“I’m staying for now. On one condition.”
His dark eyes darkened, and his intense gaze turned into a burning glare. “That is?”
“You be honest with me. Answer my questions.”
“So you want to get intimate with me?”
My mind immediately went to sex, even though as a sex therapist I knew intimacy had many layers. As soon as I thought of sex, though, my pussy clenched and my neck and face grew hot. Perhaps it was because men usually equated intimacy with sex.
“Yes.”
“How intimate?”
“Very. But that won’t happen unless you open up to me.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Why did you really keep your last appointment? From what Trace told me, Scarlet is out of the picture, but he won’t tell me where she is. Last I checked, you are still married to her.” My voice remained calm, which amazed me. On the inside, I felt like I was a quivering mass of jello. Cherry red jello, but still jello.
“Did you want some calamari? The breading they use on it here is outstanding.” He motioned to the plate piled high with golden calamari on the table between us.
“No. I want you to answer the question.”
He breathed in deeply. It wasn’t a sigh. It was deeper. Longer.
“I believe in honoring all my obligations. The pre-nuptial agreement was one of those obligations. The other was…” He paused as he measured my reaction.
“Was?”
“My obligation to you. I said I would meet with you ten times and pay you a specific sum of money. I honored that as well.”
“So, I’m a financial transaction to you.”
“I love it when you get your hackles up.” He leaned forward, placing both of his forearms on the table. His wicked smile elicited images of kissing the lips on his handsome face.
“So now you’re comparing me to a dog?”
“I see you more like a cat. Sleek. Graceful. Aloof.”
“You consider me aloof? You? Mr. Dark Eyes, who is all glare and no share?”
He laughed, a deep baritone chuckle that immediately made me lower my guard.
I pulled the plate of calamari closer, placed some on my appetizer plate, then dipped one in some marinara sauce before placing it delicately into my mouth. Leaning back in my seat, I chewed on it slowly and examined him.
He leaned back with his glass of merlot and took a sip. His eyes looked over the top of the glass, never breaking contact with my own. The intensity in them ratcheted up as he focused on me as if he was perusing a menu.
Was I on the menu? Hell, yes, I was. He was too. Dirk was a fine steak, best served rare. I was dessert. A cheese cake with cherries and sauce dripping from me.
“When you left on Monday, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I thought you had gotten what you needed from me and would never come back.”
“How did that make you feel?” He asked, flipping roles on me.
“I felt used. I felt bereft. When you left, I didn’t know if I would ever see you again.”
“You have so little faith in me, Reggie.”
“Faith?”
