“Why do I feel like I’m the only one taking these questions seriously?” he grumbled. “And why are they so probing? Why didn’t we start with some light shit?”
“Like what? Favorite color? What types of music we like? What we do for fun?”
“Exactly.”
“Really deep insights into our personalities, those.”
“Fine, how about something more practical? How do you take your coffee?”
“Splash of cream, two sugars.”
“Predictable,” he huffed.
She sneered. “Let me guess. You drink yours black.”
“I prefer tea in the morning, thank you very much. How old are you?”
Mireille feigned a shocked gasp. “How dare you ask a lady such a question? How old do you think I am?”
Ronin rubbed his jaw, trailing his gaze down her torso. “You don’t look a day over six-hundred.”
“Fuck you,” she chuckled. “I’m three-hundred-and-eleven. You?”
“Three-hundred-and-twenty-eight. Kinks?”
“Ex-excuse me?” Mireille sputtered.
He folded his arms on the table. “If we’re supposed to have been seeing each other for months, I’d certainly know a few of yours by now, don’t you think?”
“I’m not sharing that,” she answered primly, unable to meet his penetrating stare.
“Ropes.” He traced small circles on the tablecloth with his fingertips, relishing the blush creeping up her neck that told him he’d guessed correctly. “Or silks. Or handcuffs. Any kind of restraint, really. You’re completely in control everywhere else, so I’m guessing you like to give that up in the bedroom, let someone else take the lead for a change.” His eyes darted to her small, trembling fists. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“No one is going to probe us about each other’skinks, Ronin.”
“Well, just in case they do, mine are?—”
“No fuckingway.” A low, female voice broke through the din, and a Windrider with yellow wings sauntered over to their table. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
Mireille shifted in her seat, uncomfortable not only with the attention of the female, but the attention her outburst had attracted to their table.
“Hello, Juliet,” she murmured, toying with her wine glass.
Juliet’s eyes slid toward Ronin, then back to Mireille, a sly smile parting her lips. “Who’s your friend?”
Ronin leaned back, drumming his fingers and watching with amusement as Mireille squirmed.
“This…this is my boyfriend.” She wrenched the word through gritted teeth. “Ro?—”
“Ronin Matakos,” Juliet interrupted, offering Ronin a slim hand, her eyes glittering with joy. “I know who you are.” She turned back to Mireille. “My, youdokeep your secrets, Mireille. How long have you two been dating?”
“A few weeks,” Mireille answered at the same time as Ronin said, “Several months.”
Juliet’s gaze bobbed between them, a confused look passing over her face. They probably should have discussed this before they’d come out together tonight.
Ronin laughed softly, then plucked up Mireille’s hand from the table, which had gone cold and clammy. He brushed a thumb over her knuckles. “What I meant is, I’d been pursuing her for months before she finally deigned to give me a chance a few weeks ago. In case you hadn’t noticed, this one plays rather hard to get.”
Mireille flinched at Juliet’s knowing laughter, and Ronin squeezed her hand.
