“What, now?” Mickey O’Connor cocked his head his black eyes glittering.
She swallowed. “That I was your whore.”
He tutted softly. “Oh, an’ we can’t be havin’ that, now can we, what with your reputation bein’ all snowy white an’ all?”
Her hand was half raised, the fingers balled into a fist before she even realized it. She wanted to hit him so badly, wanted to wipe that smirking smile from his face with all her soul.
Except he was no longer smiling. He watched her, his face expressionless, his eyes intent, like a wolf waiting for the hare to break from cover.
Trembling, she let her hand fall.
He shrugged, looking mildly disappointed. “Ah, well, it’d be a great inconvenience to have you livin’ under me roof anyway. I ’spect you’ve made the right decision.”
He turned away from her, sauntering gracefully toward his throne. She’d been dismissed, it seemed. He no longer found her interesting enough to play with.
In that moment, with rage and grief, and yes, love, swirling all inside her being, Silence made her decision.
“Mr. O’Connor!”
He stopped, still turned rudely away from her, his voice a rumbling purr. “Aye?”
“I’ll stay.”