I force my legs to move, carrying myself the several steps to where he sits. His drink is still balanced on one knee, his eyes laser focused on me as I take my purse off and drop it on the table as I pass it.
Once I’m at the spot, I sink to my knees, grateful for the ivory and charcoal Tabriz area rug beneath my knees. The silky-smooth texture offers some comfort beneath his skin-burning stare.
Gently, I place my palms on my knees, having to pull up the hem of the slip dress I wore to the club. Braving his eyes, I look up through hooded lashes as I slide my knees apart and sink back onto my heels.
He gives an approving nod. “Go on.”
“What…what exactly do you want to know?” My insides are bundled so tightly, it’s taking all my bodily resources to keep in position. Whatever he asked me minutes ago is lost in the dense fog that is my brain.
“Declan O’Brien.” It’s the only hint he’s going to give.
I have no idea what he already knows, but it’s obvious he has information, or he wouldn’t be asking me.
“Declan O’Brien owns the garage Derek worked at,” I say, testing the waters.
His expression holds steady, giving me all the room I need to figure out my way to his approval.
“Derek was just a mechanic there, but he knew the O’Brien family was into illegal businesses. Declan would have meetings in the backroom of the garage sometimes. He’d have Derek install things like false bottoms in the trunks or fancy dashboard compartments. Sometimes he fixed up cars that needed extra care in the detailing.”
Ivan slides his foot between my knees, rubbing the soft leather against my skin.
“Keep going, you’re doing well.”
It takes a second to refocus my mind. When he’s touching me, it makes it hard to think. Add the stern way he’s staring at me, and I’m lost.
“Derek was never directly involved in anything. He only spoke to Declan maybe once or twice in the five years he worked for him.”
Curling my fingers into my thighs, I sink my nails into my flesh. A little bite of pain to cut through the thick arousal swimming in the air between us.
He’s doing this on purpose. Keeping me off balance between desire to be touched by him and the need to keep a clear head.
“The night you dropped the ZakuskiBoard and ran off, you were talking to a man before it happened. Who was it?”
I move my gaze from his, settling on his chest instead. He doesn’t tolerate it though, he snaps his fingers, drawing me back.
“Look at me, Vee. Only me. Not my chest, my shoulder. Not the floor or the wall behind me. Do you understand me?”
I swallow, my throat getting tighter as this conversation progresses. “Yes, sir.”
“Tell me about him. What happened that night and since?”
“It’s just going to make you mad. Maybe I should?—”
He leans forward, squeezing my chin between two fingers.
“You’re not in trouble. But you have to tell me everything, Vee. You’ve been through so much. I don’t want to make it worse; I want to make it better, but you have to trust me. Can you do that? Can you trust me?”
“I think so.” I whisper my confession.
His left eyebrow lifts. “I think you can do better than that; try again.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, firmly this time.
“Good. Now finish telling me everything. Don’t leave anything out. Can you do that for me?” His sincerity soothes me.
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay then, let’s continue.” He releases my chin and leans back in his chair. “Go on.”
