Page 46 of Tank
She just stares.
I flick my wrist and turn over the sizzling bacon slices. The aroma fills the kitchen, rich and tantalizing. “This all ain’t for me,” I call out, loud enough for her to hear. I’m putting it right out there, letting her know. “If you’re hungry, grab a plate.”
She stays silent, and I steal another glance over my shoulder. Her lips pull apart, as if she’s about to say something sharp and cutting, something that’ll keep her in control. Then, just as quick, she snaps her mouth shut, shakes her head, and stomps over to the table with a kind of defiant determination. Yeah, she’s feisty all right. But I like that about her, too.
Bianca snatches a plate in one swift motion, scooping up some bacon before taking a bite. Her defenses are slipping, and I can see it happening right before my eyes.
Then — there it is.
A soft, throaty moan of appreciation escapes her, unguarded and pure. I know right then that I've got her. The corners of my mouth lift into a wide grin. I knew it. She can be as defiant, standoffish, fight-ready, combative as she wants to be — and hell, I fucking loved seeing that side of her last night — but she can’t resist me, not in the end. I’ll break down all her defenses, get what I need from her, and then… Then, I’ll cut her loose after I tell her I killed her brother. After I leave her shattered, but alive.
I turn, still stark naked, catching her eye. “I knew you were a moaner.”
Bianca freezes mid-bite. I see the flicker of a blush, just for a moment, just enough to know I hit home. Her cheeks color for just a flash of a second. Slowly, she lowers her food, chews, swallows, determined not to show how much I’ve gotten to her. She’s trying to keep her cool, but I can see through her.
Then, before I can blink, she slaps my ass.
Hard.
The sharp crack of skin-on-skin echoes through the kitchen. I jolt, blinking at her, more surprised than anything. “The hell was that?”
She just leans in, kisses me hard, and murmurs against my lips, “Don’t forget that you’re in my house, and unless you want your bacon to be cooked, too, you’ll adjust your attitude.”
I chuckle, dragging a hand down my face, still feeling the sting of her hand there, but liking it all the same. Goddamn, I like this woman. It’s a fucking shame she’s the sister of the man I need to kill. It’s a fucking shame she’s probably a criminal herself — even if she’s the best-disguised criminal I’ve ever seen — because maybe, in another life, it’d feel good to have something more. Something real. Something I never thought I wanted, or deserved.
But you can’t make something real out of a lie.
Though you can enjoy it while it lasts.
I straighten, kiss her back slow, deep, letting my hands rest on her hips, pulling her closer, feeling the warmth of her body against mine.
“Yes, ma’am.” I throw her a mock salute, doing my best to act like she didn’t shake me to my core just now.
She rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the smirk tugging at her lips.
We settle at the table, me still completely naked, calm as can be, like it’s a normal day, like this is how it ought to be, and we eat. For a while, it’s just silence. Comfortable silence. Peaceful silence. The kind I’ve never had in my life, the kind I never thought I’d have, ever. Food always used to come with shouting, with threats, with being told I wasn’t worth the damn crumbs they were giving me. Now look at me. Sitting at a table with a woman like Bianca fucking Moretti, eating the breakfast I just cooked up, not a single care.
Then Bianca speaks. “Who are you, really? What are you really doing in Boise?”
That’s not the question I was looking for. Not by a long shot. What we have between us is easy, nice, peaceful — even with the danger that swirls around us in the form of her criminal brother — and if I tell her who I really am, why I’m really here, I’ll be pulling that war right into the middle of us. I don’t want that. I just want to get what I want — her, her access — free of all the bullshit.
“Why do you want to know?” It’s not the most delicate question, not the most delicate tone, but I’m not a delicate man unless I’m handling some flaky pastry, and then, well, I’ve got fingers lighter than feathers.
“I have to be careful.” She clears her throat, eyes drift down to her plate, and her voice becomes something so small that I wonder if it’s really her. Time passes where I just watch her, silent, while she struggles through her own defenses, while she fights with something I can’t even see, but can still feel the weight of. “I was in an abusive relationship.”
I stop mid-bite. That’s not the answer I was expecting. Not an answer I can just bat away. The voice that leaves my mouth seems just as small as hers. “You were?”
She doesn’t look at me, just picks at her food.
“That’s why I started Safe House. I know what it’s like to feel trapped, to have nowhere to go. I know how hard it is to leave. That’s why I’m so… careful.”
I watch her for a second, wondering just how much I need to give to the sister of my enemy, but then I realize — no matter who she is, who' she’s related to, she’s still a fucking person, and she didn’t deserve any of that — then I nod. “I’m sorry.”
She finally looks up, raising an eyebrow. “That’s all you got to say?”
I take another bite, chewing slowly. “What else is there?”
She waits. Like she’s expecting something.
