Her chest is rising too fast, too shallow. Her cheeks are flushed, lips parted, pupils wide. Her thighs are pressed tight together under the table like she’s holding herself in place.
Beautiful. Fucking… beautiful.
“Eat your toast, Red,” I say, casual, like I didn’t just wind her tight around her own nerves. “King will want to talk to you again when he gets back.”
It takes her a beat to find her voice. When she does, it’s wrecked.
“That’sit?” she demands. “You’re just going to— you’renot—?”
I grin, all teeth. “Mmm,” I say. “Notyet.”
Frustration explodes across her face. Pure, molten, furious want. She looks like she could throw the mug at my head andthen climb into my lap and devour me for withholding. It’s perfect. It’s art. I want to frame it and hang it in Caelum’s office.
“Mateo,” she hisses.
My name in her mouth hits like heat. I lean back in my chair, spread my knees a little wider, make a show of looking her over slow, hungry, unhurried. “Yes, cariño?”
She swallows. “I hate you.”
I laugh, soft and delighted. “You’re going to sound so pretty when you stop saying that.”
Her jaw clenches. “You’re disgusting.”
“And you,” I say, letting my gaze drop to her mouth one last time, “are going tobeg.”
Color floods her throat. She shoots to her feet so fast her chair scrapes. Her voice comes out tight, shaking with anger and… something else. “You’re not getting that drive.”
I look up at her, lazy. Pleased. “Oh, I will,” I purr. “But I’m not going to take it from you.”
Her breath stalls. I smile. “I’m going to have you give it to me.”
Her whole body stutters.
And then — because I’m merciful when I want to be — I lean back and wave a hand, easy. “Go on. Take five. Breathe. Splash water on your face. Tell yourself you still hate me. It’ll help. For now.”
She glares at me like she wants to stick a fork in my throat. And she’s blushing. She’s trembling. Then she leaves. Not running, though she might as well be.
I watch her go, appreciative.
When she’s gone, I let the grin drop. Just for a second.
I scrub a hand over my mouth and exhale through my nose, low. Because here’s the very inconvenient, very dangerous truth…
She’s going to be aproblem.
Not because of her mouth. Or even because of her brother. Not even because of that damn drive. Because that girl just sat in my kitchen, shaking and furious and starving for something she doesn’t have the language for yet — and she still told meno.
That kind of spine? That kind of hunger wrapped around defiance? That’s the kind of thing menkillfor.
That’s the kind of thing men start wars over.
And that, I think, finishing my coffee and licking her taste off my thumb where I touched her skin, is going to be fucking fun.
Chapter 9
Rook
London’s still wet when I come back.
