My answer comes out of nowhere.
I relax into his body, accepting how right it feels, my hand coming up of its own accord and cupping his cheek, holding him to me, soothing him . . . tumbling deeper into his corrupt, conflicting world.
I’m choosing to stay.Chapter 24I wait patiently in Becker’s office while he goes to find some snacks. I didn’t offer my assistance. I don’t know where his grandad and Mrs Potts are, and I didn’t want to risk bumping into them. Smart? Yes. Gutless? Definitely.
Becker returns with a tray and slides it on to his desk, revealing a selection of picky bits – breads, cheeses, pâté, and olives. ‘Bon appetite,’ he says, brushing his hands off. He’s taken his jacket off and pulled his shirt out of his trousers. The first few buttons are unfastened, his tie loose and hanging low, and he’s rolled his sleeves up. He looks casually relaxed and delicious. ‘Don’t ever tell me I don’t know how to treat a lady.’
I frown at what Becker’s chosen as our sustenance. ‘Really?’ He’s hardly gone to much trouble.
He drops down into his chair, unravelling his tie with lithe fingers. Slowly. Watching me. A heavy, distinctive pulse drops into my nether regions with an almighty bang. He smiles. That damn smile disarms me in a flash. And the bastard knows it.
‘Let me reword that.’ He tosses his tie aside and reaches for an olive, popping it in his mouth and chewing purposely slowly. My eyes are glued to his lips. Double bastard. ‘Don’t tell me I don’t know how to treat the devil woman.’
‘Hey.’ I grab a pen and throw it at his head, but he ducks and it sails past his ear. He stops chewing and his surprised face follows its path until it comes to land on the floor, bouncing a few times by the clock. His sharp inhale is loud. And fake. I devilishly wish he’d choke on the olive he’s storing in his mouth. ‘Why, princess . . .’ His hazel eyes, full of light and humour, slowly reveal themselves as he swallows deliberately. It’s a calculated move designed to drive me nuts, but not in a mad way. In a seductive, teasing, torturous way. ‘That feisty side coming out to play?’
‘It’s ab—’
‘Ah, ah, ah.’ That finger appears. ‘Shhhh.’
My mouth closes speedily. I didn’t tell it to. The cocky fucker sitting opposite me did. Triple bastard. He’s pulling out all the stops, the smile, the teasing, the humour, the sexy shush. And I want to kiss him for it. This is better. Normal. This is us.
Trying to fool him into believing his gallant attempts to bring me back around aren’t working would be . . . well, foolish. But I do, anyway. I shrug nonchalantly and take an olive for myself, slipping it past my lips. I’m buying myself some time to think carefully about what my next words should be. I’ve learned a lot today, almost too much to process. It’s been a tidal wave of revelations.
‘I have a whole lot of shit on you, Hunt,’ I say quietly.
‘Maybe that’s the point.’ He regards me closely. ‘You’re in Becker’s Circle of Trust now, and once you’re in, you never get out.’ He picks up an apple. Damn. My body stiffens. If I had the strength and inclination I’d look away, but I don’t. Instead I find my gaze tracking the slow delivery of the green fruit to his mouth. Once you’re in, you never get out. I’m stumped as to why this thrills me more than it frightens me.
‘How many people have there been in Becker’s Circle of Trust?’ I ask, reading between the lines of his statement.
‘Including you?’
‘Including me.’
‘One,’ he answers assertively, taking a big, clean bite of his apple. His answer delights me as much as the sound of him crunching his way through his favourite fruit. So why me? Why now? ‘Don’t look at me like that, princess.’
Like what? Awed? Mesmerised? Excited? Or am I now watching him in wonder? Eating apples shouldn’t be erotic, it just shouldn’t, but every time I witness him sinking his teeth into one, it’s all I can do not to dive on him and lick the juice from his lips.
‘Look at you like what?’ I ask cockily, tossing that errant thought away. I regret my comment the moment his lips curve into one of those disarming, lopsided smiles. They send my knees bandy. Even when I’m sitting down.
‘Like you want to share this apple with me.’ He holds it up and spins it expertly in his hand.
I do, tickles my lips as I watch the fruit, held rapt by its shiny skin and the manly hand holding it. Forbidden fruit. It’s a sign. I’m Eve being enticed by the devil in disguise. Is Becker in disguise? Do I know who I’m dealing with? The mystery and intrigue attached to him holds a certain element of addictive danger. I could fall spectacularly from the beauty of The Haven into a hellish place of sin and temptation. Or am I Snow White, being tricked into accepting an appealing offer that could destroy me completely?