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I stifled a giggle.
The pen slipped from his fingers and rolled across the desk toward me. He watched me, eyes narrowed as it hit the edge and tipped over in midair.
“I expect my submissive to attend to my needs, Miss B—” He cleared his throat again rather than tackle my name. “And you aren’t—”
I placed the pen in his open fingers where they’d let it go a moment before. He stared at the offending object, gripping the pen in whitening knuckles. Breath huffed from his nose, his lips a tight line. I couldn’t resist leaning forward over his desk, my glasses still in hand.
“It was a shitty test.” I waved a finger between us. “It’s about this far.”
I pivoted on my heel, careful to maintain my balance and not make a bigger ass of myself, heading for the door, though some part of my heart twanged in the motion.
He was right. We weren’t suited.
“What’s that?” His brittle command snapped me out of my reverie.
“My visual range.” I swung back to face him, refusing to be daunted by the hard exterior that glowered back at me.
“How did you catch the pen, or are you lying to me?”
I shrugged. “Maybe I’m a ninja.” Both eyebrows went up. I spoke before they needed a rescue mission. “When one sense screws up, the others naturally take over. I’ve been legally blind—a fancy term for sighted but it’s crap vision—for most of my life. I’ve learned to listen to everything. Sir.”
I smiled kindly at him and aimed for the door, my heart thudding. I reached for the handle, that last moment stretching out eternally as I closed my hand around it and gave a tug before he called me back.
“I don’t train brats.”
Nor did I expect you to be one.
He didn’t have to say it; I knew without asking why I appeared so different from the deferential girl who listened and responded to him in our chats. The truth was, he wasn’t what—or who—I expected, either.
I rotated back to face him again, pressing my trembling hands together.
He’s an asshole. I don’t want him.
But I did. Fly to the honey, and this bear of a man with his soulless eyes was coated in it, ala dragon style.
“I can understand why.”
An eyebrow quirked. Damn, those things were getting a workout. “Can you?”
“Of course.” I considered, not wanting to shame anyone despite my recent behavior. “Brats take energy, and the match of needs has to be just right to create a dynamic that satisfies both parties rather than frustrate them. Unless of course they’re aiming for a lack of satisfaction, like a maso/sado pair, maybe.” Heat washed over me at the thought. I gripped the door handle behind me tighter.
Damon considered me as I stood with my back to his door. His cold gaze never wavered, nor did he move.
The urge to fidget, to run from his intense study, left me shaking. He stood suddenly, his chair scraping back. The noise echoed in his empty, borrowed office, though measured footfalls filled the otherwise silent room as he paced his way across the small room to stand in front of me.
A sense of coolness, leather, and juniper assailed my senses at being so close to him.
“You never said what you did for work.” His knuckles grazed my chin, tipping my head back while his almost black gaze held me captive.
I squeezed my thighs together at the shot of desire that hit my system. “I— I’m a salesperson. For jewelry.”
Disappointment curved his arched lips in a moue. “I expected more than a silver tongue.”
I blinked. That comment should—would usually—enrage me, but it didn’t. I shook my head, as much as his grip on my chin allowed. “Not like car sales. I listen. People talk. They tell me what they need, and I find it. Even if it’s not always what they think they came in looking for,” I added under my breath.
Damon Blake nodded, his lips lifting a little in bemusement. “A collector, then.”
“Yes!” I exclaimed, though the word came out far too loud, especially with him standing far too close.
