Wildfire
Page 52
He grinned. “Your family likes me. I would charm them into sparing my life.”
“I don’t know. They were pretty determined.”
He leaned forward. “But I can be so charming.”
Oh yes. Yes, he could. It’s not hard to be charming when you are that smoking hot. I had to pace myself.
The restaurant wavered around me, receding. The light changed, growing soft and golden. I was in bed with Rogan. Neither of us was wearing a shred of clothes. His big hand slid up my thigh . . .
I pulled back from the projection just enough to see him looking at me from across the table.
“Be careful,” I told him, and licked the wine off my lips. His gaze snagged on my tongue. “You might set the tablecloth on fire.”
He looked on the verge of getting up and dragging me out of the restaurant to have incredible sex in the car. And I would totally go with him.
The projection vanished, like the flame of a snuffed-out candle.
Rogan’s eyes iced over. He picked up his glass and leaned back as a man approached our table. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a custom-tailored suit with casual elegance. His skin was dark brown, his hair cropped very short, and a precise narrow goatee traced his jaw. I’d only met him once, but he’d made an impression. It was the eyes. You looked into them and knew this was a dangerously smart man.
“Rogan.”
“Latimer,” Rogan said. “Chair?”
Michael Latimer nodded. A chair moved by itself from the nearest empty table and slid to ours. Latimer sat.
“The Harcourts reached out to me today,” he said. “They offered a strategic alliance on very favorable terms. Do I need to worry about you, Rogan?”
True.
“My business with them is concluded,” Rogan said. “Except for Vincent.”
“You have plans for Vincent?”
“Yes.”
“Do those plans hinge on him no longer breathing?”
“Yes.”
Latimer leaned back. The chair creaked slightly. “They’ve given up. They don’t think they can protect Vincent.”
“Agreed. They know they’ll be vulnerable without their biggest gun,” Rogan said.
Latimer raised his eyebrows, thinking. “Good information to have. Enjoy your evening.”
He rose and looked at me. “The offer stands. Any time, any place.”
“Thank you.”
Michael Latimer walked away.
Rogan turned to me. “What offer?”
“When Augustine took me to Baranovsky’s gala, Latimer saw the bruises on my neck and mistook me for a domestic abuse victim. His aunt distracted Augustine, while he offered to walk me out of the gala and take me to a doctor and give me a safe place to stay.”
Rogan leaned to the side to look after Latimer. “Michael Latimer?”
“Mhm. He wasn’t lying.”
“Interesting,” Rogan said.
Our waitress appeared by our table with our food.
My pork chop was incredible. I decided that I didn’t care if I spilled food on myself. I did care if other people saw me shovel the food in my mouth as if I were a cavewoman, so I forced myself to cut painfully small bites.
“We should have dessert,” Rogan said.
I eyed my pork chop. My plate had enough meat to feed me for two days.
“What’s your favorite dessert?” he asked.
“I don’t know what it’s called. I had it one time when I was maybe nine or ten. Mom was deployed, and Grandma Frida and Grandpa Leon took my sisters and cousins to Rockport Beach for three days. I was supposed to go, but I got sick and spent the first day throwing up in Dad’s office. I was so miserable. Everyone was at the beach, and here I was sleeping in the office next to a bucket. On the morning of the second day I kept down some crackers and by the evening I was so hungry. Dad closed a big case, and he took me to some restaurant to celebrate. I don’t remember what I had for dinner, but Dad said I could have whatever I wanted for dessert. So I ordered something called the treasure box. They brought it out and it was this big cube made of chocolate. I tried it with the spoon and the top broke. The chocolate was paper thin. There was this amazing cream inside mixed with raspberries and blueberries. It was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” I smiled at the memory. “Your turn.”
“Chocolate mousse,” he said without hesitation. “I craved it in the jungle. No idea why. Never liked chocolate much before. Some days when we were starving, I’d wake with the taste of it in my mouth, thinking it was real. When we walked out, they put us into helicopters and brought us to Arrow Point, the base in Belize. I stayed awake until they got us to the hospital. All these people were running around, frantically trying to make sure I didn’t die on their watch. At some point someone asked me what I wanted. I must’ve told them, because when I woke up in the hospital bed, it was waiting for me.”
I wanted to hug him. I had to settle for reaching out and gently stroking his hand with my fingers. “Was it good?”
“Yes. It was.”
A young woman walked up to our table on tall needle heels. She was about twenty, with light blond hair, twisted into a complicated arrangement on the back of her head. Her skin was flawless and her makeup expertly applied. She wore a black cocktail dress, but unlike my simple number, hers consisted of artfully sewn strips of ghostly black silk, each strip shot through with a streak of gold. The dress screamed money. She knew she was beautiful and she was used to taking it as her due.
She ignored me, her gaze fixed on Rogan. “My name is Sloan Marcus of House Marcus.”
Rogan pondered her.
“We’re the third largest telekinetic House in Texas,” she said. “I’m a third-generation Prime. I’m twenty-one, in good health, and free of genetic diseases. I’m a graduate of Princeton. You interest me. My profile will be available to you on request.”
She just propositioned him right in front of me.
Rogan nodded. “My companion is much too polite to explain the facts to you, Sloan, so I’ll have to take it upon myself. She and I had a rather trying morning, and, having washed off the blood and gore, we came here for a quiet meal. You’re interrupting it.”
Color tinted her cheeks. She wasn’t embarrassed. She was angry at being rebuffed. “I don’t believe you understand. I said, my profile will be available to you.”
