I eye the doorway. It’s only ten feet away, but I doubt I could make it without him tackling me. “What do you mean, a deal?”
He crouches down besides the bed and I’m transported back to the hotel room again, but this time I can see the inquisitive, knowing look on his face. His powerful jawline puts most men to shame, and coupled with the other unique elements that make up his face—dark eyebrows, dimpled chin, pouting lips, a cheekbone structure more women would die for—he is probably the most savagely beautiful human being I have ever seen. It’s not his looks that freeze my limbs to stone, though. It’s the way he looks at me, like for this split second I am the sole focus of his entire world.
“I want to ask you two questions,” he says carefully. “And then you can stay here and do what I tell you to do, or you can leave. You can go home and forget all about this and me and what you’ve seen here tonight. It will be your choice.”
Seems like a no brainer. I don’t think he’s lying to me—I believe without a doubt that he’ll let me walk right on out of here. I can see it in his eyes. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he says. A thrill of nerves tingles through me when he rises and sits on the very edge of the bed; he leans over and places his left hand beside my head, supporting his weight so that he hovers above me. “Have you had sex with anyone since me?”
What the hell kind of question is that? He waits patiently for me to answer while I feign anger over the indignity of the question. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s pissed me off. He’s just waiting for my answer, and the sooner I tell him then the sooner I can go. Fine. I have no reason to lie to him, so I tell him the truth. “No. I haven’t had sex with anyone since you.”
Zeth’s only reaction to this is a crinkling at the corner of his eyes when he narrows them at me. “Good. Thank you for telling me the truth. And now answer me this and if you still want to go, you can…”
I suck in a breath and hold it. This is going to be messed up, I just know it.
“Back when we first met, I told you that you had to own me or I would own you. You’ve been thinking about what that would be like ever since then.”
“No, I haven’t.” My voice shakes so bad I sound like a terrified little girl. Zeth tuts.
“You did so well just now when you told me the truth. Don’t ruin it now, Sloane. And that wasn’t my question. I was telling you that because I know it’s true.” He lowers himself down so slowly as he speaks, until his face is a mere inch away from mine. He tips his head to the side and dips lower, buzzing his nose along the side of my jaw, inhaling slowly and then exhaling, so that his hot breath sends a shiver through my body so powerful that I have to lock my muscles to stop it. “You haven’t been able to get me out of your head. You think about me all the time, wondering who I am, where I am, what I’m doing, who I’m fucking.” He breathes that last word directly into my ear, and my legs clamp together. “At night, when you’re alone, when you touch yourself, I’m the one you’re wet for. And this whole time you’ve been wondering…wondering what it would have been like to have me own you that night. What I would have done to you. How I would have made you mine. So my last question for you, Sloane, is this: are you strong enough to admit that this is what you want? Are you brave enough to find out?”
I feel stripped bare. It’s like Zeth has somehow found a way inside my mind and read all of my most personal thoughts. He has no way of knowing those things about me, but he says them with such an unequivocal certainty that I know he knows it’s true. And it is. Fuck. I close my eyes, trying to breath through the panic. Panic due to Zeth hovering over me, pure sex and malice wrapped up in one blisteringly hot, tattooed package.
“I—I don’t want that, Zeth.”
If he’s disappointed, he shows no sign. He sits back, giving me some space. “Fair enough. It’s been a very pleasant visit, then, Sloane, but it’s time you were going.”
I sit up, watching him. He’s serious. He really is going to let me go. I slowly swing my legs from the bed, tensing, ready, just in case this is all some kind of trick. He stands and picks up his dress shirt, slipping his arms through the sleeves. It hangs open as he collects his cuff links from a dark, anonymous piece of furniture. The outline of him, the tattoos, the face, the open shirt…he has every right to the animalistic and deeply sexual way that he moves. It’s not an attitude. I can tell that already. It’s just who he is.
“Well?” he asks.
“What…” I can’t wrestle the words out. I hate that I’m even thinking them. “What are you going to do after I leave?”