“You only work at your stepmother’s shop.”
I grin, albeit politely, enjoying the incorrect information he offers, then shake my head. “No.”
“You are now.” His tone shifts a sliver of an octave, bringing forth shielded frustration. Even when he only uses three words. Again, efficient.
“I’m helping out. It’s a rare occurrence since I’m usually quite busy,” I tease.
He hums in response, though a slight growl vibrates through and lands straight in my belly, filling it with unwelcomed warmth.
“You didn’t answer me. Are you interested in the Vacheron Constantin watch? The Tourbillon model in green truly is a masterpiece.”
He cocks an eyebrow as he gently tilts his head. The scrutiny as he holds my gaze is unsettling. Exhilarating. And downright terrifying.
How fucking thrilling!
I bite the inside of my lip to keep from grinning like the madwoman I know I am, a rumbling of excitement threatening to burst behind my ribs.
“So?” I push.
“Attempting to sell me a watch won’t stall me.” The words darken, deepening with a slight growl. Just as it does in my fantasies, when I stroke between my thighs. The same voice guiding my recent orgasms.
“Stalling? Sir, I’ve been here all along.” I turn to face him fully, though I take half a step back, his proximity overwhelming me. “Truthfully, I thought you would have found me by now.”
I don’t enjoy his accusations—first he thinks my family kept me tucked away, and then he thinks I’ve been hiding for all this time.
“Careful now, kitten. You may have claws, but I bite.” He turns to face me as well, only a couple of feet separating us. And I swear those are the most words he’s spoken to me in one go.
Something reckless shifts within me, and I roll my eyes at him. The response comes from his gaze alone, a darkness descending upon it as he tilts his head down.
“Shall we cut to the chase?” I question.
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
So that’s a yes.“Why would I?”
He cocks his head, studying me. “Most people’s healthy response to murder.”
“Most people consider what you’ve done to be a bad thing.”
His answer is the infinitesimal narrowing of his eyes and slight tilt of his head.
I shake my head slowly, rolling my eyes. “I didn’t lie that night just to make a good impression. It sounded like you had an important job to do, and I wasn’t about to be in your way. I still won’t. If you think I give a crap about the death of some piece of shit child trafficker, then your research on me is incomplete, sir.”
There it is again, that tiny twitch in his eyes, widening ever so slightly at my choice of words. It’s a tinge of surprise, maybe.
Or maybe I’m just seeing what I want.
What my fantasies have conjured up in the last few months
“Why should I believe you?” He takes a step forward into my space.
My spine snaps tight. The proximity is electrifying. Every hair on my body rises, and every nerve ending urges me to run the fuck away.
I take half a step back. Not because of the fear. At least, not only that, but the sizzling static between us.
“Have I given you any reason to mistrust me? Have the police knocked at your door? Have the papers written about you?”
“The absence of proof is not proof, Miss Brasa-Glass. Maybe the police are building a case as we speak.”
