“What?” His remote slips out of his hands as he stares at me as if I’ve sprouted a second head.
“Not me. I wouldn’t peg you.” I realize what I said and… Oh, my God. No, I didn’t. I didnotjust blurt out to this man that I wouldn’t peg him.Peg. Him. Implying I would anally penetrate him with a dildo. Please, if there is a god, strike me dead because there is no recovering from this level of mortification. “What I mean is, I’d neverjudgeyou, and you shouldn’t judge others. Also, you don’t have to be such a sore winner.”
Because scolding him to gloss over my unintentional double entendre is the way to go.
Good job, Kerri.
For my next trick, let’s see if I can’t accidentally kick him in the balls.
“Is there any other way to win?”
His audacity swaps my embarrassment with frustration. “Graciously, Havoc. You can win graciously.”
He licks his lips and takes my measure, a hint of dark humor lighting his eyes. “Only someone content with second place would spew that bullshit.”
I scoot away from him before I do something stupid, like follow through with my need to connect my fist to his arrogant face. “You’re deliberately being contentious.”
“For someone who isn’t a sore loser, you’re sure as hell acting like one.”
“No, I’m not,” I insist between gritted teeth. “You’re deliberately provoking my temper. Why?”
Havoc pushes his enormous frame off the sofa and strolls to the kitchen. “Why not?”
“It’s not nice.” I follow him, baffled by his flippancy. “And we were having such a good time.”
“I’m still having a good time.” He pulls out a bowl and the ingredients to make us a salad for lunch.
I jump at the chance to chop vegetables, if for no other reason than to have something to do with my hands besides strangle him. “Well, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are.”
I want to deny his bold assumption, but I can’t because he’s not wrong. We’ve been at the Death Star for three days. During this time, I’ve had more fun with Havoc doingnothingthan I have doingsomethingwith anyone else.
“Tell me, Duchess, what does one do in Brighton?”
For a moment, I blink blankly at him. It’s as if he peered into my mind. But then it registers how he spit out the wordBrightonlike it’s poison in his mouth.
“We rich folk gather our servants in the pit, and whoever’s last in the race of polishing our silverware gets executed. Same old game as anywhere else, I suppose.” I chop a cucumber and toss the pieces in a bowl. “But if you’re asking whatIdo, I work at my father’s law firm.”
He stops slicing a pepper and shoots me a cynical glare. “Working for your daddy doesn’t count as a job.”
“Says who, you?” It’s tempting to toss the knife at him. “That’s bullshit. I’m at the office from seven in the morning until six, seven, sometimes eight at night. Rain, snow, sleet. I’m there Monday to Saturday, without fail. I’m more reliable than the damn US mail. So don’t you dare belittle what I do because I work for my father.” I drag a glare over him, taking his measure from head to foot, and let out a nasty laugh. “You have some nerve, don’t you? To most people, you’re a thug. They see a criminal who belongs behind bars. But I’ve never judged you. Yet here you are, judging the hell out of me since day one.” I jab a finger right in his face. “And watch your fucking tone when you talk to me.”
I slam the knife on the counter, spin on my heel, and march out of the kitchen before I murder him. How dare he glare down his arrogant nose at me. It usually takes a lot for me to lose my temper, but apparently, Havoc has the magic touch. Or maybe I’m sensitive because this has to do with my father.
Or I don’t like how he’s judging me—and finding me lacking—given the blood that stains his hands.
The audacity of him.
I make it to the bedroom when Havoc’s iron grip clamps around my arm. He turns me, and suddenly I’m face-to-face with him. Well, nose to chin. The man stands over six feet. Like Faith says, they grow them big in the mountains. Sturdy as well, because when I give him a shove with my free hand, he doesn’t move.
Not one inch.
“What?”
“I’m sorry.” Never in the history of apologies has anyone ever sounded more uncomfortable issuing one. I’d bet my life on this.
Part of me wants to draw this out, but to what end? For what purpose? For the sake of being bitchy? I don’t need to add a fight with Havoc to my already full plate.
