Page 12 of Violent Cravings

“Whatever you like, Miss Brown,” I tell her. “Coffee, latte, tea, a mimosa, or champagne, maybe?”

Her eyes flicker at that last suggestion. I knew she’s a champagne girl, but she’s too modest to admit it.

“Uh… I think it’s too early for a drink,” she says, but I’m confident she doesn‘t mean it.

I wink at her and order us two mimosas and some water, which she regards with a grateful smile.

She’s nervous as hell, but trying very hard to hide it from me. When our glasses arrive and she reaches for hers, I can see her slim fingers vibrating with tension. We clink glasses, and I watch as she carefully sips from hers, visibly calming down after the first drink.

“Better?” I ask.

She casts me a bewildered look, and nods.

I’ve never been lost for the right words, but right now I wish I had prepared something to say. It never occurred to me that this would be hard. After all, I know what I want from her, and I’m used to getting what I want.

But this is delicate business, and I have no way of knowing how she’s going to react.

Beating around the bush is not my style, so I decide to be straightforward with her.

Her eyelashes are fluttering nervously as she tries not to break eye contact with me.

“As I’ve mentioned before, I have a proposal for you,” I begin. “A way for you to make a lot of money.”

Her eyes narrow as she casts me a suspicious look. “A lot of money?”

I nod. “More than you’ll ever make with that waitressing job. In fact, it will enable you to stop doing that.”

She furrows her eyebrows.

“Is that not what you want?” I ask her. “Do you enjoy that job?”

Laura lets out an exasperated gasp.

“Yeah, right,” she says, rolling her eyes. “No, I’m just curious what kind of job you’re proposing? You don’t even know anything about my qualifications.”

She crosses her arms in front of her chest. It’s an attempt to appear sassy and confident, but I can see her shaking under her self-assured posture.

“Oh, I’m sure your qualifications are just fine,” I say, locking her down with my eyes.

“Well, then…,” she utters, visibly ruffled by my gaze. “What would I have to do?”

We exchange a silent look, feeling each other out without saying a word or touching one another. She’s a smart girl. I know she senses where this is going, but she needs me to say it out loud.

“Submit to me,” I say, my voice low and heavy with meaning. “Be mine for one night.”

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