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Tristan Caine spoke, his eyes never straying from hers. “Mutual interests weren’t so mutual anymore.”
Seriously?
She hadn’t risked her neck for this. He needed to give her something.
Mulling over the next question in her head, her senses alert, she slid the gun across the table, where he stopped it with his hand, keeping a casual palm over it, that huge, huge palm covering the entire gun.
He considered her for a second in silence, before tilting his head to the side, his mouth curling deliberately in the imitation of a smirk even as his eyes remained blank.
“How do you like to be fucked, Ms. Summers?”
Her breath caught in her throat. Shae was aware of the lewd men in the room who started laughing around her. She felt her body flare with anger, the blood rushing through her system in a tornado as her chest tightened, her fists clenching under the table.
And through the haze of red, she saw something that suddenly gave her pause.
His eyes.
Those magnificent blue eyes – not laughing, not cruel, not even heated. Just completely blank.
His face was cruel. His eyes were not.
Clarity returned suddenly with a rush. He was goading her. Trying to throw her off her game. Deliberately doing the one thing she’d been pretty obvious about enraging her. She was handing him the gun to shoot her with.
Morana blinked, taking a small breath to cool herself and deliberately curled her lips up in imitation of his. She let her body remember the time his fingers had been inside her, his breath hot on her neck, his cock pressing into her back.
She gave him a heated look from under her lashes and murmured in a low, sexy, just-fucked bedroom voice.
“Like I’m going to feel it every time I walk.”
Something flared sharply in his eyes for a second before it was gone. She’d have missed it had she blinked. But she hadn’t bli
nked. She’d seen it, and she knew he’d be remembering the question he’d asked her against the wall of her father’s house. The question she hadn’t answered for him.
One of the older men with a wicked mustache whistled loudly before speaking, “Come home with me tonight, baby. You’ll feel it for the next month.”
Everyone chuckled. Fucking bastard. She was fucking another asshole at the moment, so her schedule was full. Tristan Caine didn’t react to any of the men, just slid the gun back to her.
Six shots. Six questions. This was her last one.
Morana thought the question over for a minute, before wording it carefully.
“What happened to break the Alliance?”
She should have known he wouldn’t answer if he didn’t want to.
“The two parties disagreed on matters but didn’t want a war. Alliance ended.”
Morana exhaled, closing her eyes for a second. She’d lost her chance. She’d lost the one chance she’d had to make him answer some questions, and exposed her hand in the process.
She slid the gun back to him when suddenly, her heart started pounding.
It was the last shot. The last question. And something told her he wouldn’t waste it.
Morana felt her heart hammer in her chest as, for the first time, he picked up the gun, leaning back in his chair, completely relaxed yet ready to launch into action in a second, the barrel pointed at her chest.
His intention to shoot her in the heart became clear if she gave an answer he didn’t like.
Her hands shook as she held them together, keeping her jaw locked tight, her gaze trapped in his blue one.
