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Still, he refuses to look at me.
“You have a friend named Brinley, right?”
My fingers stop over the buttons of my corset, the top still hanging open.
“Yeah. Why do you want to know?”
Suspicion takes a nose-dive down my spine. It screams louder than the rest of the thoughts and questions.
Maybe women aren’t so different than men after all.
Given the right circumstance, our thinking can go linear like theirs.
And my linear thinking is solely on protecting Brinley.
“Why do you want to know, Champ?” There’s no weakness in my voice, only the hint of anger.
The handle of the crop snaps in two in his grip.
He places the pieces on the bench with far too much care.
“Sorry about that. I’ll pay for it or whatever.”
I don’t respond, just hurry to finish buttoning my top.
“That’s not an answer to my question.”
He turns to face me fully.
“Aren’t you supposed to lose a piece of clothing for my answer? I thought that’s the game we’re playing.”
My eyes narrow.
“Except I’m not playing anymore. What do you want with Brinley?”
Rubbing his thumb across his bottom lip, his mouth curves into a cynical smile.
Who the fuck is this man and what happened to Damon?
Sure, he has a storm that follows him, and within those chaotic winds are all the nasty emotions most people are lucky to never feel.
However, this side of him is new to me.
And I sure as hell don’t like it.
“Answer the question, or get the fuck out of here.”
His head barely tilts to the side, something rolling behind his gorgeous eyes that makes them ugly.
“You owe me another favor, Blue. And unfortunately, I’m here to collect it.”
The deal.
That fucking favor.
Theconsequencesif I don’t do what he asks of me.
He leans against the bench, crossing one ankle over the other, his arms spreading out so he can grip his hands over the opposite ends. It’s a masculine pose that makes him appear bigger, stronger … threatening.
