Page 43 of Daughter of a Monster

“Touché, my dear Miss Ette, but there are some subtle differences.” His eyes move over my body, lingering on the exposed swell of my breast.

Clearing my throat, and ignoring the nervous flutter in my stomach, I address Jericho. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been away for a few days. I hope you had a nice time, wherever it was you were.” I smile sweetly when he looks up, surprised that I’ve addressed him.

“I was away on business.”

“Business?” I ask, prompting him for more.

“Yes, business,” is all he replies.

“And what business are you in?” I ask, before popping a forkful of food into my mouth.

He narrows his eyes. “I own a chain of nightclubs.”

I’d looked him up before coming here so I have some understanding of what he does, but getting more information from him, or even having casual small talk, was like trying to draw blood from a stone.

“And do you enjoy that?”

A faint flicker of amusement passes over his face. “It’s fine.”

When he says the word, it’s like all the heat and steam from the swimming pool makes its way back into the room and I find it difficult to breathe.

“It makes money.” He waves his hand into the air. “Pays for all this.”

Gideon claps his hands in glee. “I get it now. This is like a tennis match. Your turn, dancer girl.” He turns his head back my way expectantly.

I ignore him. Again. It seems to be my only defense when it comes to Gideon Priest. “And where was it exactly that this business trip took you?”

“Australia.”

“Australia?”

“Yes, Australia.”

Jericho cuts those dark eyes to mine. The lilt of amusement is no longer there. “Is there something specific you’d like to know, Miss Berkley?”

I shake my head, color heating my cheeks and drop my gaze to my plate. “No, no, I was just trying to make conversation.”

Gideon laughs. “Keep marching, Berkley. Surely it can’t be all that much longer before those walls come tumbling down.”

I shoot him a glare across the table, tempted to poke my tongue out.

How do other people do it? How do they flirt through everyday conversation? I had hoped to get him talking about himself. I would smile and laugh, maybe even batter my eyelashes. But Jericho Priest isn’t having a bar of it.

When I look up again, he’s still glaring at me, his plate left untouched. There’s heat in his stare, but I’m unsure of the meaning behind it. Is he annoyed at me for probing into his life? Is he cursing my father for lumping me at his dinner table? Or is it possible he’s just as attracted to me as I am to him?

The faint tingle that often begins right before one of my flashes starts in my stomach. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, willing it away.

But instead of going away, closing my eyes makes it overwhelm me in a rush. I’m sucked into my own body, as if it’s happening here, now. And I am the one pulling the ropes.

Literally.

Jericho Priest is tied to a bed and I’m sitting on top of him, his head between my thighs, his hair between my fingers. His face is buried, his tongue pushing inside me. I feel the sensation of it. The glorious things it’s doing to my body. I can feel the threads of his hair between my fingers, the heat of his body so close to mine. I’m intoxicated by the scent of our arousal, the guttural sounds of his moans.

And then it’s gone and I’m left flushed and wet, desperate with desire, and Jericho Priest’s eyes are still firmly fixed on me. His lips are slightly open as if he too can sense the connection between us. As if he too was there, under me, tasting me.

It’s different from any of the flashes I’d had before. It’s so real. Too real. As though I was right there, experiencing everything, feeling everything.

“Will you play Monopoly with me after dinner?”

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