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‘I think we should stick to business from here on out, Mr Valente,’ she said stiffly.
But the boy turned man who wore the scarred consequences, and understood what an ill-thought-out plan to procreate for the hell of it could produce, wasn’t ready to let this go.
‘So you can get to the more urgent business of asking another man to give you a child?’ Again, his whole being reacted violently to Genie Merchant repeating her request to some other man. To offering her body to another to take, to touch. To fill with his seed.
With a barely stifled snarl, he launched to his feet, the untouched champagne spilling over his fingers as he stalked to the low glass wall bordering the terrace. He wasn’t even aware he was growling until she cleared her throat behind him.
‘I believe your social cues are abandoning you, Mr Valente.’ The sharp click of her setting down her glass on the coffee table made him turn around. ‘Perhaps we should take this back up in the morn—’
‘No!’ Her eyes widened at his tone, and he forced himself to inhale slowly. ‘No.’ He modulated his voice. ‘Consider the matter dropped.’For now.It wasn’t...shouldn’t concern him what she did with her new-found wealth. Or her body.
She tilted her head, studying him like a new strain of code she found interesting. When his body started to react to that too, he surged forward.
‘The subject of children...unsettles you,’ she murmured, open curiosity stamped on her face.
He clenched his teeth. ‘The frivolity with which people pursue parenthood does, yes.’
Her eyes shadowed and, after a moment, she looked past him to the view. ‘I’m not a frivolous person, Mr Valente.’
‘Seve.’
Her gaze swung back to him. ‘What?’
‘Another request for you to call me Seve,’ he pressed with biting insistence alarming in its intensity.
She blinked. ‘Why?’ The question was filled with genuine curiosity. And burgeoning self-awareness that flared renewed heat in her cheeks.
‘Because it will please me.’
Her breath feathered out in a little rush. ‘Why would I want to please you?’
He shrugged. ‘Call it an experiment. Do it and see the result.’
She frowned. ‘Why—?’
‘Don’t overthink it, Genie.’
‘I rarely overthink. I give every matter an allotted amount of time. Then I move on.’
His lips twitched and once again he acknowledged how much he enjoyed their verbal jousting. It was almost enough to soothe his ruffled nerves.Almost.‘That’s not true, is it? You were dwelling on your disappointment when I came to your office this morning.’
Her throat moved and he vaguely registered that she was nervous. ‘You’re mistaken, I’m sure.’
He stared down into the bubbles in his drink for several moments. ‘Let’s make each other a promise. Let’s always be honest with each other.’
She considered it, her gaze once again flitting to the view before meeting his. ‘That’s acceptable.’
‘That’s acceptable, what?’ he enquired mildly, his tone at variance with the jangling nerves performing acrobatics within him. This was yet another absurdity he couldn’t figure out. And yet the compulsion raged without cease.
Her nostrils fluttered and for the longest second, he thought she would refuse. And then, ‘That’s acceptable,Seve.’
Perhaps the fates knew why he’d insisted. Because something clenched decadently inside him when she uttered his name. When she tilted her head, exposing the sleek, graceful line of her neck and asked, ‘Did I say it right?’
‘You know you did,’ he responded thickly. ‘Your perfectionism won’t let you get it wrong. Say it again,’ he commanded, pretty sure he was skirting some dangerous line but not caring in that moment.
‘Seve,’ she whispered, unconsciously sultry in a way that he suspected she wasn’t aware of, which made it all the more desirable.
‘Dios mío. Qué demonios está pasando?’he muttered, half expecting his inner voice would mock him for asking what the hell was going on.
