Page 55 of Ruthless Creatures
“May I ask why?”
His voice goes rough. “Because once you’re in my bed, you’re mine. And that’s it. Once I have you, I’ll never let you go. Not even if you ask me to.”
We stare at each other. After a moment, I say, “Wow. We haven’t even had our first date yet.”
He growls, “This is who I am. The only bad thing Idon’tdo is lie. I’ll never lie to you, even if I know you’ll fucking hate it.”
He’s agitated, I see that clearly. Agitated and irritated, his temper high.
It doesn’t scare me. Instead, it intrigues the hell out of me. So does everything he’s said.
All that money I spent on therapy… what a waste.
I say, “Okay. Let’s say I accept what you’re telling me. Let’s saywe move forward with the assumption that I know you’re on Santa’s naughty list.”
He sighs, closing his eyes. “It’s so much fucking worse than that.”
“Please stop cursing at me. I’m trying to say something.”
He opens his eyes and looks at me, his eyes blazing. A muscle twitches like crazy in his clenched jaw.
Fascinated by that rebellious muscle, I trace it with the tip of my finger.
He stills under my touch, so much so that it seems as if he’s stopped breathing.
I say softly, “My whole life, I’ve been good. I made all the right decisions. I didn’t do anything foolish or wild. Even when I was a kid, I followed all the rules. None of that protected me from the worst of what life had to offer. Being good didn’t keep me from being hurt, or being depressed, or wishing more days than not that I had the guts to kill myself to escape the pain.
“That you’re honest enough to tell me what you just did… I suppose it should make me afraid, but instead it makes me feel safer. It makes me want to trust you. Because the truth is always so much harder than making up something pretty. I’d rather have the ugly truth than a beautiful lie.
“So let’s just go on our date like two normal people. Let’s enjoy ourselves. After that, we’ll take it one day at a time. An hour at a time if we have to. There’s no need to settle everything tonight. Okay?”
He gazes at me in tense silence for a long moment. I see the wheels turning behind his eyes. Then he nods, grudgingly, as if agreeing to keep seeing me is against his better judgment.
That makes me feel safer with him, too.
Nobody truly bad would put another person’s well-being before their own.
Narcissists and psychopaths don’t operate that way.
Feeling bold, I wrap my arms around his shoulders again and stretch against him like a cat. “So… this kiss you mentioned earlier on the phone.”
His eyes flare with heat. He grinds his back teeth together and says nothing.
I smile up at him, knowing exactly how my words have affected him, feeling a heady rush of power at the idea that something so small could make a man like him lose his grip.
“If I remember correctly, you said I’d have to ask you explicitly for what I want.”
His lashes lower. Very slowly, he exhales. It rumbles through his chest like a sound a bear might make. He growls, “Are you asking?”
I pretend to think for a moment, pursing my lips. “I don’t know. Am I?”
His eyes go black. Murderous black. Crazy-person black.
The only reaction that gets out of me is to make me smile wider.
Deadly soft, he says, “Careful, beautiful girl.”
I love it when he calls me that. It makes all my hollow spaces fill up with crackling white light and start singing.
