And that’s another reason I trust the bitch as much as I trust anyone, other than an auntie named Reetha Mae, to cook the macaroni and cheese on a Jesus holiday.
People say there’s a thin line between genius and insanity for a reason… And that reason is Ember Cross. She’s crossed back and forth over that line so many fucking times, she needs a visa by now.
“What is it that we have to discuss, Asad?” she asks from behind me. “You’ve already disrupted my yoga session, and I’m working on no sleep. Can we make this fast so I can take care of one of those two things?”
Where the fuck you been for all these hours?
Once more, the question blinks in my head like a twenty-four-hour diner sign, but I’ve been distracted enough. And if she’s been somewhere other than the lab, it isn’t like she’s going to tell me. Ember is more secretive than fucking KFC with that original recipe.
But I’ll find out.
I always do.
Until then, I need to get to why I’m here.
“Sit down.” I dip my chin toward one of the chairs in front of the dormant fireplace.
Her full lips roll inward, and her nostrils flare, but after a long moment, she heads toward the sitting area and sinks down onto one of the seats.
I follow her, the sweet and sharp scent leading me like I’m adoomed mouse caught up in the Pied Piper’s haunting and lovely snare.
Deliberately, I choose a chair with my back toward the windows, with her and the study doors in my view. Anyone looking in on us might mistake us for acquaintances, or even friends, being cordial and catching up with one another. They wouldn’t glimpse the proverbial line drawn in the sand visible to only the combatants sitting on either side of it.
During the long hours waiting on Ember to arrive, I went over how to approach her with my proposal. Ember was stubborn, could be petty, and if she didn’t fuck with you, would screw you over even if it meant going against her best interests. I fell into that last category. If we were trapped in a burning car, and freeing herself meant saving my life, we’d both just be two burnt muthafuckas.
So I need to tread lightly in how to approach her…
Fuck it.
“You’re going to marry me in a month.”
CHAPTER FIVEEmber
I blink.
Stare at Asad.
Blink again.
No, his stoic, flat expression doesn’t change. No bare hint of a smile. No glimmer of amusement in those gray eyes. Nothing.
Still, I laugh. And laugh. And laugh some more. I can’t stop. Every time it’s almost under control,You’re going to marry me in a monthechoes in my head, and I’m gone all over again. Tears sting my eyes, and wheezing out a breath, I press my fingers underneath them, wiping away the moisture.
“Whew. I needed that,” I rasp. “Who knew you had a sense of humor?”
“Are you finished?” he asks, voice even, void of emotion.
“Are you?” I curl my legs under me and yawn. “Thanks for the laugh, but your idea of a joke is weird as fuck, and I don’t get the punch line. Then again, I threw out any fucks I had left to give last night along with the leftover shrimp egg foo young. Should’ve broken in here yesterday.”
My unbothered tone is a charade and a shield. As Asad’s steady gaze roams over my face, moves lower to my breasts, stomach, and thighs, I force myself not to fidget or cross my arms in a fruitless effort to conceal the effect that stare has on my body. Because, fuck, it’s having an effect. My skin prickles with this awareness that’s damn near painful, like tiny needles. And I’m so disgusted with my hot-in-the-ass pussy, who can’t differentiatebetween the enemy and a less psychopathic potential lover who wouldn’t consider fucking foreplay to be murder.
“First thing I’m going to do after we’re married is tame that mouth. And make no mistake, I’m going to enjoy it.”
Slowly, I straighten, my spine pushing against the back of the chair. Panic flares inside me, hot and bright like an SOS to my brain that Asad isn’t fucking around. This whole marriage thing just might not be some sick joke. The last vestiges of humor evaporate under the heat of the dread and fear eddying in my belly, and I stare at him, at the coldness of his gaze, the aloof expression, as if threatening me with unholy matrimony bores him.
“Asad.” I carefully say his name. “What the fuck is going on? No more cryptic-ass messages.”
“Cryptic?” He tilts his head. “Tell me what I’ve said that confuses you.”
