Page 51 of Dirty Game
I stand there, wrapped in his shirt that smells like him, that falls to mid-thigh and leaves my legs bare.
"Varrick—"
"I have meetings all morning. Jensen will drive you if you need to go anywhere." He still doesn't look up.
The dismissal is clear.
Last night was last night.
This morning, we're back to what we were before—owner and property, creditor and payment.
The distance hurts more than any of Marco's cigarette burns, any of Uncle Enzo's backhands.
Because those were meant to hurt. This feels like he’s erasing our connection.
"Did I do something wrong?"
That makes him look up, and for a second, I see heat flash in his eyes.
His gaze tracks down my body, lingering on my bare legs, on the way his shirt gaps at the collar to show the mark he left on my throat from his stubble.
His knuckles go white where he's gripping his tablet.
Then it's gone, locked away behind walls I thought we'd started breaking down.
"Eat your breakfast, Rosalynn."
He leaves before I can respond, taking his tablet and his indifference with him.
But not before I catch the way his hand shakes slightly as he reaches for the door.
Not before I see him adjust himself in his pants, evidence that he's not as unaffected as he pretends.
I sink into a chair, appetite gone, trying to understand what the hell is going on.
Maria bustles in, takes one look at my face, and makes a soft sound of sympathy.
"Men," she says, like that explains everything. "They get scared when they feel too much. Makes them stupid."
"He doesn't feel anything," I mutter, pushing eggs around my plate.
She laughs, actually laughs. "Child, that man has been walking into walls since you got here. Never seen him so twisted up. Just this morning, he burned his hand on the coffee pot because he was staring at the doorway, waiting for you."
"Then why?—"
"Because feeling something and knowing what to do with it are different things." She pats my shoulder, then pauses, her eyes catching something.
She tugs the collar of my shirt—his shirt—aside slightly, revealing the mark on my neck.
Her eyebrows rise. "Well, well. Finally made a move, did he?"
Heat floods my face. "Maria?—"
"About time. That man's been watching you like a starving wolf watches a lamb for weeks." She fixes the collar, hiding the mark again. "Though from the look of you this morning, you're no lamb."
"He won't even look at me now."
"Of course not. He's terrified." She starts clearing plates. "Men like him, they know how to handle violence. Know how to handle business. But a woman who makes them feel? That's scarier than any gun or any amount of blood."
