I try for nonchalance. “I’m playing at Mata Hari. Except the only person I’m spying for, is me.” I pull at his tie, loosening it so I can undo the top button of his shirt. When I find a tattoo lurking behind it, I undo a few more. Enough to lay my palm flat against the inked representation of a wolf. “Now tell me all your secrets.”
“Can’t I tell you later? It’s going to be a real mood killer.”
“No. Stop putting it off or I’ll just think the worst.”
He catches my hand. His eyes are so dark now, it’s hard to tell the iris from the pupil. “I doubt your worst is the same level as mine.”
“If she was involved in having Sophia abducted, she probably got what she deserved.” His face remains impassive and my shoulders tense again. “Wasn’t she involved?”
He shakes his head and my stomach drops.
“But… why?”
“By the time I found that out, she was too far gone.”
Too far gone.The words are small, far too innocuous for what he must mean. I try to imagine something softer than what my mind first provides but nothing fits.
How else am I meant to believe the monster from a hundred different news cyclesfinds things out?What other than him hurting her moved Emmaline to the realm oftoo far gone.
Baxter’s eyes lock on mine. Observing, analysing, filing every movement away inside his head. I see the computations taking place but don’t have a clue what solution they’re calculating.
I’m more certain of the formulas working inside my head. The ones that are tussling to work out what x must be if loyal employees are disposable while a woman he’s only just met is meant to be safe.
The equation doesn’t add up… yet, but if I keep asking questions maybe some of the other abstract figures will fall into place.
“You found Sergio yet?”
He gives a small nod and finally his eyes break away as he brushes some strands of hair back from my face. “We did. He’s being kept under observation for the moment, then he’ll be questioned and disposed of.”
Like putting the rubbish bin on the side of the road for the truck to collect.
Maybe it is like that for him.
“You murder many people?”
“I try for the smallest number necessary.”
“Necessary for what?”
“To get what I need.”
Since my drink is out of reach, I help myself to a gulp from his glass, shuddering as the liquid hits me wrong and leaves a coarse trail of fire down the back of my throat.
“Careful.”
The burn doesn’t stop me from taking another mouthful, leaving the glass empty. Baxter takes it from my hand and replaces it on the table.
“You know,” he says, pushing his fingers into my hair and tugging out the silver combs. “I prefer your hair down.”
As he continues to loosen it until the dark locks curl down over my shoulders, I struggle to find my voice. When I do, it comes out softer than butter left in the sun. “Why did you include the combs in your gift boxes, then?”
His lips buzz my ears as he whispers, “So I could pull it down, just like this.” He takes my right hand in his, guiding it down until it bumps against his rigid length. “Can you feel how hard you make me?”
There are so many things I could say, want to say, but all that emerges from my lips is a whimper. My stomach curdles at the sound; the last thing I need in my life is another alpha male taking charge.
You’re an adult. You’re allowed to do adult things with adult men when you want.
But my mind slaps back at the thought because that’s a luxury only afforded to those who exercise good judgement. Getting involved with the man whose lap I’m sitting on right now can’t end well.
