Page 20 of A Murderous Crow
She sat and simply stared at me.
I raised my coffee to my lips and arched my eyebrows at her over the rim of my mug as I took a deliberate swallow and willed her silently to stop being so fucking obstinate.
She wrapped her hands around the mug in front of her, more for the warmth than out of any desire to actually drink it, and stirred it, which at least satisfied me that she was keeping with decorum.
“I like you better without all that fake shit,” I muttered, and she arched one eyebrow at me, bristling.
“Pretty stupid blondes and sex appeal sell more houses,” she said flatly, and I huffed a laugh.
“It also gets you whatever the hell that was last night,” I countered.
“You’re seriously going to blame me for Hal Lindstrom’s bad behavior?” she countered. There was some of that fire she held banked inside – the embers and coals sparking to life.
I cocked my head and set my coffee on the counter beside me, leaning my hands between the counters, pressing my hands flat and lifting myself off my feet in a stretch, as I contemplated what she was implying. I had to admit, she was right.
“No, you’re right. That was all him. You tell a dog to sit and stay in the presence of a prime piece of meat, and it tends to have more self-control than your average man these days.”
“Did you just compare me to a piece of meat?” She gave me an ugly look, and I barked a laugh.
“Now you’re reaching, princess,” I told her. “I was agreeing with you and walking back my prior statement, but you won’t even give me that, right now, will you?”
She shook her head.
“No, I won’t. Not while you’re standing there all blasé about drugging me and… and…” She was trying to find it when it was so blatantly obvious, so I helped her out.
“Sexually blackmailing you?” I supplied.
“Yes,” she said, and she sat back in her seat as though I’d whisked the sheet off and displayed the stark horror that lay underneath.
“I guess I’m not such a complicated guy after all.” I shrugged and took up my mug for another drink.
“Certainly, no better than the dog,” she muttered.
“Although I do have more self-control,” I said. “Right up until I don’t…”
“I don’t see the difference,” she said.
I grinned. “The difference is that depending onyourbehavior, this gets to be as pleasant or unpleasant as you want it to be.”
“What in theCruel Intentionswarped reality are you talking about?”
“Not as airheaded as you pretend to be on the regular, are you?” I shot back.
“What?” She looked confused.
“I like to play with my toys, and you’re quickly catching on,” I told her.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “And if I don’t want to play?” she demanded.
I laughed at that. “Then you wouldn’t be playing like you are,” I said. “You would have left by now if something in you wasn’t at the very least… curious.”
She swallowed hard, took up her coffee, and drank a big swallow.
She set it down and then seemed to realize what she’d done because she looked up at me with those eyes, so wide, and showing too much white, and I couldn’t help myself. I howled with laughter.
“Give it a minute,” I told her and took another swallow of the black liquid gold in my mug. “You’ll see I didn’t put anything in it.”
She propped her elbows on the table, covered her mouth with her hands, closed her eyes, and trembled finely. I appreciated the beauty of her discomfiture.
