Page 33 of His Pretty Little Duet

I chuckle once, but when his indifferent gaze doesn't shift, I realise he's not joking. Shocked at his candid response, I pause. How can a man like him admit to having something as vulnerable as a nightmare? How can he be so honest and still somehow manage to make this normal human condition sexy? Tortured. Real. "What couldyoupossibly be afraid of?"

That perfectly charming and practised smile settles on his face. "Failure, Fawn."

I nod, understanding that fear but still not able to grasp how the most impressive man I have ever met can be afraid of such a thing. He has never experienced true failure. "I have nightmares, too," I say, reaching up to twirl my hair around my finger. "AndI'm afraid of failure...too." I laugh contemptuously, opening my arms to display the little mound between my shirt and sleep shorts. "You'd think I'd be used to it, huh?"

He clasps his hands in front of him, and even in the dark, I can identify stern brows weaving above a serious expression. "What have you failed?"

"Um. Just, like,everything."

Darkness whirls around him, as he is seemingly displeased with my ambiguous response. A ball forms in my stomach under his gaze. "Let me rephrase the question, Fawn. What have youtriedand then failed?"

My mouth gets dry because I don't really understand the question, and he's smarter than me. When he talks, it always feels like he is several steps ahead of the conversation. "I've never really had a chance to try anything," I admit. "I just... ya know...survived."

"And yet, you're not dead," he says, his voice a rumbling purr. Stepping close, he moves until he is with me in the dimly bathed space in the hallway. My eyes adjust to enjoy all the masculine details of his face. Lifting his hand, he strokes my jaw, sending blissful warmth coursing along my skin.

His wife...

Red flags everywhere.

Look at them!

Then he slides his hand lower and circles the small column of my throat, and I ignore the flags even as they wrap around my neck. I swallow against his palm.

My eyes grow wide.

His gaze studies me, rolling down my face as he says, "So, you haven't failed, sweet girl." He smiles, softly. "You are resilient despite all odds. And you'llsurvivewhat's to come."

Tears burn the backs of my eyes.

His words twist inside my chest like a corkscrew in my heart, making me hot and happy and uncomfortable and needy. Neediness hurts. It is the worst feeling in the world. It is at the core of my every action.

Squeezing my throat in a wonderful, dominant way, he dips his head, and I lean up, reaching to be closer to him, sucking in a breath, feeling his intention to kiss me like a wave I need to catch.

Then he straightens. His hand slips from my throat. And I drop back to my heels, his intent dissolving immediately.

"Go back to your room, little deer."

Fawn

"Good morning, Fawn,"Xander Butcher says, striding into the quiet dining room and joining me at the empty table, completely casual and friendly as though our relationship predates the awkward introduction from a few nights ago. My eyes shoot to Henchman Jeeves, who is quietly reading the paper on the far side of the room, before gazing at Xander over my half-eaten spinach and three-egg omelette. Still chewing the salty, creamy concoction, I work the food faster in my mouth and set the fork down on the placemat.

Xander rests his hands on the table. His eyes are trained on me expectantly, but his right one is puffy, painted in blues and greens from bruising that wasn't there the other night. It doesn’t seem to faze him. He flashes a bright white smile at me that makes my stomach do flips. He looks like a younger, softer version ofClay...The man who hasn't left my brain alone since I met him.

"Ah." I swallow the food in my mouth, clearing my throat after. "Hi, Xander." I play with the ends of my hair at my waist, coiling them around my finger.

He squints, his gaze assessing. "You have killer eyes, Fawn. One green? One, like, cloudy blue? And you know what?" He nods slowly, saying, "Icansee Dustin in you. Good looking man. It's not an insult."

I beam at him. "Thank you. I always hoped I had a little bit of him, enough that maybe he'll recognise himself in me. Do you think?" I'm surprised by my candour, feeling the hope sparkling through my face, unable to stifle it. Kindness makes me dumb, too. He shouldn’t be so friendly. It's odd.

His lips close, pursing on the same smile that flashed brilliant white teeth before. "Sure he will." I like Xander. He chuckles in a deep cadence before saying, "So, do you like the movie,Pretty Woman?"

I raise a blonde brow at him, not wanting to jump to conclusions about the random question, but not really being a great swindler of tactful responses. "Are you comparing me to a prostitute?"

Smooth.

He laughs out loud, and it's hard not to let my own smile break free, refreshed by him. Sceptical of his motivations, but refreshed, nonetheless. He is nothing like his big brother; no stoicism to him at all. "No, Fawn. My best mate Stacey loves that film. And her favourite bit is the shopping montage. You know that bit?'Big mistake.'It's a thing, right? And well..." He leans back casually, retrieving a card from his wallet. Holding it up for me to see, he says, "I got big Butcher's credit card, and I thought you, me, and her can go rack up some mad dollar signs and give him a headache. What do you think?"

And there it is.

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