Page 53 of Elicit (Decadence After Dark)

“I can be if I need to,” I caution, tucking some burgundy hair behind her ear.

She steps back cautiously.

“I would never hurt you,” I promise.

“You say that now.”

“And I mean it,” I spit seriously. “I mean it today, tomorrow, and the next day. And every fucking day after that.”

London’s cagy demeanor doesn’t change. She doubts me. And it fucking stings.

We stare at each other at an impasse.

“Don’t do that,” I entreat.

“Do what?”

“Push me away.”

“I’m not pushing you away.”

“Bullshit. You’re doing it right now. I see it on your face. In your eyes. What is it going to take for you to trust me? For you to believe I mean what I say?”

“I do believe you.” Her reply is so robotic she may as well be a Stepford wife. Every syllable a rehearsed response. The second we take two steps forward, we immediately take three steps back. Whatever she’s suffering with, whatever her past, it’s hindering her life. Hindering her from any kind of relationship and closing her off to the world.

“If that’s the truth, then tell me what you want,” I challenge her. “Open up to me.” I trap her face in my hands.Tell me you want me.

A moment of heavy silence passes and then a complete blockade.

“Why are you pushing this?” She turns defensive.

“Because I want to know you.” I shake her head, hoping I’m shaking some sense into her.

“You do know me.” Her eyes flare with anger. “You know how to dress me up and sell me to your clients. You know how to make me come, and now, you know how to piss me off. I’d say you know me pretty damn well.”

My jaw drops open, shocked at what I’m hearing. Not that any of it is untrue, she’s just never hinted that it bothers her. Until now.

“I’m just a pawn in your shitty game of chess. That’s all I’ll ever be. No one. Nothing.” She yanks her head out of my grasp.

“Hey.” I snatch her arm before she gets too far. “I’ve never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to do. And I’ve never treated you like you’re no one.”

“Oh, really? I’m someone, huh? I’msoimportant to you,” she ridicules. “What if I told you I was done? That I want to pursue this wonderful and mystical life you talk about.” Disdain drips off her words. “Are you just going to let your cash cow stroll out the door? Do you see me as that much of a person that you’re willing to just let me leave, no arguments, no questions asked?” Her tone is scathing.

The image of her leaving is horrific. It paralyzes me.

“That’s what I thought.” London misinterprets my silence, tugging her arm loose before storming out the door.

What the fuck just happened?

I know I was just hit by Hurricane London. A woman like none other. A challenge. A mystery. A closed book with an eye-catching cover.

Just as I go after her to set her ass straight, the piercing sound of a phone rings. I freeze, then turn slowly around.

I cross the room, following the sound, and sure as shit, as if all the bad luck in the world just rained down, that damn burner is blowing up.

Fuck.

I swipe it off the floor where I left it, and with an anxious breath answer, “Hello?”

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