Page 32 of Savannah Royals
“Probably not,” he agrees.
“But you could…you could get in?”
“Of course.”
My heartbeat races, just like it always does at the thought of breaking the rules, of doing something I shouldn’t.
“Show me.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Well,Idodeclare,who would have thought?” I drag my fingers across Lady Genevieve’s mahogany desk. “Straitlaced Matthew DaMolin…breaking all kinds of rules?”
“Who said I’m straitlaced?” He pulls a crystal decanter from the bottom drawer, then plunks down two glass tumblers. “I got you down here with me, didn’t I?”
“You did,” I admit. I can only imagine the repercussions if we’re caught here, alone, but I shiver with pleasure at the illicit thrill.
Matthew pours two thimble-sized drinks, clinks his glass to mine, and throws back. My stomach clenches deliciously as his stubbled throat bobs, the whiskey sliding down in a single gulp. He places the empty tumbler down with a softclink, his eyes lifting to mine.
I toss my own shot back. It burns as it glides down…burns so good. I lick my lips, then extend my glass for a refill. “Another.”
Matthew’s second pour is heftier than the first.
“M’lady,” he murmurs as he hands the glass over. There’s a wry, challenging smile in his eyes as I accept the drink.
“Careful, pretty boy.” I sit on the wooden desk. “You might find you’re punching beyond your weight.”
He looks at me sitting, casual and irreverent, on his mother’s desk. “I think I am.”
I swing my tumbler, gesturing. “This is every fella’s fantasy, isn’t it? Alone at night with a pretty girl in his mother’s office, sipping whiskey. Wow—I’m such a cliché. Wait a minute, we’ve come full circle. We’re back to Freud…and your Mommy and Daddy issues.” I open my mouth and place a mock-shocked hand over it.
“You’re a real trip.” His eyes glitter as he takes a slow sip of whiskey.
I hold his gaze and take a deep pull of my own. “Clearly, you enjoy the ride.”
“I do,” he admits, walking over to stand between my legs. He looks intently at me, his face inches from mine. “You were right. It drives me absolutely crazy that I can’t figure you out. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth next.” His gaze drops to my lips, his voice now a whisper. “Who are you?”
I swallow the rest of my drink before answering. My sight lowers to a framed black-and-white photograph on the desk. It’s a wedding portrait, Lady Genevieve and her husband. The infamous DaMolin ruby necklace hangs around her neck in all its glory. I forcibly withhold a whistle, my fingertips tingling. Itching.
When I raise my lashes, the question still hangs on Matthew’s lips, his eyes brimming with it.
“Is that your final question?” I ask. “Who am I?”
“That one is going to take months to riddle out. So no, it’s not the question tonight.”
“What is it then? You gave me my drink, so I’ll give you your answer.”
He’s quiet for a minute. In the dim light, his sapphire eyes are ablaze.
“Katarina…” he breathes. He tucks a lock of dark hair behind my ear. “Katarina, can I kiss you?”
My heart stutters at his vulnerability, but I’m disappointed. It’s the first time all night he’s disappointed me. I consider for a moment before answering.
“No,” I tell him, placing my empty glass on the desk.
“Why not?”
“Because you asked,” I reply. “If you want to kiss me, I expect you to just do it. I don’t want to beasked. I want to bekissed.”
