Page 68 of Tortured Eyes
“It’s not like I’ve done anything.”
“You took me,” she hisses. “And raped me.” The last of it is said so quietly, her eyes downcast, that a laugh erupts out of me.
“I don’t remember you once saying no. Do you? I assume you’ve seen the tape, so my story’s straight enough. In fact, I remember a lot of pleas for more while my dick was in you. Surely you know the law well enough.” That frown of hers drops to show her irritation. It’s sexy as fuck, making me imagine all sorts of lingerie.
I keep chuckling and lean back, part of me wanting to fuck her on this table to see if she can find a ‘no’ in her vocabulary this time. “Besides, you deserved what you got. And you used me, too, if I remember those nails of yours rightly. I even let you go. Eventually.”
“And that makes it alright?”
“Does in my books. You’re lucky. Nate wasn’t.”
That closes her glare down a little. Shame of it is, my amusement goes with the thought, too. I grab at a napkin and toss it in my lap, my mind trying to shake off the image of him. “You should just let this drop, Bryce. It’s over. Coming after Samuel won’t end well for you if you're trying for revenge. It’s a dumb fucking move.”
“He’s a priest, Logan.”
I nod and look around for the waitress and the wine she’s supposed to be bringing, part of me not ready for this conversation. Maybe I just don’t know what to say about him. It’s not like I’m prepared. I’ve kept him hidden, and now a cop, one I seem to like beyond all rational fucking reason, is asking questions about him?
“I don’t even understand how you’re gay.”
My head turns back to her, my own frown dropping.
“You should keep your voice lower because that sounds like some kind of insinuation against a well-respected man of the clergy.”
“It is,” she snips, at least quietly. “I was looking for a son, but you’re fucking a priest, aren’t you?”
"You were plotting revenge by attempting to use my child against me? How civil of you, detective."
"Screw you, Logan. You know what I'm saying. Are you, or are you not, fucking a priest?"
My body angles forward, elbows planted on the table and chin on my knuckles. How to answer? My teeth run over my bottom lip, eyes staring straight at hers. Visions start to mingle in my thoughts, the three of us. Passionate. Hedonistic. All the curses and grit. Soft skin. Those nails of hers biting into me. His words in my ear goading me on.
“If I was, would you join in?” Her eyes widen while her body threatens to pull back at the question. I don’t move. Not a fucking inch. It’s a question I want answering. A thought I want her to process, visualise, and reply to without the thought of being a cop involved. I have done enough. “Don’t lie to yourself, Red. Forget who we are. Imagine it and tell me you’re not interested.”
Wine lands on the table between us, two glasses full. I barely notice until the person attached to them says something. “Sir?”
“Two steaks. Rare. Bloody.” My tongue rolls over my lips. “All the trimmings. Go away.”
The waitress must walk off at some point, leaving us alone again, and still I wait for an answer to my question. I want it for several reasons. One, no one has ever linked Samuel and me before now. I need to understand what she’s going to do with that information. And two, I’m genuinely interested in pursuing my vivid imagination. It’s smutty. And I’m already hard thinking about it. She’s damn lucky I haven’t just thrown her over this table and got on with shit I’m considering, regardless of the rest of the diners in here.
She eventually leans away from the table and folds her arms, a small smile playing around her lips. “You think you can have anything you want, don’t you?”
“I can. But I particularly like having things I’m not allowed.”
“Figures. You’ve always had what you want and think you can take what isn’t yours. It’s childish.”
“I am the youngest Cane.”
“And I’m a cop.”
“A cop who likes getting dirty with a villain. Poetic, don’t you think? You can wear the uniform next time if you like.” Her smile twitches some more. “Might even let you use handcuffs. No one’s got me in those before. Could be kinky.”
A snort pops out of her nose, her mouth barely containing the beam she’s trying to hold in. I’d like to say it doesn’t interest me as much as it does, but the sight of her eyes actually smiling at me, some relaxed nature in them, makes me chuckle and remember something I’ve never had other than with Samuel. The thought makes me pick up my wine and sip, rolling my neck around in the next instance. It feels good to relax. Not that we are doing, but this is as close as I’ve got to sharing time with her that doesn’t involve force.
“God, I hate you,” she snaps, grabbing her wine. “You’re not supposed to be funny.”
“And yet you’re travelling the States hunting me down. Someone sounds a little desperate for me.”
“Because I’m invest-”
