“You actually look sad about that. Would you like to have her around more often?” I tease.
You can tell a lot about a person by the way they treat the elderly and children, it’ll show how caring and nurturing they can be.
“I don’t want a kid if that’s what you’re asking,” he snaps, his tone setting me aback a little.
He gives me his back and opens the oven to baste the steak and closes it again. The temperature is set on low, so it’ll be a little while longer for the dinner to be ready.
“Why do you do that?” I blurt with my shoulders up around my ears. “You drag me away from my place of business, make demands of me, yet refuse to answer any questions about yourself. You know things about me that I’ve never told you, but this—this is the most approachable you’ve been.”
“Are you done?” he asks with his arms at his sides and his stare blank.
“No. I’m not done. Why did you bring me here? Why do you want me here? Is it because I saw you?”
He doesn’t respond. The only reaction is the tic in his jaw. He’s made it very clear early on that what he says goes. Me questioning him, making even the subtlest demand, goes against the rules he set for me the other day.
“It can’t be that,” I answer my own question. “Your brother made it really obvious that murder was the way to handle that. So why didn’t you? Why are you stringing me along, toying with me?”
“You’re here because I want you to be. Because we’re going to have dinner—”
“And what, fuck? That’s what you want right, my body?”
“If I wanted to fuck you, amore, I wouldn’t need to cook you dinner first to do so.”
I cringe at his words, anger bubbling in my gut. Jumping off the stool, I glare at him. “Fuck you, Easton,” I sneer and attempt to rush back toward the living room for my shoes and keys.
He’s right behind me, quicker than I’ve seen anyone move in my life, grabbing me by the biceps. “I’ve told you, don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to. I’m just being honest.”
His breath hits my hair, making it blow slightly and tickle the back of my neck as he leans down. A shiver runs the length of my spine, and goosebumps erupt over my skin. He’s so close I can smell him, and my stomach does somersaults. I shouldn’t want him even closer. I shouldn’t enjoy the adrenaline that courses through me by pissing him off, but I do.
It wasn’t my intention to upset him, but he’s a self-entitled prick who needs to be put in his place. “Let go of me, Easton.”
He inhales sharply. “No.”
I try to jerk from his hold, but his clutch tightens. “Just let me go home,” I beg.
He turns me around and stares into my eyes with a smirk. “Not going to happen, amore.”
“And why not?”
“Because I said so. We’re going to go back into the kitchen, eat, and then maybe I’ll take you home.”
I shake my head, laughing sarcastically. “You’re nothing like I expected.”
“Oh?” His eyebrow raises.
I nod. “You’re worse,” I spit.
He takes in another deep breath and releases it. “The only problem with your logic is that it’s based on fiction.”
He drops his hold on my arm, but I’m too enthralled by his statement to even move. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said.” He shakes out his shoulders then turns on his heel and walks away.
“No.” I stomp behind him. “You didn’t say what you wanted. You gave me the smallest bit and expect me to put the fucking puzzle pieces together. How can I do that without the whole picture? This entire time, you’ve only let me see a glimpse, a microscopic image, of what you want. You did it at the club, you’re doing it now, and you’ll probably continue to do it in the future. And I’m sick of it. You know everything there is to know about me but won’t give me anything in return. That’s not how relationships work, Easton.”
A playful smile pulls at his lips. “Relationship? Is that what this is?”
I shake my head and throw up my arms. “Point fucking made.”
