“I can walk on my own, you know.” Nila tugged her wrist, trying to free herself from my grip.
Our feet—mine in dress shoes, hers in flip-flops—whispered down the plush red-carpeted corridor. “I like knowing you have no choice but to follow my every footstep, Ms. Weaver.”
She growled under her breath.
Turning a corner, I took her down a different route. I had no reason other than to confuse her. She would have no idea where we were going until the final second.
“Wow.” Nila lagged behind, her eyes fixated on the perimeter and the huge wall hangings. The beautiful tapestries hung from brass rods two stories high. Depictions of hunting mythical creatures—blood spurting from unicorns and griffons impaled on spikes—were the cheery décor.
“Who did all these? Was it your ancestors?”
I chuckled. “You think we’re skilled at arts and crafts?” Shaking my head, I said, “We aren’t weavers or sewers. We have much more important things to do.”
“Like hunt?”
I nodded. “Amongst other pastimes.”
“So who did them?”
I scowled. “Why do you think there has to be a link between something appealing to the eye and history? Diamonds buy a lot of things, Ms. Weaver. There comes a time when wealth transforms, and purchasing works of art is one of them.”
She shuddered, looking away.
Why the fuck did she shudder? It was the way of the world. Everybody knew that the rich grew richer, and the poor sold their souls for a piece of it.
Silence fell awkwardly between us as we traversed the distance to the other wing of the house. I’d spent an entire lifetime in this monolithic prison and still managed to get lost.
Turning the last corner, Nila slammed to a halt.
My lips twitched at the corners. “Recognise something?”
Her dark eyes widened with horror. “You can’t take me in there.”
“I can and I will.”
Before us rested the huge double doors of the dining room.
Nila squirmed in my hold. “You said I was to pay the First Debt. I’ve already paid the one where your foul associates licked me. You can’t mean to repeat it.”
I growled, “What time is it?”
Her face went blank. “Excuse me?”
I pointed down the hall, where the sun beamed through the French doors at the end. “It’s morning. I was out late last night working up an appetite, and it’s that time when people typically eat.”
“Breakfast?” she squeaked. “You’re making me eat in the same room where your awful family—”
“No need to repeat the facts, Ms. Weaver. I’m fully aware of what happened to you in there. Unfortunately for you, I don’t care. I’m hungry. You’re hungry. We have a big day ahead of us, and it’s time for fucking breakfast.”
Her head tilted as the curse fell from my mouth.
Goddammit to fucking hell.
Why did I have to end up with a Weaver who seemed to tap into a never-ending well of strength and intelligence? Her question before hadn’t stopped ringing in my ears: “What did you do?”
How had she seen my transformation so clearly, so shrewdly? Even my own family didn’t notice things like that—only if I went too far did they ever intervene. I had to keep her at arm’s length if I had any hope of hiding my true self.
I leaned down to her level, my eyes disobeying my command not to stray to her lips. So pink and full, just the memory of having them wrapped around my cock made me ripple with need.
You want to kiss her.
I crucified that thought immediately. A kiss was connection—a kiss could never happen, because I wanted no connection with this woman. I couldn’t.
“I agree it’s morning and we should eat, but please, Jethro, take me somewhere else. Hell, give me a picnic in the kennels. Just don’t take me into that room.”
The plea in her voice disgusted me. I preferred her when she remained defiant, rather than begging. “No arguing. Gemstone is always held in this room. We won’t break tradition for anyone, especially you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Gemstone?”
“Our biweekly meeting with the Diamond brothers. While you were relaxing the past few days, some of us were working. The meeting is a recap of dealings and revenue, and you’re a Hawk now. You get to be privy to our inner empire. Lucky, wouldn’t you say?”
She tried to jerk her wrist from my hold. It didn’t work. “And if I don’t want to be a part of it?”
I smirked. “Do you really think you have a choice?”
We glowered at each other.
Placing my palm on the doors, I pushed them open and pulled her into the room where her induction had taken place.
I looked over at Nila.
She sat wedged between Kestrel and Flaw. For the first twenty minutes of the meeting, she’d been jumpy, angry, and downright livid to be back in the room with the same men who’d seen and tasted every morsel of her.
Now, an hour into the meeting, she’d stopped hissing whenever a brother asked her a polite question, and had even eaten half of her salmon and poached eggs with hollandaise sauce. She’d refused coffee, which reminded me of how she didn’t drink the one I bought her in Milan, and her body language was so fucking uptight, I expected her to pass out from muscle exhaustion any second.
For the past sixty minutes, we’d discussed the successful transaction last night, the rare delivery of a diamond over twenty-six carats next week, and the on-going politics in Sierra Leone. Boring stuff for an outsider.
She isn’t an outsider. She’s ours now.
More often than I wished, I caught myself watching her, my eyes seeming to land on her, regardless of who was speaking. She was the only splash of colour in the line-up of men on her side of the table—a peach fiesta smack in the middle of leather-jacketed bikers.