She holds my gaze too long again. This time, she doesn’t look away first. That’s new. Something in the line of her shoulders settles. Small, but it’s there.
“I’m not going to make this harder,” I add. “You’re not in the kitchen. You’re not at work. You’re not in debt right now. You’re eating breakfast on my balcony because I wanted to feed you and because you needed to be fed. That’s all this plate and this moment ask from you.”
She swallows. The ragged edge at her throat makes itself known. She touches there, reflex. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You can ask me ten,” I say, then add, “However, I can’t guarantee an answer.”
“Are you…Are you going to expect me to pretend I didn’t—” She shuts her eyes and shakes her head. “Never mind. That’s not the question.” She opens them again. “Was this—last night—some sort of…”
My eyes harden, and so does my expression. “No,” I bite out, shocking her a bit.
Her eyes shoot to mine, a bit fearful, when I push the chair back and stand abruptly.
“Let me be clear about one thing,” I say and lean across the small table to lift her chin with my finger. I feel her swallow. “I don’t sleep with women for money. I don’t need to, and I don’t chooseto. What happened last night had nothing to do with your debt or employment. I hired you to cook, not suck my cock.”
Color bursts high and bright on her cheeks, and she tries to pull away, but I catch her chin with my hand and hold it firmly, keeping her eyes on mine.
“Do. You. Understand?” I ask slowly, deliberately.
Her breath puffs out, and she tries to nod. Again, I tighten my grip on her chin.
“Use your words, mia,” I order. “When I ask you a question, use your words.”
“Do you understand?” I ask again.
Her throat works. “Yes,” she says, steadying her voice. “I understand.”
“Good.” My grip softens; I slide my thumb along her jaw and let her go. “What I want from you is the same thing I wanted last night—you. But not out of obligation. Not leverage. If you want space, I’ll give it to you, and we’ll talk business like adults later. But don’t rewrite what happened into something it wasn’t.”
She exhales, a small, shivery thing that leaves her shoulders lower than before. Her eyes flick to the plate, then back to me. “Okay,” she says. She picks up her fork, breaks the yolk, and drags bread through the gold. Some of the color in her cheeks evens out; the line between her brows loosens.
Little by little, she’s relaxing back into her chair.
I don’t want that.
“So, what’ll it be?” I ask.
My question brings her eyes back to mine.
“Do you want space? Do you want to take time alone to think? Maybe take a walk through the fields, clear your mind?” I gesture with my chin at the vineyards shimmering under the bright morning sun.
“Or do you want to stay right here. And fuck?”
Her fork clatters against the plate. Her mouth opens, her eyes tear up, but no words come out. She stares at me like I’ve started speaking in tongues.
"Well?" I ask, arching a brow.
She swallows again, but she meets my eyes.
"I want... to fuck," she breathes.
My grin is slow, full, and dangerous.
"Good." I step around to her side of the table. "Now, get inside and get naked. Now."
Chapter Thirty One
Bianca
