“What can I do to change your mind?” he asked, his tone turning seductive.
“You can’t. Don’t bother trying. We have an arrangement based solely on our preferences. This is what I prefer.” My voice was cold and getting colder. I wasn’t angry, but I was…resigned. Resigned to the idea of him disappointing me. And even more resolved not to give him more than I was willing to lose.
“What if I made it an order? Or a condition?” he asked, his tone getting hard.
I made my face into it’s best expressionless mask and looked at him. “Then this association may end even sooner than I had realized.”
His jaw clenched, a tick starting up in his cheek. “I can’t back out of this. It was my mother’s charity, and I’m expected to attend, even to say a few words.”
I didn’t miss the fact that asking me to come with him hadn’t even occurred.
“I don’t know why you’re pressing the issue. So I’ll sleep at my hotel. What is the problem?” My words were growing clipped with frustration.
“I can’t head back to Vegas until Monday. We won’t see each other for days,” he said, as though that explained his reaction.
I shrugged. “Just call me when we’re in the same city. What is the issue?”
My voice had become so brisk that I could hear a hint of my mother’s long ago accent surface. It usually only came out when I was deeply shaken. He had an affect on me that I didn’t want to acknowledge, even to myself, but even my voice seemed to know it.
He had moved in behind me, and he gripped my hair softly, breathing warmly on my neck as he spoke. “Are you so unaffected by me?”
I was breathing hard now, but I answered calmly enough. “I went twenty-three years without sex. A few days certainly won’t kill me. What do you think I’ll do when we’re finished? I doubt I could find another lover right away.” My accent thickened slightly as I realized at the end that I was trying to goad him.
It came back to me way too easily, the accent I had heard and affected for most of my young life. It surfaced only with strong emotions. It both terrified and titillated me, what I would found down the road of his fury.
He growled, literally growled, into my neck. “I’m going to punish you for that.”
“Yes, I know,” I breathed, dreading and wanting it in equal parts.
He wrenched himself away, sitting back in his chair in the dining room. He seemed too big for the room suddenly, his eyes livid and wild.
“You’re playing with me,” he said raggedly.
His assessment of the situation surprised me. I sent him a questioning look.
“Is that how it seems to you?” I asked, stunned by the notion.
He ran a hand over his face and scraped it through his golden-streaked hair.
“You’re tying me in knots, yet you remain unaffected yourself. Are you just waiting for a reason to end this? That’s the impression I’m getting at the moment. And that drives me fucking crazy, since I don’t have a clue what will tip the scales against me.”
I finished prepping the chicken, putting the marinating dish in the fridge until I was ready to grill it. I moved to the asparagus.
“I don’t know what to tell you, James,” I finally said. “Perhaps I can’t give you what you want.”
“I want you!” His fist made me jump as it struck the tabletop with a jarring boom.
“If you ever use your fists on me, that will be a reason,” I told him quietly, watching that clenched fist and trying not to flinch.
He looked instantly remorseful, and I knew from his reaction that the stark terror that always resided somewhere inside of me had revealed itself, at least a little.
He approached me, and I tried not to cringe away. I was determined to face the fear, not to curl into a ball as I had as a child. He hugged me very carefully from behind. I let him, because I would have felt like a coward if I ran.
“I would never do that, you have to believe me. I would never use my fists on you. I’m so sorry if I scared you.”
I shrugged. It was a jerky motion. “As long as we’re clear.”
“I never saw it before, but I scare you, don’t I?” he asked, a strange edge to his voice.
I tried to concentrate on washing and breaking the asparagus.
“Is this an information exchange again? Are we sharing?” I asked archly.
He blew out a frustrated breath. “What do you want to know about me?”
A question popped immediately into my head. I hated it, but I hated not knowing more. “When was the last time you had sex, before the first time with me?”
He cursed. “I don’t think you want to know that. I don’t think that’s good for our relationship, to tell you that.”