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Her eyes widen slightly. I’m right.
“I have one more question.”
“That was number three.” Abruptly, she sits up. Since my hand is on her back, I apply a bit of pressure. She doesn’t get far.
“That was a statement. I didn’t ask a question. And you didn’t answer one.”
She settles against me again, her body more rigid than before. She appears to instantly sober even though that’s impossible given the number of tequila shots she’s had.
“Who are you, really?” I didn’t think she could stiffen more until her arms go as rigid as rebar. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked, but that question has been niggling at me since meeting her that first time. I continue my observations despite her resemblance to a startled doe. “You’re familiar with this life. Money doesn’t impress you. You own expensive lingerie, at least one designer dress and you walk in the shoes I bought you like you were made to. You don’t fit in middle class. You aren’t intimidated by being plunked in the middle of a crowd of rich folks. You’re confident. You’re poised. You’re an enigma, Vivian Vandemark.”
Her throat works as she swallows. Her eyes go to my bare chest and she smooths her palm over my pecs while she considers what, I have no idea. Then I figure it out. She thinks I have something on her. Something over her. My mind flashes to our dinner at Villa Moneta. How she kept dodging my questions. How her guard was sky-high. Cagey, this one.
My former life was filled with secrets and danger. Now my life is under my control. I sense I’ll never be able to truly know Vivian, and that in itself is a reason to pull away. But I want to know her more than I want to avoid the fallout from knowing her. Maybe it’s my white-knight syndrome. Or pure sexual attraction. Too soon to tell.
“I’m a woman who used to have more than I have now,” she admits, finally meeting my eyes. “I lost my wealth.”
“How?”
“You’re out of questions,” she informs me.
I stay silent and hope for more. She gives it to me.
“A man took it from me. A man I trusted. A man I loved. He wasn’t who I thought he was and when he left I was…bereft.”
Bereft. Another word I’m painfully familiar with. I cup her jaw tenderly, filled with the need to pound whoever made her feel bereft into the dirt. “Who is he?”
Tears shimmer along the edges of her eyelids. Rage roars through me like fire. I want to slay dragons for her. I want to right every wrong done to her.
“You mean so you can have break number four?” She touches my nose again.
“It’d be worth it.”
“He’s dead. No need to defend my honor.”
“And now you hate rich guys,” I guess.
“They’re not my favorite.”
“Yet here you are.” I grasp her hand in mine.
She laces our fingers together.
“This was inevitable.” She kisses me on the mouth, releases my hand and then falls back onto the couch with a yawn. “Bring me a blanket, will you?”
“You’re not sleeping on the couch.”
But she’s already dozing off. “Yes, I am.”
I stand and tuck my arms beneath her, intending to lift her and carry her upstairs. She shoves my chest.
“Blanket. I mean it,” are her final words before she conks out.
