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“Tell me more about you, Damian.”
He glanced down at his jutting erection and back at her in disbelief. “Right now? Are you serious?” When she nodded solemnly, he groaned.
“You haven’t even told me exactly what it is that you do.”
“That’s basic information you can find online.”
Abby huffed. “Okay, never mind that. How did you get your start? How did you become so successful?”
“By working hard. Share that with all the kids.”
“Damian.”
“Abby ...”
“You’re deliberately being difficult.”
“Yes, because I don’t like being interrogated.”
“What, have you been arrested before or something?” she asked.
Well, that was random. His suspicion rose. Or, maybe her question wasn’t so random. He slowly sat up, his expression dark, causing Abby to clamp her mouth shut. She seemed afraid. Good. She should be. “I’m starting to think you’re fishing for information about me for nefarious reasons.”
Her eyes widened to saucers. “W-what …? No, I ... Why would you think that?” Lifting the sheet to cover her naked body, she angled her chin defiantly. “Are you always this paranoid?”
“Cautious, not paranoid. I don’t trust so easily, Abby, and with good reason. So, why all the questions all of the sudden?”
She swallowed, averting her gaze. He watched her like a hawk observing prey. “I like you.” The words that were barely audible.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, I like you … You’re not as awful as everyone says.”
“Thanks …,” he said.
Abby turned to him. “Maybe I am fishing for information, but it’s only because you’re a mystery to me, and I’d feel more comfortable knowing who I’m sleeping with.”
“All you need to know is that I can make you scream and come like …”
“No need to finish.” She shoved a hand though her hair, her movement agitated. “I honestly just wanted to know a little more about you. Now, I feel like an idiot. Obviously, we’re just ... having sex.”
“What’s so wrong with that?”
She lowered her head to conceal whatever emotion flickered in her eyes. “Absolutely nothing. I just thought ...”
“Thought what?” His lips formed a thin line. “That I like you enough to spill my guts, share my darkest secrets? Rumor has it that I drove your daddy to kill himself, Abby. And it's no secret that I hate your family. Why would you delude yourself into thinking I like you that much to share even the slightest detail of my life?” He’d lashed out unnecessarily, he knew. But what she was making him feel was frightening, and he had to put a stop to it. She’d quickly become an addiction…and if he didn’t try to end things soon, he might never be able to.
Abby’s sharp intake of breath and trembling lips brought on his first wave of guilt. He expected her to lash out with nasty words of her own. He supposed that was what he wanted her to do to make him feel less like a jerk.
She scooted out of bed and scampered to the bathroom. He winced when the door slammed, and then he slowly sat up. He wiped a hand over his face, wanting so badly to not feel like an asshole. He’d let many women loose with harsher words. So why did he have the urge to pound on the bathroom door to check on Abby?
He moved to get up but paused. What would he say to her? If he knocked, and she opened the door in tears, he’d have no idea how to handle the situation. “You could try apologizing,” he told himself quietly. Had he been so out of touch that he’d forgotten simple social niceties such as issuing an apology?
Still, he didn’t knock on the door. When he got up, he marched out of the bedroom, instead. Maybe it was best if he gave her space and apologized when she decided to come out of the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, he still sat in the kitchen, waiting for Abby so that he could pour her a cup of coffee as a peace offering. Damian scowled, hating that he’d hurt her feelings so much that she might never show her face. Just as he got up to make sure she was still alive upstairs, footsteps were heard coming down the stairs.
“About damn time.” He’d waited so long he had almost forgotten the apology he had rehearsed. Abby didn’t come looking for him as he’d expected. Instead, he heard the front door open and close. “What the hell?”
