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Andrew drags the man in front of me. He’s all but shivering in his pants.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Henry.”
“Sir,” I say, finishing my pancake.
“Sir,” he parrots.
“Surname?”
“Botha. Henry Botha, sir.”
I wipe my hands on a napkin. “It’s your lucky day, Botha.”
He pales.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you. You’re delivering a message to Warren.”
His shoulders sag.
Getting into his face, I say in a dark tone, “Tell him I’ve got his daughter. Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, sir. You’re Roman Malan.” He corrects quickly, “Mr. Roman Malan.”
“That’s right.” I narrow my eyes. “Tell him I’ll be in touch. He knows what I want. If he decides to be stupid, his daughter will pay. I’ll punish her for every mistake he makes. Then I’ll deliver one of his men in a body bag.”
He drags his tongue over his cracked lips. “Yes, sir.”
“Take him,” I say to Andrew. “Drop him a few blocks from Warren’s house.”
Andrew pushes Botha ahead of him, leaving promptly.
Mateo glares at me.
I prepare a plate for Evie. “Say it.”
He follows my actions with a brooding gaze. “You didn’t state our demands.”
“Warren knows what I want.”
He clenches his jaw. “If he knows his daughter is damaged, he may not give you the diamond. You’re not telling, are you? You’ll let him find out after the deal is done.”
“Drop it, Mat.” My voice is quiet. “Like I said, it’s too late. She’s been damaged from the moment I carried her over my threshold.”
“You don’t have to do it,” he grits out.
“Think about it.” I pause to meet his eyes. “She’s living in my house and sleeping in my bed.”
“Yeah. Your bed. Whose fucking fault is that?”
“What will people think? Even if I never lay a finger on her, the damage is done. Her reputation is ruined.”
For some reason, I don’t tell him she’s no longer a virgin. A part of me needs to protect her honor, however twisted that is coming from the man who destroyed any honor she ever had to begin with.
He stabs a finger on the counter. “I’m not on board with this.”
My tone is dry. “So you said.” Getting to my feet, I take the plate. “The ball is rolling. We set it in motion, and we’ll see it through. The end goal is all that matters. Remember?”
He drags his hands over his head and says through clenched teeth, “Yes.”
“Good.” I pin him with a stare. “Since it’s settled, I don’t want to hear another fucking word about it.”
Giving him my back, I leave the kitchen and carry Evie’s breakfast upstairs. She’s standing in front of the window in her bedroom, dressed in a T-shirt and leggings again, when I enter. With the stitches on her hip, pants with an elastic waist are more comfortable. Like the heels, jeans and tight dresses will have to wait.
I leave the plate on the coffee table. “I brought you something to eat. There’s coffee in the kitchen.”
She turns to face me. With the sunlight filtering in through the glass at her back, the green of her eyes are even more luminescent. It’s like the shallow water of an emerald ocean, reminding me of the holiday we spent in the Caribbean. I always thought the ocean was blue, but the prettiest seas are green.
“Thanks,” she says.
The hoarse sound of my voice betrays that I’m not unaffected. “You’re welcome.”
I clear my throat, searching for something to say. It’s not often that I’m at a loss for words.
“Did you have the house built or did you buy it?” she asks.
I consider the question. “Why do you ask?”
“I was just wondering.”
“Wondering what?”
“If this is your style.”
I go closer. Too close. “Are you curious about me?”
“Of course,” she deadpans. “I like to know my enemies.”
The statement makes me smile. “No doubt to exploit their weaknesses.”
“Something like that,” she replies, her lips quirking.
The movement draws my attention. She’s got very full, very kissable lips. Taking her to bed won’t be a chore.
“May I go outside, today?” she asks.
I tear my gaze from her mouth. “Only if you behave.”
She forces a laugh. “How am I going to misbehave? By vandalizing your flowers?”
“That will be a terrible shame. I’d rather you pick them than waste them.”
“I’ll never pick them.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t you like flowers?”
“I love flowers, but if I pick them, they’ll die.”
There’s no malice in her expression. The arrow is unintended, but it pierces my conscience, anyway. “You’d rather watch them from a distance?”
“Isn’t that the point?”
There’s irony in her words. I don’t make sense of it, but like everything that concerns her, I store the information in the back of my mind. I’ll figure her out, yet.
“What’s your favorite flower?” I ask as an idea takes root in my mind.
Suspicion rides on her tone. “Why?”
She’s right to be wary of my motivations. I shrug it off. “Just curious.” I add with humor, “Like you, I like to know my enemies.”
