Page 38 of Lady and the Butcher
“Last chance to say no,” he said.
“No,” I said, meaning don’t stop.
His mouth curved. “Good.”
He didn’t kiss me. Of course, he didn’t. He stepped back, offered his hand like a gentleman, and led me into the main room where the city waited to watch.
I took his hand.
I didn’t look away from the glass. I didn’t hide.
He poured champagne into the flutes without taking his eyes off me and handed me mine. The bubbles rose like a countdown.The clock on the mantle ticked in a room that didn’t need ticking to know where we were headed.
“Eat,” he said, and I glanced at the tray I hadn’t noticed on the sideboard—slices of pear, a handful of almonds, squares of dark chocolate that made my mouth water just to look. I picked up a pear.
It hadn’t even been that long since we’d knocked back oysters downtown. Afterward, he must’ve clocked how the hunger had hit me, filed it away, and now feeding me was on his radar. I often got so busy, I forgot to eat. Apparently, Atticus intended to put an end to that.
He watched me take a bite. He watched my mouth. He watched my throat when I swallowed.
“You still haven’t answered,” I said, because I couldn’t leave the question alone. “Where do we put this? Whatisthis? Alpha Mail and Stephen and you and me and this.”
“We don’t put it anywhere,” he said. “We live in it. We don’t have to name it. At least, not yet.”
“And Stephen?”
“Stephen gets the part he already has,” he said. “He gets your laugh at his parties and your opinions at his dinner table. He does not get this.”
“‘This’ being the part where I’m—what—your appetite?”
“My Lady,” he said, and there was a hunger in the word that went through me like a wire pulled tight. “Tonight.”
My phone buzzed on the table again. I didn’t look. The city shone. The dress whispered when I breathed.
I set the flute down very carefully.
“Tell me what to do,” I said, finally honest.
“Turn around,” he said. “Face the glass.”
I did.
“And put the palms of your hands on it.”
I lifted my arms. Pressed my hands flat. The glass was cool under my skin from the air conditioning. The city was so bright I could see our reflection in it, me and the man behind me, my mouth parted, his eyes lowered to a place the dress had left bare.
“I’ll tell you the rest,” he said, voice low enough that the window almost held it. “And you won’t ask me again today if I’m the man from Alpha Mail. You’ll ask me for what you really want.”
“And what’s that?” My breath ghosted the glass.
“To stop thinking,” he said. “To surrender without apology. To be mine.”
I closed my eyes.
“Okay,” I said.
He waited a beat that made me want to beg.
“Good girl,” he said, and everything in me went soft and dangerous at once.
