucking brilliant view of her bra-covered tits staring him right in theface.
From any other woman, he would’ve considered the act a blatant attempt at seduction. From Ella, he didn’t get that vibe at all. She was oblivious to her temptation and confident enough in her own right not to be embarrassed about a glimpse of intimate skin. It was clear she also had no clue of the filthy thoughts rapidly building in his mind—the need to prove her wrong, to make her fully aware of the control he could gain over her body. He wanted to have her pussy clamping around his fingers. Her thighs clenching around his head. Her lips parting to call his name, louder than she’d ever called before.
Because that was what he was goodat.
The only thing he was goodat.
He snatched the wine bottle from beside her and filled their glasses. The comfortable silence had turned chaotic. A hint of panic tinged the air, or maybe it only lingered in his blood.
“How many times have you done this?” He needed to know where he ranked on the list. What was his number in theline?
“Had wine and Chinese food?” She didn’t meet his gaze as she lifted the bag and made for the kitchen.
