Page 174 of Mangled Memory
“I thought you needed a nap. Do you want to lie down, or would you like me to show you?”
If the bedroom does this straight-out-of-a-Hollywood movie stuff, which is so cool, what does he think makes me happy? I have to know.
“Your call.” The taunt in his voice is unmistakable.
“I can nap after I guess.” I fight to make my voice casual, hoping it’s nonchalant.
Christian crosses his arms over his chest. I don’t know when he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, but his tan corded forearms are on display.
They’re a thing for me. Some women are about the butt, or the abs, or the pecs. For me, it’s hands and forearms. Masculine power and grace banded into the muscles that ripple and roll just under the skin.
When he taps his fingers, I’m distracted by the sinewy muscle undulating beneath the taut tan flesh.
“Ayla.” My name that rips from him is half amusement and half warning.
I look up into fierce, heated black eyes.
“Come.” That one word, said in that manner, is not the stranger before me asking me to follow him. That is the way a man commands his lover to find her pleasure.
The shiver that runs through me is less fear than last time.
“Okey doke, let’s go.”
I can’t be sure, but I think I hear him repeat “okey doke?” from behind me as I march down the hall, having no clue where I’m going. Once I get to the great room, I turn a complete circle, looking for Christian.
He stands underneath the curved staircase and pushes something, a latch perhaps, in the wall. A door I didn’t see earlier swivels open. He steps aside. “After you.”
Like hell am I going into the secret dungeon in the wall with a man I met less than a week ago. I stand looking into the dismal area and back at Christian Barone.
“Your life insurance policy is too valuable to not have a body.”
I gasp in shock.
“Ayla, I get it.” He scratches his neck. “No, I don’t. I don’t understand, I know. But I’m not trying to hurt you and I’m sure as fuck not trying to off you.”
I stare back at him in disbelief.
“Take a deep breath, baby.”
I do, and the tang on the air is comforting. It’s so familiar that I turn into it with my back to the threat in front of me and wander the short, dark hallway.
“Is this what I think it is?”
My heart rate rises as I step from the tight hall into a windowless room—a windowless dark room.
Happiness bubbles up for the first time that I can remember and bursts out of my body in a laugh. It hurts my head and stretches where the stitches were at my temple, but it’s worth it. I whirl. “You were right. This is definitely my favorite.”
“I said this would make you happy, not that it was your favorite. But we can go with that.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets.
I wonder if he recognizes his tells. This is boyish and cute. Those aren’t words I’d normally use to describe the demi-god in front of me. I bet he hasn’t been called either in more than a decade.
“How old are you?” The question pops out before I can stop it.
“Thirty five. Thirty six in two months.”
“A Scorpio? You struck me more as a Taurus.”
He tilts his head in curiosity. “Cell service isn’t good in here, and WiFi is dampened by what it took to build this in.”
