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His eyes dropped momentarily. “You shouldn’t have called me.”
“I was worried—”
“Don’t ever worry about me.” His eyes were back on mine, commanding.
“That’s like asking me not to care about you. Impossible to do.”
He turned quiet, just watching me. “In case this isn’t obvious, I’m not the kind of man thattalks. I don’t control or temper my emotions. I scream. I yell. And I kill people. That’s how I express myself. So, when I’m angry—stay the fuck away from me.”
“You control your emotions with me.”
“You’ve never seen me angry.”
“I don’t know… You seemed pretty angry about Victor.”
He went quiet again, crafting his response in silence. “If I behaved the way I wanted to behave, this would be over. I had no other option but to remain calm.”
“You could have remained calm when I called. I just wanted to talk to you—”
“And I didn’t want to talk to you.”
“Then why did you answer?”
“Because if I didn’t, you would worry.”
I drank from my wine again. Didn’t bother to offer him any. “What made you so upset?”
There was a flash of anger across his face. “I told you I don’t talk.”
“But you do talk. You’ve told me about your parents, about the woman who made the biggest mistake of her life by leaving you, and the fact that you killed some asshole with your bare hands. You do talk, Bartholomew.”
He looked away slightly and released a chuckle. “Biggest mistake of her life…”
“What?”
He released a quiet scoff. “Nothing.”
I stared at the side of his face and waited for him to say something more, but he didn’t. “Point is, you share your life with me. Why is this any different?”
He looked at me again.
“Talk to me.”
He released a quiet sigh. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“I must warn you—I’m the villain in this tale.”
Goose bumps formed on my arms.
“You aren’t going to want to fuck me anymore after I tell you.”
“You still wanted to fuck me after I told you I was raped.”
“Not the same thing, sweetheart,” he said. “At all.” He watched me across the table, observing the features of my face.
“I can handle it.”
