But of course, James wasn’t satisfied with those terms. “Every time you don’t answer, I get something from you.”
“Christ,” Kit muttered again. “Like what?”
James’s gaze crawled up lasciviously up and down Kit’s body. Kit felt like he was wearing nothing at all instead of his shirt. “Just a kiss. That isn’t too much to ask, is it?”
Oh, good. That was better than a lot of options. Depending on what questions James asked, Kit might be paying a lot of forfeits.
James’s first question was easy, though. “Are you a virgin?”
“No.” Kit dipped his fries in the aïoli. “How many people have you killed?”
James laughed, unabashed. “Wow, personal. Let me think.” He counted a few rounds on his fingers, looking up as if deep in thought. “Counting my three last week on Bishop’s job, twelve.”
Kit believed him. Really, really believed him. The number should scare Kit. He should get up and walk away.
But once again, he didn’t.
James leaned in. “I phrased my first question badly. Lips like yours, you’ve obviously sucked cock. But have you ever had a cock in your ass?”
Kit’s cheeks heated. “No.” More of him heated at the look in James’s eyes. “Who else have you killed, and why did you kill them?”
James pointed at him. “That’s two questions. For the first, I can give you an itemized list when we’re not at a nice restaurant. For the second…” His face suddenly became somber. Wistful. “When you get a chance, search for Evelyn Zhou online. That’s z-h-o-u. Every kill is another step closer to the men who murdered her, her husband, and her daughters.” He shrugged. “Or it’s a favor to Bishop.”
Kit hadn’t expected to see so much pain in James’s eyes. His own throat tightened in response, and he was about to apologize when James’s terrible smirk returned.
“My turn for two questions.” James eyed Kit hungrily. “Did Bishop fuck you?”
The recent rejection stung in Kit’s memory. “No.”
James’s grin widened. “Second question. If I told you to move to the chair next to me, so I could jerk you off right here at the table, would you agree?”
Kit’s breath hitched. James’s gaze burned like touch over every visible piece of his skin. The naked lust was overwhelming. Intoxicating. Jeans suddenly uncomfortable, Kit didn’t even consider refusing to answer. Or lying. James wouldn’t believe a lie.
“Yes,” Kit said quietly.
Worth it, for the look of astonishment on James’s face—followed by ravenous delight. “Damn, babe. I was sure I was going to get a kiss with that one.”
Flushed, Kit sipped his water. “Not my fault you’ve been asking easy questions. How did you and Bishop meet?”
They paused while the waiter came by with their main course. When they were alone again, James answered, “We were both tracking the same white collar lowlife. Bishop was nice enough to let me interrogate the guy before he finished his job. I got his business card and hired him to find my next target. That was about four years ago.”
He said it as casually as if they’d met on the golf course.
Kit had never been golfing, though. Maybe it involved more murder than he assumed.
“Okay, I’ll stop giving you a hard time. That’ll come later.” James winked shamelessly over his deconstructed bacon burger. “Where are you from?”
Kit paused. Finished chewing his salad—the only thing on the menu that wasn’t “deconstructed.” Dropped his hands, so James couldn’t see him fiddling with his sleeves, but his every fear and insecurity felt magnified. Like his anxiety reflected from the gold rosette chandeliers.
“No comment,” Kit said.
James’s eyes lit up. “Are you throwing the game for me, pretty boy?”
Kit stabbed his salad. “Is that another question?”
James just chuckled. And then—his demeanor didn’t change, but his eyes shifted. Suddenly, his attention was no longer fully fixed on Kit.
Which shouldn’t annoy Kit so much.