“I don’t know. They were pretty determined.”
He leaned forward. “But I can be so charming.”
Oh yes. Yes, he could. It’s not hard to be charming when you are that smoking hot. I had to pace myself.
The restaurant wavered around me, receding. The light changed, growing soft and golden. I was in bed with Rogan. Neither of us was wearing a shred of clothes. His big hand slid up my thigh . . .
I pulled back from the projection just enough to see him looking at me from across the table.
“Be careful,” I told him, and licked the wine off my lips. His gaze snagged on my tongue. “You might set the tablecloth on fire.”
He looked on the verge of getting up and dragging me out of the restaurant to have incredible sex in the car. And I would totally go with him.
The projection vanished, like the flame of a snuffed-out candle.
Rogan’s eyes iced over. He picked up his glass and leaned back as a man approached our table. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a custom-tailored suit with casual elegance. His skin was dark brown, his hair cropped very short, and a precise narrow goatee traced his jaw. I’d only met him once, but he’d made an impression. It was the eyes. You looked into them and knew this was a dangerously smart man.
“Rogan.”
“Latimer,” Rogan said. “Chair?”
Michael Latimer nodded. A chair moved by itself from the nearest empty table and slid to ours. Latimer sat.
“The Harcourts reached out to me today,” he said. “They offered a strategic alliance on very favorable terms. Do I need to worry about you, Rogan?”
True.
“My business with them is concluded,” Rogan said. “Except for Vincent.”
“You have plans for Vincent?”
“Yes.”
“Do those plans hinge on him no longer breathing?”
“Yes.”
Latimer leaned back. The chair creaked slightly. “They’ve given up. They don’t think they can protect Vincent.”
“Agreed. They know they’ll be vulnerable without their biggest gun,” Rogan said.
Latimer raised his eyebrows, thinking. “Good information to have. Enjoy your evening.”
He rose and looked at me. “The offer stands. Any time, any place.”
“Thank you.”
Michael Latimer walked away.
Rogan turned to me. “What offer?”
“When Augustine took me to Baranovsky’s gala, Latimer saw the bruises on my neck and mistook me for a domestic abuse victim. His aunt distracted Augustine, while he offered to walk me out of the gala and take me to a doctor and give me a safe place to stay.”
Rogan leaned to the side to look after Latimer. “Michael Latimer?”
“Mhm. He wasn’t lying.”
“Interesting,” Rogan said.
Our waitress appeared by our table with our food.
My pork chop was incredible. I decided that I didn’t care if I spilled food on myself. I did care if other people saw me shovel the food in my mouth as if I were a cavewoman, so I forced myself to cut painfully small bites.
“We should have dessert,” Rogan said.
I eyed my pork chop. My plate had enough meat to feed me for two days.
“What’s your favorite dessert?” he asked.
“I don’t know what it’s called. I had it one time when I was maybe nine or ten. Mom was deployed, and Grandma Frida and Grandpa Leon took my sisters and cousins to Rockport Beach for three days. I was supposed to go, but I got sick and spent the first day throwing up in Dad’s office. I was so miserable. Everyone was at the beach, and here I was sleeping in the office next to a bucket. On the morning of the second day I kept down some crackers and by the evening I was so hungry. Dad closed a big case, and he took me to some restaurant to celebrate. I don’t remember what I had for dinner, but Dad said I could have whatever I wanted for dessert. So I ordered something called the treasure box. They brought it out and it was this big cube made of chocolate. I tried it with the spoon and the top broke. The chocolate was paper thin. There was this amazing cream inside mixed with raspberries and blueberries. It was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” I smiled at the memory. “Your turn.”
“Chocolate mousse,” he said without hesitation. “I craved it in the jungle. No idea why. Never liked chocolate much before. Some days when we were starving, I’d wake with the taste of it in my mouth, thinking it was real. When we walked out, they put us into helicopters and brought us to Arrow Point, the base in Belize. I stayed awake until they got us to the hospital. All these people were running around, frantically trying to make sure I didn’t die on their watch. At some point someone asked me what I wanted. I must’ve told them, because when I woke up in the hospital bed, it was waiting for me.”
I wanted to hug him. I had to settle for reaching out and gently stroking his hand with my fingers. “Was it good?”
“Yes. It was.”
A young woman walked up to our table on tall needle heels. She was about twenty, with light blond hair, twisted into a complicated arrangement on the back of her head. Her skin was flawless and her makeup expertly applied. She wore a black cocktail dress, but unlike my simple number, hers consisted of artfully sewn strips of ghostly black silk, each strip shot through with a streak of gold. The dress screamed money. She knew she was beautiful and she was used to taking it as her due.
She ignored me, her gaze fixed on Rogan. “My name is Sloan Marcus of House Marcus.”
Rogan pondered her.
“We’re the third largest telekinetic House in Texas,” she said. “I’m a third-generation Prime. I’m twenty-one, in good health, and free of genetic diseases. I’m a graduate of Princeton. You interest me. My profile will be available to you on request.”
She just propositioned him right in front of me.
Rogan nodded. “My companion is much too polite to explain the facts to you, Sloan, so I’ll have to take it upon myself. She and I had a rather trying morning, and, having washed off the blood and gore, we came here for a quiet meal. You’re interrupting it.”
Color tinted her cheeks. She wasn’t embarrassed. She was angry at being rebuffed. “I don’t believe you understand. I said, my profile will be available to you.”
