Chapter Ten Mercy #2
“I might not remember this,” I said, gesturing between the two of us, “but I have known you for a long time. You’ve been avoiding me all day.”
A knowing look made his eyes darker, stormier. “Does that bother you?”
“No.”
He clocked the lie immediately, leaning in and dropping his voice low. “I don’t believe you.”
“Tough shit, I don’t need you to.” My chin notched higher. “But I do expect you to be civil.”
Grant didn’t speak, merely held my gaze and raised the glass to his mouth again.
The muscles of his throat shifted as he took a large swallow, and Jesus be a fence, he smelled so fucking good.
The entire office was filled with his clean, masculine scent, interrupted only by the sharp bite of alcohol in the air.
“A reasonable expectation, my dear,” he said smoothly, then set the glass down. “Let’s talk about that. Is it civility that should have me answering your little question, despite my own significant misgivings?”
The change in subject had me flattening my brow. “I—I don’t know. I just . . . I wanted to make it easier for us to talk. Try a different approach.”
“Oh, indeed. I can see that.” He leaned back and plucked a folded-up piece of paper from the surface of his desk, holding it up in the same way I’d done earlier, wedged between two fingers. “Shall I?”
“If you want to,” I answered hesitantly.
The air between us was thick and charged, but I didn’t know with what. My mind raced through the things I’d written down.
Grant tilted his head and seemed to come to a conclusion as he stared down at me from his considerable height. “I’ve changed my mind.” He held the paper out. “You ask it.”
“What?”
He leaned in again, licking his bottom lip before he spoke. “I bloody well dare you to ask me that question, Mercy Kincaid-Hastings. Because you and I have the exact same fucking answer.”
The wielding of my full name like a weapon, the casual profanity from a man who rarely used it hit me like a bat to the head, and I knew—oh, fucking fuck me, I knew—what question he’d drawn.
My fingers shook as they brushed against his to grab the corner of the paper.
They were still shaking when I opened it, my ribs squeezing from invisible hands pressing harder and harder until I could hardly fill my lungs.
Someday very soon, I’d learn my lesson. Learn that it wasn’t in my best interest to poke the fucking bear, wave the flag in front of the bull, whatever stupid animal analogy I could come up with.
Eventually, I’d learn not to do this with him, right?
Because in my reckless pursuit of a reaction, I’d gone and done something really stupid.
My own neat handwriting in crisp blue gel pen made a mockery of my little display of bravery. In its place, a sharp knife of dread protruded from between my ribs, making it impossible to breathe.
“I can’t hear you.”
My eyes screwed shut at the softly mocking tone.
“‘What was the best sex you’ve ever had?’” I read in a trembling voice.
He took a step closer, waiting. Waiting for me to look at him.
I could hardly suck in enough oxygen to stay conscious, but I was no coward, so I set my jaw and raised my head, locking onto his ruthless, icy gaze. I couldn’t breathe.
“Don’t say it,” I begged. “Don’t.”
He made a small noise in the back of his throat.
“You may ask many things of me, wife, but I won’t lie to you.
” Then he raised a hand, a wrinkle forming in his brow as he gently touched the edge of his thumb to my chin, a barely there pressure as he tilted my face higher.
“And I don’t need to lie, because you already knew, somewhere inside that brain of yours, that it would be like this between us. ”
“No I didn’t, I—”
“You did. You never would’ve asked otherwise.
” His thumb swept along my bottom lip, and God, I couldn’t look away.
He was beautiful. Hypnotizing. And I wanted him.
“Imagine it. All those times you pushed and pushed and pushed, just waiting for something between us to snap. It was so good, my darling. Better than anything.” He dragged my lip down, gaze leaving mine only to watch the movement of his own hand.
His voice dropped to a growl that scratched something in the dark corners of my mind.
I wanted to arch my back into it like a cat.
He leaned closer again, his lips nearing mine.
“Fucking you rewired my entire bloody brain.”
I tore my face out of his grip and stumbled back, legs shaking, stomach flipped inside out and my heart trying to crawl up my throat. But denial was nowhere near the tip of my thick, useless tongue.
Maybe I did know.
Maybe it was why I’d asked.
Because for years, lying in the dark, I’d imagined it. When he pissed me off, when he stared at me across the room—untouchable and so fucking pristine—I wanted to know what it was like. If he’d be rough and demanding and allow himself to whisper vulgar things in my ear.
I wanted to know.
But not like this.
I pressed a trembling hand to my brow and tried to steady my breathing.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his eyes taking on a wild gleam. “I’m so—”
“Don’t. Don’t you dare apologize. I asked for this.”
Without overthinking it, or even stopping to question whether it was wise, I snatched the half-filled decanter off his desk and left without another word.