"Space for what?" I moved further into the room, drawn by the warmth of the fire, by his presence, by the strange comfort this room provided despite everything.
"Reflection," he said simply. "Consideration of our last conversation and what it revealed."
I stopped before him, close enough to see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes, the slight shadow of stubble along his jaw. "And what did it reveal, in your expert opinion?"
His lips curved in a slight smile. "That you're still approaching this—approaching me—as a strategic exercise. A game to be won rather than an experience to be embraced."
The assessment was uncomfortably accurate, as his insights often were. But not entirely true. Not anymore.
"Maybe initially," I conceded, surprising both of us with my honesty. "But things change. People change."
"Do they?" he asked, his voice neutral but his eyes intent on mine.
"Yes," I said simply. "I have."
He studied me for a long moment, his gaze searching, assessing. "What do you want, Grace?"
The question hung between us, deceptively simple yet laden with complexity. What did I want? Freedom? Safety? Understanding? Something else entirely?
"Answers," I said finally, deciding on the most immediate truth. "And something else."
"Which is?"
I met his gaze directly, refusing to shy away from what I'd come here to propose. "You."
The single word seemed to change the air in the room, making it thicker, charged with possibilities. Rafe's expression didn't change, but I saw the slight darkening of his eyes, the almost imperceptible shift in his posture.
"Explain," he said, his voice lower than before.
I took a deep breath, committing to my course. "I want to make a bargain. An exchange. My body for your honesty."
He was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he set his glass down on the table beside him. "A deal? Grace, why would I bargain for something I’ve already proven I can take with very little effort?"
My cheeks flushed despite myself.
"What exactly would this bargain entail?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral despite the heat I could see building behind his eyes.
"Simple," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "For every truth you give me—real truth, not evasions or half-answers—I give you something you want. A touch. A kiss. More, depending on the value of the truth."
His lips curved in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're commodifying yourself. Turning intimacy into currency. That's not what I want from you."
"Isn't it?" I challenged. "You want surrender. Submission. Control. This is me offering a path to those things, on terms I can accept."
"Terms that keep you safe," he observed. "That maintain the illusion of control even in surrender."
I nodded, not bothering to deny it. "Yes."
He leaned forward slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. "And what happens when you run out of questions? When there are no more truths to extract? Does the intimacy end then?"
The question caught me off guard, revealing an assumption I hadn't examined—that this was a temporary arrangement, a means to an end rather than a beginning.
"I don't know," I admitted, the honesty costing me more than I expected. "I haven't thought that far ahead."
"Haven't you?" he asked softly. "Or are you afraid to?"
I looked away, unable to hold his gaze under such direct scrutiny. "Maybe both."
He was silent for a long moment, considering. I could almost see the calculations running behind his eyes, weighing options, assessing risks and rewards.
