Page 262 of Hate Mates

The apartment is modest, but comfortable. There’s a certain coziness to it that’s refreshing compared to the starkness of my own place. She has a light-blue sofa at the center of the room across from an electric fireplace. Her coffee table is accented by food magazines and a single daisy in a plastic red vase. A small square TV that looks like it came straight from the nineties rests in the corner. Her kitchen is visible from the living room, and the counters are, of course, covered in flour.

“Pour yourself a drink.” She gestures toward a small bar cart in one corner of the living room.

I raise my eyebrows at her. “You’re making an effort to play the gracious hostess?”

She scowls at me. “Just pour yourself a damned drink, Bracken. And for the love of God, pour me one too.”

I shake my head. “Oh, no. No alcohol for you. I want you completely alert for everything I’m going to do to you tonight.”

Her cheeks flush a gorgeous shade of red, but she doesn’t back down. “I think I’ve earned a drink.”

“I’ll decide what you’ve earned.” I saunter over to the bar cart, pour myself a glass of whiskey, and take a long sip.

Fuck. That’s rotgut at its finest. Not that a baker in debt to a gangster like Malcolm has money for good booze.

“Fine,” she says. “I won’t drink. Let’s get this over with.”

I roll my eyes and set the glass back on the cart. “Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”

She frowns. “I’m not here for your amusement, Bracken.”

Her tone is icy now, and despite myself, I’m impressed by her steeliness. This isn’t the response I’m used to from women. Most of them can’t wait to get me naked.

The fact that she’s not falling all over me just makes me want her more.

“No.” I take a step toward her. “You’re here for my satisfaction.”

She shivers visibly as I walk into her personal space.

Yeah, she’s more affected by this arrangement than she wants to admit.

“And what if I don’t satisfy you?” she asks defiantly.

I smirk. “Then we’ll keep going until you do.”

Her gaze doesn’t falter, but she swallows hard. “One night, Bracken,” she reminds me, her voice wavering slightly. “That’s all you get.”

I chuckle darkly. “Believe me, sweetheart, one night is all I’ll need.”

She scoffs at that, crossing her arms again.

What? She doesn’t believe that one night with her will satisfy me?

Damn.

She may be right.

I continue to close the distance between us. She’s so close now. Close enough for me to smell the faint aroma of fresh bread and vanilla on her.

“I hope you’re right,” she murmurs.

I don’t respond. Instead, I gently trace a finger down her arm, watching as goosebumps rise on her skin under my touch. It’s a satisfying sight.

She frowns, parting her lips as though she’s about to respond. But before she gets the chance, I take one more step. Only inches separate us now. I lean into her.

“I’m not a monster,” I whisper against her ear as I cup her cheek.

“Could’ve fooled me,” she seethes, her voice barely above a whisper. “I fucking hate you.” She grabs my face with both hands and forces me to look directly at her. “Do you hear me? You can do whatever you want with my body tonight, but nothing will change the loathing flowing through my veins at the sight of you.”

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