Page 24 of Arrogant Bastard

Now that I’m satisfied she still wants me, I decide to leave the subject of fucking her alone for a little while, hard as it might be. But there’s something more urgent on my mind. “Tell me more about Axel Rutherford and his clubs.”

Her beautiful eyes widen. “How did you about the other…? Right. Betty.”

I nod. “She came through earlier than I thought but you were asleep, so…”

Her fingers play over the design on the covers. “I told you, he’s my partner-slash-boss. I run his club for him but…”

“But?”

“I sort of came up with the concept, so I get a percentage of the profits.”

I nod, fold my hands under my arms, and ask the question that’s been burning a path through my brain for the last five hours. “Why does he call you B?”

I get pursed lips before she answers. “Because it’s my name.”

“Explain.”

“He calls me B, short for Black. As in Black Widow.”

The tension that whips through me is itching to be let free. I struggle to contain it but I still need several beats for the red haze to die down. “Let me get this straight. You were using your code name in public?”

She tenses at my harsh tone. “My partial code name. My field name was the Widow. Our code name was Knight Widow.”

“I haven’t forgotten. But that name isn’t a million miles from the name you’re using now. You think that was wise?”

“It kept me under the radar for four years, didn’t it?” she returns.

I have to concede that. Until her slipup, she’d succeeded in hiding in semi-plain sight. Like I’ve done all these years. But I’m still pissed.

Faith. The Widow. B. Black Widow. Whatever she chooses to call herself and however she disguises herself, she belongs to me. Only me.

“And he never asked your real name?”

“He didn’t care. Which worked out brilliantly for both of us.”

I only realize I’m moving toward the bed when I step on her discarded yoga pants. My gaze doesn’t shift from her face. “What else worked out brilliantly for you?”

“He didn’t give me endless grief like you are right now, for starters.”

“Good for him. What else?”

She drives her fingers through her hair in a display of irritation. The lift of her braless tits momentarily banks my anger. But only for a moment. Because I learned a long time ago that I’m capable of being turned on by and furious with the magnificently beautiful woman glaring at me from the bed.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? You want to know if I’m fucking him?”

The thought drives me to the edge, figuratively and literally. I lean down and brace my hands at the edge of the bed. My fingers curl into fists with the quiet fury that tells me I won’t react well if she answers yes to my question. “Are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

My fists unfurl. “Did you ever?”

Her nostrils flare. “I learned my lesson that sleeping with one’s boss or partner isn’t the best idea in the world.”

I ignore that. “Doesn’t answer my question.”

“No, I didn’t ever.”

I straighten. But the knots inside me won’t ease. “Why does he talk to you as if there’s something between you?”

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