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Instead, her eyes closed with a slight cringe. “I didn’t want to do this.”
“Do what?”
“You help me and you can have me.”
A chortle blasted from his lips. “I can have you? As in sex?”
Her eyes flew open. “Yes…I…”
“That is what you bring me?”
Her cheeks started to flush. “I thought…I thought…”
He laughed again. “Why would I want you? Have you ever even touched a man, set your tongue to his lips, to his cock?”
Her entire torso snapped ramrod straight, her jaw dropping with a gasp.
“Exactly.” He took a step to the side, slowly walking around her, appraising her from all angles. “Why would I want that innocence? Why choose that when I have a stable of women ready and willing and knowing exactly what to do with their tongues?”
By the time he rounded to the other side of her, the flush on her cheeks had deepened, crimson creeping into every corner of her flawless skin.
With a wicked exhale, she spun to him, her eyes ablaze. “You don’t have to humiliate me.”
“Frankly, I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Fine. I’m not attractive. I understand. So then do this for your mother, for what she wanted for us—she wanted us to have a future where we were bound by nothing except what we wanted in our hearts. Help me for what she wanted for us. For what she was to us.”
“My mother is dead.”
Cold. Harsh. The truth.
Her eyes shifted back and forth. Panic. This wasn’t going how she imagined it would. When they were nine she used to get anything she wanted from him. But that was a different time, a different place.
He started toward the door. “You’ll excuse me, Pen. This was grand, seeing you again, but I have a business to run. I’ll have my man escort you out of the rookeries and back to the Flagton home.” His hand reached out toward the door.
Footsteps thudded across the floor and she dove in front of him, her hand on his chest to stop him. “Wait. I have something. Something that you may want.”
“You’ve got nothing I’m interested in.”
“I’m quickly finding that out.”
His left eyebrow cocked.
“It’s from the past. From Belize.”
“Everything burned, Pen. Everything.” His hand reached up to remove her palm from his chest.
She held tight against his grip on her wrist, her fingers curling onto the top cut of his waistcoat. “No—I have something of your father’s.”
He stilled. “What? You have something of my father’s?”
“I do. I never told you.”
“How is that even possible?” His hand left her wrist and clamped onto the side of her neck, his thumb pressing into her throat, his voice rising. “What the hell do you have?”
She shook her head. He could smell the obstinate defiance in her.
“No, Strider. You help me first and then I will tell you. Show you.”
