Everett’s dark eyes shift to mine, and I have to admit, the hint of terror in the man pleases me. Out in ordinary society, he’s feared. Tatted, built, motorcycle club member. But here, he’s in my world. Maybe that’s the best reason to approve. I can stay ahead of this.
He waits for me to nod and then smiles at Mercy. “I appreciate that. Sorry about any misunderstandings. I’ll have the concierge set up the meeting.”
“Perfect,” she returns, and while much of her lightness is due to whatever she’s got coursing through her system, that poise she exhibits when she’s conquering something envelops her.
Worth it.
Our booth is ready upon arrival, so we take our seats, order drinks, and peruse the menu.
“Oh mygawd,” Mercy moans, practically drooling. “I want one of everything.”
I chuckle, wave the waiter over, and tell him to bring us the chef’s favorites from every category, instructing him to space the dishes out so we have time to savor. Mercy pipes up with a request for bananas Foster—my favorite dessert. She’s starving but thoughtful. Or trying to win my favor with food.
Two hefty sips into Mercy’s cocktail and a verbal vomit about her first week of lawyering, she slides her hand over my upper thigh. “So, I’ve been thinking we might need another contract.”
My dick jumps, all too eager, while I casually drink my Glenfiddich on the rocks. “Is that so? What type of contract do you have in mind?”
“An exchange of goods.” She pauses brilliantly—a courtroom pause that leaves the jurors salivating—and the halt in her voice is filled in by the crowd cheering through a rousing rendition of “Great Balls of Fire” as her fingers cruise further north. When the song drops, it provides a cinema-worthy opportunity for her to conclude her thought. “Farm goods.”
“What do I get for loaning my …goods?” I scrub my hand over my chin. “I can’t stick with this fucking farm analogy much longer.”
“That’s fair.” She chortles, light and free, but it’s masking something deeper. “I need to use it for one more parallel though. No one buys a farm without knowing everything about it. How everything works. And tastes.”
Going in for the kill. Immediately. She might want me, but she wants me off-balance enough to answer her questions more. I’d have done that anyway. No need to share that. I’ll guide her toward a solution for both instead.
“I would argue that in this circumstance, the prospective buyer knows more than most. But a queen should know what she wants to about the kingdom she’d be ruling.”
Her chest heaves as she peers at me from beneath the fringe of her lashes, suddenly nervous, but the buzz she’s nursing renders her unable to pull back. “Did you have someone in mind for that queen role?”
“I’m looking at her.” I lift her chin so she can’t avoid the truth in my response. “We’re not friends, Mercy.”
“You … that’s why you kept saying that.” She swallows as she licks her lips. “How long have you …” She shakes her head. “No, don’t answer that.”
“Why?”
“It will just make things harder. It’s already such a mess in my mind. We can’t change who we are or were or … that night …” She trails off as the waiter delivers our appetizers.
Once he’s left, I make her a plate. “What happened that night? What am I missing?”
She pops a crunchy brussels sprout in her mouth, chewing and chewing for a goddamn eternity. “I … this isn’t how I wanted to do this. I remember some things, a phone call, and you have information you’re keeping from me.” Her brown doe eyes findmine, and in them is a plea. “Let’s ignore all that and just focus on the taste.”
She bites into a crab-stuffed mushroom with a hum that wraps around my cock. Maybe I should interrogate her about the memories and phone call she’s referring to, but we’ll get to that. I’m too mesmerized by every satisfied groan of approval. She isn’t usually so uninhibited, but the marijuana has her off-kilter.
I lean in, shrinking this booth so little space remains between us, and press her for a different answer. “A taste of?”
Her gaze drifts from the food consuming her to my half-mast dick, slowly trailing up to my face. “You. I need to taste you.” She wipes her hands, tossing the napkin on the table. “Now.”
I really thought I was out ahead of her on this one, but I’m at a loss. No clue what the hell is happening here. Fucking with me? Yes. Succeeding? Also yes.
“Here?” I wave my hand around the packed restaurant—the bustling servers, howling patrons, lively music, and colored lights.
She nods. “I’m sure there’s someplace private in the walls, right?”
I arch a brow, intrigued. “Of course.”
I’ve never known Mercy to be aroused by the idea of getting caught, so this must be her bargaining chip. There are plenty of hidden spaces where I could call her bluff.
“So, what do you think?” She rakes her teeth over her lip, her brown embers sparking with desire. “Me, on my knees, getting an up-close view and feel and taste of the kingdom’s amenities?”
