Page 27 of Ashes of Saints

Right to the core of my soul, sweetheart.

“Hungry,” I reply and lift the corner of my own menu. “I’m having the Wagyu Beef Tataki. You?”

It’s a three-figure dish, so she blinks and glances back at the menu.

“I’ll have the cod.”

Predictable. If there had been a chicken salad, I bet she would’ve ordered that. Maybe she is boring after all. I hope so. I can push past a hot set of tits, but an intelligent woman who is quick and can banter as good as the guys? Well, that could be a problem.

I’m here to break her, and I might feel bad if I like her.

I snort.

I won’t.

Not with what I lived through while she was upstairs playing with her fucking Barbie dolls or whatever. But I’m proud of myself for considering that I could be for a second.

Hey, maybe the therapy did help after all.

I order for us, along with a bottle of wine, and settle back in the chair, studying the annoyingly pretty redhead. Then something occurs to me.

“Did you get your hair from your mother?” I sip the glass of water in front of me.

Aurora’s cheeks heat.

Her skin is cream, void of the usual freckles common with redheads, but she does seem to blush a lot. I like that I have that effect on her. My eyes drift over her flushed decolletage, remembering my fantasy about tit fucking her and my cock thickens.

Stop it, goddamn it.

“No. Maybe. She had blonde hair and mine was lighter as a young child.”

I know.

“So maybe there are red genes in her family.” Aurora shrugs, looking uncomfortable with the simple question.

“You never asked?” My brows lower.

She swallows and picks up her water, taking a drink.

“You?”

“What?”

“Where did you get your hair?”

What?

“My standard boring black hair?”

“Well”—she points at my head with her glass—“it’s nice and curly.”

Aurora is either hiding something, which I can’t fathom what, or she’s used up all her charm already. The rest of the night looks to be awkward and boring. I should be thrilled.

At least she has hot tits.

“Wavy at best. Where are these meals?” I glance around despite only just ordering. When my eyes land back on her, she’s fumbling with a fork.

“This was a mistake,” she says, still staring at her cutlery.

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