Page 53 of Royal Flush

Jasmine

Nightmares were a part of a kid’s world, maybe from a terrifying story told around a fire or from being silly enough to watch a horror flick way too late in the night. Braxton and I were oil and water. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t still attracted to him, especially given his generous gestures. He’d ordered almost everything on the menu, three attendants needed to bring the food to the room.

I’d been starving, the entire day nothing but a horrific blur. The shower had soothed some of the aches, the fluffy robe exactly what I’d needed. However, the quiet between us, the unspoken words were as troubling as the incident earlier.

We were sitting at a linen-covered table directly in front of a series of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Potomac, colorful boats lining the water. What I didn’t understand was why he’d bothered with candlelight, or maybe one of the bellmen had mistaken my incarceration as a date.

What I was thoroughly enjoying was the wine, a sultry cabernet with hints of walnut and blackberry. I could tell he was watching me, studying me as if determined to find me in a lie. I was as troubled as he was about the events but had no idea who was behind the attack. Unless the mafia assholes had followed us to America.

“Tell me about the Honoured Society,” he finally said as he cut into his extremely rare filet. He’d been slow to eat, enjoying his scotch instead of partaking in food that would simply go to waste.

“I’m no expert on the Aussie mafia, Braxton,” I said and concentrated on my food, twirling a forkful of my seafood pasta against a huge spoon.

“If you were snooping, I know your cunning abilities well enough to know you discovered some burning secret.”

“You know me well enough? You know nothing.”

He laughed and pushed himself back from the table, glaring at me with those same dark, incredulous eyes. “I’m an excellent observer of behavior.”

I wasn’t entirely certain what he was getting at, but I didn’t like his tone. I placed my utensils on the plate, staring at him in the same manner he had with me. “You might think you know me, but I know shit about you other than what you want the public to know. You act as if you want to protect me, but it feels like I’m under a microscope. Or the bright light of an interrogation. I don’t like that.”

“And I don’t like being conned.”

“Fuck you,” I said quietly, my heart racing. So much of me had wanted him to join me in the shower. I’d almost been stupid enough to call for him. I needed to have my head examined.

He reached over, snagging my wrist and pulling me closer. “I suggest you remember who saved your life.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to treat me like I’m the enemy.” He didn’t seem to expect my quick retort, although one aspect he should know about me by now was that I spoke my mind.

At all costs.

I couldn’t hate him but so much, because he was right. He was also far too sexy in his clean shirt that he hadn’t bothered to tuck in. Just staring into his piercing eyes was another reminder I could have died. Yet seeing blood on him was even worse.

After a few seconds of our mental and emotional showdown, he released his firm hold. “Maybe you are right.”

It was impossible not to study him as he’d done with me, trying to memorize all the sexy details about his chiseled face. I wasn’t certain why I hadn’t noticed the small scar over his eye before.

“Bar fight?” I asked, returning to my normal bratty self.

He sat all the way back in his chair, swirling his tumbler on the table. “No. I ran through a plate glass window in a summer vacation house. My mother was none too happy our two-year planned trip had been cut short.”

“I hadn’t noticed before. Do you have scars anywhere else?” I leaned forward, allowing my curiosity to get the better of me. My voice was a little too seductive.

“My back.”

“From?”

“My younger brother who stabbed me with a knife he’d gotten for Christmas.” He finally smiled, his eyes glazing over from the memory.

“Ouch.”

“More with him. I think it was the first and only time my father took him behind his office door for punishment.”

He could flip his emotions and his pattern of talking on a dime. At least that allowed me to laugh. “So close, huh?”

“Actually, we are. More so as we got older.”

“I always wanted to have a brother or sister, but it wasn’t in the cards.” I took another bite of food, wanting to pepper him with questions. “My mother could barely tolerate having a kid in the first place.”

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