Page 33 of Bite
I pivot, unsure whether I’m supposed to stand here like lost luggage or follow the butler’s disappearing shadow, and that’s when I see him.
James waits in the grand sitting room off the foyer, an imposing figure carved out of darkness and ease. Soft-looking black slacks hug his thighs, a crisp black button-down undone at his throat to reveal a tempting slice of his muscular chest.The sleeves are rolled casually, as though the immensity of his power doesn’t need starch or formality to announce itself. He completely owns the room, lounging like a king on his throne with his frosty gaze locked on me, tracking my every move like a predator.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he murmurs, smoothly rising to stand.
“I wasn’t either,” I admit, my pulse ticking in my throat. Even though my heart is sprinting, I drift toward him, feet moving on their own accord.
James slowly drags a hand across his chin as he studies me, eyes lingering in a way that makes every muscle in my body tighten. “So,thisis who you really are,” he muses at last, blue eyes sparkling when they lift to meet mine again.
“Uh, I guess,” I breathe, pushing a nervous hand through my hair. “I was out with a friend when I got the notification, so I didn’t exactly have time to go home and change…”
“I like it,” he cuts in, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a smirk that’s half sin, half promise. “It suits you.”
My face flushes with heat. I quickly turn away to hide it, pretending I’m fascinated by the décor rather than the man devouring me with his gaze.
It’s not hard to fake in a room this stunning. It’s like stepping into another century– oil paintings gaze down from gilded frames, their colors burnished by lamplight spilling through stained glass shades. An enormous Persian rug sprawls across the floor, intricate patterns softening the echo of my boots. Every chair, every table, every piece of carved wood and velvet upholstery gleams with rich jewel tones and the weight of history. I let my eyes roam over all of it, greedily drinking in the details, even as my erratic pulse insists that the most dangerous work of art in the room is standing behind me.
“Have you given the contract any thought?” James’ voice rumbles low, the deep timbre rattling down to my bones.
I glance back at him over my shoulder, tongue darting out to wet my dry lips. “Some.”
His hands slide into his pockets as he advances closer, every step deliberate. “And?” He cocks a brow.
“I’m… still considering,” I mumble.
A slow, knowing smile unfurls across his lips. The kind that says he already knows the ending of this game. “How can I convince you?” he asks.
I lift one shoulder, forcing a casual shrug I definitely don’t feel. “You could always add another zero to the payment.”
He doesn’t even blink. “Done.”
I whip toward him in shock. “Wait, seriously?” I choke out.
He tilts his head, studying me like a puzzle he enjoys taking apart piece by piece. “Does money make you feel safer, Marilyn?”
The name rolls from his tongue with too much familiarity, making my belly flip. “No,” I breathe. “But… it helps.”
“Then you’ll have more of it,” he says simply, rolling his shoulders back with the calm certainty of a man for whom resources are infinite. “Anything else?”
The air between us hums with anticipation, the space somehow both suffocatingly small and impossibly wide. My instincts war between the urge to flee and the pull to be nearer to him.
My teeth worry my bottom lip as my gaze betrays me, skimming his broad frame. The veins winding his forearms, the swell of biceps flexing beneath fine black fabric, the ink coiling over skin like secrets waiting to be unraveled. I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about what he looks like out of those clothes, but my brain supplies the image anyway– lines ofart etched across an immortal body, designs chosen with the arrogance of eternity.
“I want to talk about… specifics,” I finally manage, dragging my eyes back to his. They’re sharp, unyielding, but there’s a flicker of intrigue there, too– like he’s amused that I think I can negotiate.
He inclines his head, sweeping a hand toward the velvet sofa. “Then let’s talk,mea dulcis.”
This is probably the last thing I should be doing three margaritas deep, but then again, I’m not sure I’d be bold enough to even have this discussion without a little liquid courage.
My feet move, carrying me forward before my brain has time to second-guess it. The rug muffles my steps as I close the distance between us and lower myself onto the edge of the sofa, spine straight, perched like a bird ready to take flight. My fingers knot together in my lap as I force a shaky breath into my lungs.
“Some of the things in the contract,” I begin, already feeling heat climb my neck. “The ones on the secondary services addendum…”
James cocks his head slightly, eyes intent, waiting. He doesn’t fill the silence– he lets it stretch, lets me fumble.
I drop my gaze, words shrinking to a whisper. “I haven’t… experienced all of the things listed. I don’t know if I can agree to something when I’m not even sure whether I’d like it.”
“I assure you,” he says softly, the resonance of his voice wrapping around me like velvet. “Anything we explore would be for our mutual pleasure. Nothing forced. Nothing unwanted.” His eyes glint. “Was there something in particular that gave you pause?”
