Page 16 of Violent Hearts

"Do what again?"

"Roll your eyes at me."

She grimaces, unsure what to make of what's happening. Her inner turmoil is so visible that I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

"Well, that's simple," she huffs. "Just don't say anything that makes me roll my eyes at you."

I can't help but let out a little laugh at her defiance.

"You're brave, I give you that."

A smile plays at the corners of her mouth, but she doesn't quite let it happen. She can't. It would tell me too much.

"You still haven't answered my question, though," I remind her.

She casts me a quizzical look.

"Why are you here?" I rephrase my earlier question. "On one hand, you're saying this is purely for research, but on the other, you told Belinda - and me - that you're in this for real. What's your deal?"

She bites her lower lip and reaches for her safety net, the almost empty flute of champagne. I would order her another one, but not until we've eaten something. I don't want her to make any decisions while intoxicated.

"You're right, that was misleading," she admits. "I just wanted to point out that... this is not what I do. Not what I normally do."

"Why?"

The confusion on her face intensifies.

"Why are you so set on making sure that I don't mistake you for a professional escort?" I clarify. "What would be so bad about that? And why do you even care what I think about you? I'm here because I want to buy you. Doesn't that pretty much set the stage for our relationship?"

She furrows her eyebrows. "Relationship?"

I give her a little smirk, knowing that my words have already started a thinking process inside that pretty head. She knows what's coming; she knows that I'm about to call her out on prejudices she never knew she had.

"You seem to have a very limited understanding of the word if you don't think we'd be entering into a relationship if both of us agree to this deal," I say. "Relationships can take many forms, some of which are very different from the romantic kind you may be familiar with."

"Sure. Of course I know that," she retorts, her tone sounding pissed. "I just didn't expect the word to be used for... this."

I know there's a hint of condescension in the way I'm smiling at her now, and it makes her furious. She's about to say something, but we're interrupted by the waiter delivering the first two plates of appetizers I ordered. The way she's eyeing the plate tells me that she's hungrier than she wanted to let on. Typical. While it is to a degree flattering, I will never understand why most women prefer to pretend they don't need food to survive, ever, and avoid eating in my presence.

"Toasted brioche rounds with their house-made crème fraiche and some caviar," I explain, pointing toward the dish.

"Fancy," Ann comments, trying to appear unimpressed.

I expect her to pick at the food like a sparrow because that's what most women do when I take them out for dinner. But it seems Ann worries less about artificial appearances than I thought she would. Instead of picking at the tiny brioches, she picks one up and stuffs it into her mouth in one piece. She chews with gusto and her cheeks balloon like a hamster.

Now I'm the one fighting to hold back a reaction from her. There's an adorable innocence about the way she eats, something that clashes with her otherwise strict and reserved behavior.

"Good, huh?"

She nods eagerly, and remembers just in time that her mouth is still stuffed with food before giving me a reply.

"I've never had caviar before," she says. "Didn't think I'd like it."

"Sometimes it's not about the ingredients itself, but what you do with them," I tell her. "I've noticed that it’s similar with women."

Her face darkens as she looks at me with angry confusion. "What do you mean by that?"

"Do you think you can know all about what or who a person is or can be when you first meet them?" I ask. "See all their facets? Imagine everything they're capable of?"

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