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She hummed under her breath, and I had the urge to force her to her knees so she could make that noise while sucking my cock.
Probably wouldn’t go over well.
“What’s with that look in your eye?” she asked.
And then a sudden burst of anger came over me, and I couldn’t stop myself from telling her exactly what was on my mind.
“The look in my eye you’re seeing is not anger,” I said as I forced myself to take a step back from her. “Unfortunately for me, I want to fuck you. Unfortunately for me, I’ve already done that one more time than I should have.”
Her brows rose, and I had the irrational urge to bite one.
Fuck, but she was hell on my control.
I took another two steps back, and only then realized that I’d forgotten about the fucking coffee in my hand.
I lifted the drink and took a careful sip, finding the brew now at a comfortable temperature that I could chug it like a beer if I wanted.
I didn’t, wanting to appear like I had control.
“That sounds like quite a dilemma,” she said. “If it makes your decision any easier to make, I’m on my period and it’s like flowing like a raging river. Heavy and messy.”
I blinked.
No, that didn’t mean anything to me.
I was a damn murderer for Christ’s sake. Blood didn’t scare me off in the least.
“If you think that a man can’t handle a little blood, then you’re sadly mistaken,” I said.
“Huh,” she said. “Well, if you want to cross that line, I’m more than willing. I’d do just about anything to help deal with these cramps. I have PCOS, and let’s just say that I’m absolutely fucked when I’m on my period.”
The thought of her in pain, even menstrual cramps, didn’t sit right with me.
Which was another reason I should stay very far away.
She grabbed a handful of chocolate candies from my mini bar and absently started shoving them into her mouth as she walked around the room. I tried hard not to stare at her shapely ass but failed miserably.
I could hear her crunching away, and I had to force myself not to follow her.
“This is nice,” she said as she touched the velvet couch.
“My sister furnished the office,” I explained. “Every single chair, desk, light fixture, and pencil, except for this chandelier, was purchased by her.”
There, I’d told her something.
She looked at me curiously and smiled. “You told me something.”
And damn, was the smile directed at me not a jolt straight to the heart.
“You have a sister?” she asked.
“I have a brother and a sister. Bellamy and Katrin,” I answered.
“Your parents?” she asked, leaning against the back of the couch now, candies long gone.
“Deborah and Winston,” I said. “I’m a third.”
Her eyes gleamed. “I always wanted to marry a junior, and then call my son Trey for the ‘third.’”
“That’s insanely specific,” I said. “Why?”
She shrugged. “I guess I just liked the idea of it. Nicknames. All my sisters and even Keene have one. Though Keene’s is ‘Keenie Weenie’ so it’s not exactly what he likes. But they all have one. I guess it’s just a daydream of a stupid kid wishing for her life to be different.”
I studied her.
She didn’t look like she was messed up, but her family was too twisted for her not to be.
“If it makes you feel better, I don’t exactly have a nickname, either. It wasn’t something my parents allowed my siblings to do. Or me them, for that matter. They’re not stuck-up snobs or anything, but they think names have power,” I explained.
She looked out the window, which was grayed out so it would allow me to work instead of staring out at the Dallas skyline for hours on end—which is what I’d done when I hadn’t had the smoked-out glass option.
“I’m changing my name tomorrow,” she said. “I have an appointment with the courts.”
I blinked.
“I can’t live with the name Singh any longer.” She paused. “I actually considered completely changing my first, middle and last, but ultimately decided to just get rid of my last name.”
“Have you decided what name you’re going to change it to yet?” I wondered.
Surprise must’ve been evident in my voice because she smiled at me. “Do you honestly think that I could keep this last name after everything that’s come to light over the last few weeks?”
“No,” I said and meant it. I couldn’t have kept my name, either, if I’d learned what she had about her father. And hell, even now her mother.
“And no, I haven’t come up with a name I’m changing it to,” she replied sheepishly. “I figure I’ll come up with one later, when I’m there. Whatever feels right.”
That sounded like a disaster, but I didn’t call her on it.
If she wanted to play that game, I’d let her. Because who the hell was I to tell her how to live her life?
