“Desperate for what?”
He seemed to think about the question. “Silence? Peace?”
I was starting to sweat under my hoodie. I told myself it was the heat of the sun and not the proximity to Poe’s naked body, but I stood anyway, eager to put some distance between us. “I’m sorry. You’re trying to meditate and now we’re talking.”
“You don’t have to sit on a cushion,” he said. “Sit in the chair. Stand if you want.”
“To meditate?”
He shrugged. “It’s a state of mind.”
“I’ll pass,” I said.
He got to his feet, surprisingly graceful for such a huge guy. I forced myself not to look at his dick but it wasn’t as easy as I wanted it to be.
“Sleep okay?” he asked, pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants.
I remembered the camera in my room and felt a welcome surge of anger. Anything was better than having a friendly conversation with one of the men — a man who happened to be gorgeous, inked, and naked — who killed people and took female slaves for fun. “Yeah, but only because I didn’t realize until morning that there’s a camera in my room.”
He didn’t bat an eye. “You’re in our house.”
“You’re forcing me to be here.”
He lifted an eyebrow, and I hated to admit it, but he looked sexy as all get out leaning against the railing of the balcony, the sun shining on his chest, which looked more suited to an underwear model than some random guy from Southside. “Are we?”
I shifted on my feet. “Are you saying I can leave if I want to?”
His blue eyes threatened to drown me. “Do you want to?”
“Yes.” He was turning my questions back on me, leading me down a path I didn’t want to travel to a conclusion I didn’t want to reach. Because when I got right down to it, I’d come because I’d agreed to come when I’d entered the Hunt. “But I’m not a quitter and I don’t renege on a deal.”
“So you’re staying willingly then.”
“I guess.” I hated admitting it was true. “But I didn’t agree to cameras in my bedroom.”
“Our house, our rules.” He looked me over, his gaze brazen, like I was his to admire. “Aren’t you hot in that sweatshirt?”
The loft faced east, the sun rising over the trees in the preserve. Sweat had started to drip between my tits and under my arms. “No.”
He smirked. “You’ve got your gun under there, don’t you?”
I lifted my chin. “What if I do? Are you going to take it again?”
“We’ll let you keep it. For now.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Our house, our rules.”
“I have questions.”
He nodded and headed for the house, the pull of his body magnetic as he passed within a couple inches of me. “We can talk over breakfast.”
“Is that something I should be doing now?” He’d mentioned that I was there to cook for them — among other things (there are a lot of things I want you to do) — but I had no idea what the Butchers liked, what they wanted me to cook or when.
“Take the day to get settled,” he said, stepping across the threshold into the loft. “We’ll put you to work soon enough.”
25
