“Let you have a knife? After I just spanked your little arse? No.”
I love the shade of pink that creeps up her neck and cheeks as she stares at the ink on my forearms. Her gaze traces the lines like she wants to touch them.
We eat in almost amiable silence.
“Thought you'd protect me,” she mutters, but she’s looking up at me from beneath lowered lashes. If I knew how easily she’d melt when I spanked her, I’d have taken her across my knee the first night.
“Mm…” I grunt, forking an entire meatball and chewing it thoughtfully.
“Well, that wasn't very nice of you.”
“The spanking?”
I meet her eyes as heat creeps up her neck, and she nods wordlessly.
“I never said I was being nice.” I set my fork down and lean forward. “Again. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Do you hear me?”
Her eyes meet mine, uncertain.
“What if you have to go away again?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I wish I could make you understand how serious I am about keeping you safe.”
She's quiet for a moment, then shifts in her seat, wincing again. “Did you… Did you get what Lancelot needs?”
“Aye. It's in the car. I'll bring it up after dinner.”
“Thank you.” She pauses, her fork hovering. “Where'd you go today?”
“Had to go back to the family house. Business to attend to.” I take another sip of water, watching her over the rim of the glass. “You want wine, lass?”
“Aye,” she says, “I'd fucking love a glass of wine.”
This time, I don't mention anything about her language. I swear like a goddamn sailor. I'm sure as hell not going to censor her.
“Right.” I push up from the table and walk over to the refrigerator. The wine I pull out is perfectly chilled—waiting for her.
“It's my favorite kind, of course,” she says quietly, watching me. “It's creepy, you know?”
“Aye, you mentioned that.” I grab a glass, then pour slowly, letting her watch. “I wasn't going to waste my time buying something you wouldn't like, was I?”
“I suppose not.” She shifts in her seat, and I catch that wince again. “Still creepy.”
Get used to it.
I bring the glass back to her, setting it down close enough that our fingers brush. She doesn't pull away. “I know what you like, Bianca. All of it.”
Her breath catches, just barely, but I hear it.
“You're not drinking?” she asks, recovering.
“No.” I settle back into my chair, my eyes on her as she lifts the glass. “Someone's got to stay sober. Make sure you don't do anything foolish.”
She takes a sip, and Christ, the way her lips touch the rim makes my jaw tighten. I don’t know what brought down her guard. Being carried back to the cabin by me?
The kiss?
The spanking?
