Page 55 of Ruby Malice

“Are you incapable of discerning trash from my personal possessions?” I ask slowly.

Her full lips twist to one side, a small dimple appearing in her cheek. Considering she’s never smiled at me, this is the first time I’ve seen it.

“I have discernment,” she says. “Plenty of it.”

“As always, you and I are talking around the matter at hand. I’d enjoy your candor for a change.”

“I don’t really give a damn what you’d enjoy, frankly.”

I sit up all at once, so quickly that Rayne jumps. “Clearly. If you did, I wouldn’t have to ask twice. But I pay you to care. So tell me: what’s under the bed?”

“Will you fire me?” she asks. It’s a challenge.

I shake my head. “No. I think you’d like that a bit too much.”

“I’d like losing my job?” She snorts. “Spoken like a man who doesn’t worry about paying his bills every month.”

“The way I see it, your options are to answer my question or quit.”

Her skin flushes, and I know I’m right.

“You can’t keep secrets to save your life,” I tell her. “Your body reacts to every slight. It’s like you’re constantly poised on the edge of a precipice, one small push from tumbling over into oblivion.”

“Into rage,” she corrects.

I laugh. “So far, I’ll admit, it’s mostly been rage. But you and I both know passion is a difficult beast to wrangle. It slips so easily from hate to love to lust. Sometimes all three at once. Which one are you feeling now?”

With every word that tumbles out of my mouth, Rayne turns a deeper shade of pink. Finally, like a thermometer in the sun, she bursts.

“You have women’s lingerie and condoms under your bed,” she snaps. “I presume both are yours?”

I laugh. “Hold one up and decide if you think it would fit me.”

I expect another eyeroll or a glare, but Rayne actually reaches for something on the floor and stands up.

It’s a black lace number. With a gun to my head, I wouldn’t be able to remember who it belonged to. But when Rayne presses the fabric against her body, even with her uniform underneath…thatis memorable.

The top is little more than tiny triangles of lace hanging by fishing line-thin straps. A band of lace runs from the top to the bottoms. The flare of her hips is visible in the cutouts. It doesn’t take much to imagine her without the burgundy uniform on.

“Maybe you’re right,” she says, looking down at herself, shifting from leg to leg. “This seems a little skimpy for you.”

“I usually avoid garter belts when I can.” I do my best to sound normal, but my throat is tight. The front of my pants is becoming tight as well.

In an angry slash, Rayne rips the lace away and tosses it on the floor. “So whose is it?”

“You don’t know her. I probably don’t, either.”

If possible, Rayne’s face twists with even more disgust. “God! You are unbelievable. Seriously. World-class ass.”

“So I’ve been told.”

She groans in frustration. “You twist everything to suit yourself. My words. Situations. People. Despite what you think, hot shot, the world doesn’t bend to your will.”

“I haven’t had an issue so far.” I shrug. “You’ve been more stubborn than most. But I’m a patient man.”

That’s not true. Not exactly. I’ve never been especially patient. Particularly not where women are concerned. It’s not that I’m not willing to put in the effort; it’s that no one has been worth it. Certainly not Viktoria. She isn’t even worth the effort it would take to call off our engagement.

German is always giving me shit about that. He brought it up again after the dinner the other night.

---