She circled the table, held up the sword, and pointed it at me. “You will not force her,” she ordered her terms. “You will not threaten, torture, or coerce her into your bed. You will not touch her.”
I shot out my hands, planting them on the pool table and leaning over it to look her in the eyes. “And if she wants me to touch her?”
“It’s good to dream big, Damon.”
I almost snorted, but I couldn’t contain my smile. “God, you’re like a female version of me,” I said. “It’s turning me on.”
“Makes sense. You love yourself best.”
I stood upright again, brushing off my hands. She was exquisite, and if she weren’t working against me, I’d think she was brilliant.
Smart. Tough. Clever.
And cold when she needed to be.
Cold.
“The queen,” I mused, rolling a ball on the table as a memory came to mind. “The snow queen.”
She thinned her eyes, probably confused.
“Years ago,” I explained, “when your father brought his young bride here from South Africa, I’m told my father was quite enamored of her. She reminded him of the beautiful snow queen from the Nutcracker ballet.” I tipped my chin down, casting her a knowing look. “And that’s what he called her. His little snow queen.”
She growled and lunged, and I shot backward just as she slammed the sword on the table. Leaping onto the table, she forwent charging around it to chase me, and hopped off, going straight for me.
Did she not like me insinuating my father got inside her mother’s panties?
She swung for my legs, but I stomped my foot on the sword, knocking it out of her hand, and threw her down on the floor, pressing her shoulders into the wood.
Her face was red with fury.
“The queen is the most valuable player,” I told her, “but to win, she’s not the last one standing. Her job…” I paused, arching an eyebrow, “is to protect the king.”
She pulled out a knife from somewhere and pressed the side of the blade into my neck.
Jesus. She must be fun in bed.
I grinned. “You won’t hurt me.”
“And why not?”
“Because we’re friends.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word!” she snapped. “You don’t care about me!”
“I would kill for you,” I shot back, getting in her face.
The incredulous look on her face, like she didn’t know if she should be touched or laughing, mimicked exactly what was happening in my head right now.
Yes.
It kind of just came out, but I thought it was true. At one time, I would’ve killed for Michael, Kai, and Will. I might still.
But I’d definitely kill for Erika and Banks. They may not like me a whole lot, but they understood me.
I pushed her knife off my neck and looked down at her.
“Now I’m impressed, but you’re on the wrong side,” I told her.