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The glass makes a soft chiming sound as he sets it down on the marble countertop. “The men you know, maybe. I am not them.”
“Although,” I muse, pretending he didn’t say anything, “in my experience, the men I know don’t kidnap me and force me into insane surrogacy deals, either. So I think I’ll learn to live with the lack of follow-through if it also comes with a lack of abduction and coercion.”
“Do you want to talk about the differences between me and your dating history,” he drawls, “or do you want to talk about a job?”
I purse my lips in annoyance. “I don’t want a job; I want my job back. You can go ahead and get rid of Sister Lynette.”
“Who?”
“Never mind,” I mumble. “I’m just saying that?—”
“Do you know what’s at stake here if you don’t take my warnings seriously?” he interrupts. My heartbeat picks up a little as he stalks closer to me, his hand sliding over the marble counter. “Do you know how dangerous not listening to me would be for you?”
I swallow hard, trying to remember the argument points I’ve been rehearsing in my head all evening. They sounded so good in the mirror earlier. Now, they all feel tinny and flimsy and distant and dumb.
“I can listen.”
He tilts his head to the side, eyes glistening, and regards me quietly. The silence persists for long enough that I can hear my own heartbeat throbbing in my ears before he finally speaks. “Then kneel.”
I do a double take. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he says curtly. “Kneel.”
I stare at him in disbelief, my jaw flexing wildly. “I absolutely will not.”
“Not much of a listener, then.”
“I’m prepared to listen,” I snap. “I’m just not prepared to blindly obey like some insipid doormat.”
“Even if obeying will keep you and your baby alive?”
“Don’t do that,” I hiss. “Don’t conflate my safety with my sense of autonomy.”
“I might have to, if your autonomy puts you at risk. And considering you don’t fully understand the stakes, it inevitably will.”
I pull myself up to my full height. “Screw you.”
I’m expecting—maybe even hoping—for some anger. Some pushback. But he meets my exasperation with weary calm. “As I said, you’re not ready.” He deposits his satchel on the center island and opens the clasps. “Which is somewhat surprising considering how much you seem to enjoy dominance.”
I freeze. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Would you have obeyed me if I were standing in front of you shirtless? Maybe with sweat glistening like beads of silver on my… well, would you say I have a ‘god-like body?”
There’s heat spreading up my cheeks. Why do those words sound so familiar? More importantly, why does it feel like he’s quoting from something?
I get my answer when he pulls out a couple of books from his briefcase and places them on the table. “There. That should help your boredom.”
My romance novels.
“How did you—” I stop short when it hits me: I wasn’t crazy when I was perusing the pantries. He did do his research. “You went through my desk.”
“It’s my company; therefore, it’s my desk,” he corrects icily. Those silver eyes are sharp and extremely amused. “I’ll give you your privacy now. I’m sure you’d prefer to be alone with Cedric.”
With that, he walks off, leaving me standing there, feeling angry, embarrassed—and honestly…?
A little turned-on.
12
