Page 34 of Seductive Hearts

“My mother.”

“It was nothing,” he said, raking a hand through his dark hair. “I did what I could to help families who just had their entire lives literally ripped from underneath them.”

“I tilted my head to the side, studying him. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Minimize your actions? Surely, you know you would have been their lifeline. And going into what was practically a warzone of damage and uncertain times, where your safety wasn’t guaranteed either?”

“It was nothing, really.” A slow smile spread on his lips, disarming me.

Why did he have to be this way? Just when I was convinced he was the most selfish, self-absorbed man to ever breathe air, he remembered something from years ago and then played down his philanthropic endeavors.

“So…” He swirled the wine in his glass, looking at it rather than at me. “How’d it go today with the Plastic Prince?” I assumed his almost brittle smile was supposed to be a parody of Landon’s.

“Do you sit around all day, coming up with nicknames for him?” I asked while my fingers tightened around my knife. He was treading on dangerous ground.

“I’m too busy making sure your renovation is finished ahead of schedule.” Lifting his fork to his lips, he added, “Then again, I am capable of multitasking.”

“Congratulations. Do we have to talk about this? We were having a nice time, then you had to go and bring Landon into it.” I wouldn’t have minded if it hadn’t been for his attitude.

“I would love not to bring him into it.” He took a deep gulp from his glass before giving me a sullen look.

What did he mean by that?

“Here I am, thinking you’re a smart girl with a good head on your shoulders, but you’re still wasting time trying to catch him.”

“That’s my business.” I wished my hackles didn’t rise defensively. It was too easy for him to get under my skin. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Maybe it pisses me off to know you’d be wasting your time with him.”

“This again?” I pushed my plate away, groaning more out of disappointment than frustration. That’s what this was about. He was buttering me up, lowering my defenses before attacking. “I know what I want. Why is that not enough?”

“He’s never going to care more about you than he does about his career, image, position, and reputation.”

I barked out a laugh. “You’re such an expert?”

“Let’s be real.” He groaned, rolling his eyes. “We grew up in the same world, around the same people, and we’ve watched the same pitiful charades being acted out by countless couples. My mom’s parents are a great example. They never had a real marriage. It’s always been an act.”

“I thought you didn’t care about things like that?”

“You care about things like that,” he reminded me. “Why would you put effort into somebody who’s never going to put the effort into you? I don’t get it, Rose, especially when you deserve better.”

He shrugged a shoulder, flipping a switch and returning to his insolent, spoiled-rich-boy persona before pouring himself more wine. “But what do I know? All I care about is the next fuck.”

It was a relief when he went back to his food since I couldn’t breathe while he was looking at me. Where did all of that come from? And was he right? No, he couldn’t be. It was his stupid, egotistical resentment. Nothing more. “I don’t want to argue about this,” I told him after catching my breath. “We could bicker back at the store if we wanted to.”

“Good point. There are much better things we could talk about… and do…” Sitting back in his chair, his eyes crawled over me again.

That, I recognized. I wished my traitorous body would stop reacting to him the way it did, but there was no helping it. I was Pavlov’s dog, and he had trained me well.

I had to try to resist, at least. “So that’s what this is really all about. You buy me dinner and think that means I go to bed with you?” I summed up with a sigh.

“We don’t have to go to bed. We can do it right here in the kitchen.” He spread his thick thighs, then patted them. “I’m ready when you are.”

“I haven’t finished my meal.” All it took was a suggestive comment or two and the memory of how hard he made me come—how many times I had—and I was wet and ready. He didn’t need to know that.

“So what? I’d rather eat you, anyway. And you always seem to enjoy it.” He was loving this, pushing my buttons, making me blush, and enjoying my discomfort. Not that I was uncomfortable with him. It was more me and how I’d promised myself I would end this tonight. I’d spent half the day coming up with arguments against this, for God’s sake.

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