She stops short, thinking about her response for a moment. She looks conflicted as her eyes move to the house for a moment. “Aisling is nice,” she says instead of answering my question.
“I know.”
“She told me her story.”
“Did she now? How forthcoming.”
“Is it true?”
“Which part?”
“Was she abducted and sold into sex slavery?”
I wince. That story never fails to boil my blood. “Yes.”
“And you saved her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I raise my eyebrows, partly insulted by the question. “Why?”
“What was in it for you?” she asks.
My expression hardens. “Ah, I see. You think that a man like me would never save someone unless I had something to gain.”
“I don’t think that; I know it.”
“I’d appreciate it if you stopped judging me by your brother’s standards,” I tell her harshly. “I’ve told you before: we may travel in similar circles, but we are very different men.”
“You’re both men who like control,” she points out. “Beyond that, what else matters?”
I incline my head a notch. “True. But in different contexts.”
She frowns. “Enlighten me.”
“Your brother seeks control because he’s deeply insecure. Asserting his dominance over the vulnerable people in his life is the only way he can stroke his bruised ego. It’s the easiest way for him to feel like a man.”
“And that’s not your thing?”
“I’m not interested in controlling anyone in my life. Especially not the women. In fact, there’s no bigger turn-on than a woman who knows her own mind.”
“Do I need to remind you that, until recently, I was chained to a bed in not one but two of your houses?”
“You are not a part of my life,” I tell her. “You are merely… business.”
Her jaw tightens. This time, I’m not sure what’s going through her head.
I go on. “If I had a wife or a girlfriend, I’d have no desire to control her. The only place in which I exert dominance is… privately.”
Her eyes go wide at the implied revelation. For a long time, she doesn’t say a word. I get the feeling she doesn’t know what to say. “Control is control no matter where you exert it,” she offers at last.
I smile and shake my head. “You’re wrong about that,” I tell her. “Control in the bedroom is like a mutually binding contract. Sometimes unspoken, but not always.” I meet her eyes. “It happens only if both parties want it to.”
“So if the woman you were with didn’t want to be dominated…”
“Then I wouldn’t do it,” I say simply. “That makes all the difference, really. I may be the one in control. But you’re the one with the power.”