“You’re going to be disappointed with my answers,” she says with a weary note to her voice. “She barely told me anything. I was speaking out of anger when I saw you.”
“You came to my bar, you looked for my family. You tried to shoot me.” With every sentence, she cowers more and more. “There’s a reason for those actions.” She nods solemnly.
“What are you going-”
“Just sign,” I cut her off and she moves her focus to the empty glass. My pulse is racing, my nerves on edge. And yet, she looks so … unaffected by the weight of what’s to come. Like some part of her has given in.
“I need this as much as you do.”
Her huff is nothing but sarcastic. Easy, I remind myself. Go easy on her now. It will be different later.
“It will be an escape from the pain if nothing else. You need it,” I tell her and this time her expression changes slightly, as if she’s so very aware of the agony that mourning is. It’s also an aphrodisiac. There is never a more relevant time to be touched, or to be loved than when someone you love is gone.
“You want another glass?” I offer with a slight teasing tone to lighten the mood, an asymmetric grin pulling at my lips when she peeks up at me through her thick lashes.
“I may have had more than enough already.”
The sofa groans as she leans back on it, reading the single sheet of paper once again.
The faint light from the disappearing sun kisses her skin as the loose shirt slips down her shoulder and she has to readjust it. She doesn’t look back at me as she does. With her legs bent, her bare feet resting on the edge of the sofa and a thin blanket thrown over her lap, she looks far too casual for this moment.
As if that exposed skin of hers wasn’t everything I’ve been thinking about since I first saw her across the bar. As if I don’t want to rip that shirt off of her and devour every inch of her body with open-mouth kisses, dragging my teeth along her skin and making her that much more sensitive for what I’m going to do to her.
There are moments in time, pauses in your reality, where you realize this instant will be a memory forever. Something that will never leave you. I’ll remember this one forever.
I hope I never forget how the adrenaline is rushing through me, how eager I am. I want to remember it all. Every single detail.
I’ll remember it, and I’ll have to, because I’m going to lose her. She’s not meant to be mine.
That doesn’t mean I won’t take her, though.
“If I say no?” she asks, her wide hazel eyes searching mine for something.
“It doesn’t happen.” There’s no hesitation in my answer.
“If I say stop?”
“It stops.”
“Why do it then? Why would you do this?” she asks with her brow furrowed.
“Because I know you want it. I know you need it.” She’s silent in return.
“This would never hold up in court,” she says, finally breaking the quiet.
“I have no desire to ever see you in a courtroom, Miss Fawn. I didn’t even intend to write this down; I only did it because I thought you would respond better, maybe even listen to what I’m offering, if it was written in black and white.”
“And what is it you’re offering exactly, Mr. Cross?”
“Answers, and an escape, a way to pay a debt I know you can’t afford.” My gaze stays on hers, holding her in place until she gives me an answer. “This is a world you know nothing about, Bethany, and I’m willing to bring you into it. I’m willing… and you’d be wise to take this deal.”
“Call me Beth.” She corrects me without looking at me as the pen scribbles her signature, right on the line next to mine.
Desire sinks into my blood in an instant, surging through every fiber of my being as the paper and pen find themselves on the coffee table. Signed on the dotted line.
“I’ll go easy on you,” I tell her as I stand up, preparing myself to show restraint. She stays where she is, pretending not to be affected in the least.
“Is that right?” she asks as I pour a glass of wine. She stares at the dark liquid swirling before speaking out loud. “I’m already a little further than the right side of tipsy, Mr. Cross.”
I fucking love the way she said my name. My cock stiffens, immediately hard just from having her obey me, having her speak to me like this. There’s something about a fiery woman submitting that makes me lose all control and focus, giving it all to her.
“It’s for me,” I point out and take a sip. It’s cheap wine, but decent enough.