"I had ulterior motives," Donovan said over his steak salad.
So much for two people wanting to spend time with each other.
"Of course you did." Why did I ever think anything different? "And they are?”
"Primarily, spending time with you."
Well, then. I felt my cheeks pink, delighted my initial feeling about our date was the correct one. Except, he did say motives in the plural.
"And?"
His grin made me feel he was impressed with my intuition. "And we left things unfinished last night."
I could feel the flush in my face deepen. I’d been thinking about last night all morning, but his mention of our carnal interlude made me as hot and weak as if he were undressing me.
"It sure didn't feel like we left anything unfinished." I shoveled a forkful of salad into my mouth, hiding my brazenness behind the act of chewing.
My body felt the aftermath of him. My thighs were sore; my stomach ached. The flesh between my legs was tender and raw from how he’d used me. How I’d let him use me.
"Oh, Sabrina.” The rumble in his voice made my belly do back flips. "There are still a thousand ways I intend to make you come, and another hundred thousand I haven't thought of yet."
"Ah," I shivered, “I, uh, well. Sure." I drank half my glass of water just to cool down.
He laughed low in his throat. "That's not what I'm talking about, though. I think you know that."
"Actually, there is more to say." I'd meant to say more on the sidewalk before he’d come running after me and cut me off with that incredible kiss. "I said I didn't care. And I don't. But you should also know I felt a lot of other things too. Hearing about those things you did for me—for my family—it really stirred things inside me. Part of me is still pissed—"
"Understandably," he interrupted.
I ignored him, raising my voice ever so slightly. "I never asked you to do those things. I never expected it. You didn't have the right, but then, didn't you? Doesn't…caring about somebody give you a right?" He'd yet to say “love” himself since I’d brought it up that night in the back of his car, so I steered clear of that word in particular. "I don't know. I spent so many years as a girl with nothing in my pocket, daydreaming about a knight in shining armor. As so many young girls do. And don't we all wish the rich would give more to the poor?"
I laughed at myself then shook my head. "But this isn't about the money. Or this isn't just about the money. The time you invested… It means a lot. I know you're not looking for a thank you. I'm not going to give you one. I don't know if I'm exactly grateful. But I'm not exactly mad. And I am…moved. And turned on. In some way that I think is probably sick and unhealthy."
Donovan tsked. "You worry too much about what arouses you. If you're turned on, just go with it." His gaze drifted briefly down to the neckline of my blouse before returning to my eyes. "And I am not a knight in shining armor."
"No,” I laughed. "You're not." I sobered. "And yet you are."
We held each other's gaze for several seconds. Something deep inside me tugged. Or tore. Or tightened. I dropped my eyes.
But I couldn’t let him be a hero in this. That wasn’t right either. "You're also the villain, don't forget that."
"Lucky for me you’re the kind of girl who likes to fuck the villain."
I pressed my lips together hard, unwilling to acknowledge how true the statement was, even though we both knew it.
My stubbornness seemed to amuse him.
Then he grew serious.
"Fucking around is usually all the villain ever gets," he said, studying me to see if I understood what he meant.
I didn't. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."
"I'm asking what you see as happening next."
I sat up straighter in my chair, tension rolling down my spine. I'd been in this position before with Donovan. I'd laid it all out on the line, told him what I wanted. I'd gotten hurt.
"I don't know what to say," I said slowly, cautiously. "I don't know where to go next. What to—"
He helped me out. "Maybe start with telling me what you want."
I was silent. It wasn't—of course it wasn't—but it felt like a trap.
He shifted in his seat. "How about I start by telling you what I want?"
This. This sounded interesting. "Okay."
He wiped his mouth with his napkin then returned it to his lap before drilling his eyes into me. "I want more. I want a relationship. I want to be open about it. I want people to know we are together. No hiding or worrying about having lunch together. I want to be able to assume a blowjob comes with the meal." I bit back a giggle at that, which he noticed and acknowledged with a grin. Then, quickly, he was somber again. "What are the terms in order to get that?"
I blinked.
Just three weeks before, I'd proposed almost the same scenario, minus being open about our relationship and I’d said nothing about blowjobs—though I wasn't against them.
The whole idea made me giddy and lightheaded.
Terms, though. "What, we negotiate like a business deal?" I hoped he wouldn’t notice how bothered I was by his choice of words.
Or maybe I hoped he did notice. I couldn't decide how passive-aggressive I wanted to be.
"If that's how you want to look at it."
Okay. Aggressive-aggressive then. Because that was not how I wanted to look at it at all.
"I don't. I mean, where's the romance?" I could hear myself, and it annoyed me. "God, I sound like my sister."
But annoyed as I was that I sounded like Audrey, I still wanted that. Still expected that. Still expected some sort of hearts and flowers from a man who supposedly loved me.
"Where's the romance?" His face wrinkled with disbelief. "I'm not asking you to prom, Sabrina."
I dropped my fork and threw my napkin on the table, no longer interested in my meal. The warm fuzzy feeling I’d had a few minutes ago had disappeared, leaving irritability in its wake. I was seconds away from going off, but before I said anything I would regret, I wanted to get full clarification. "What exactly are you asking?"
He pushed his dish aside and leaned over the table. "I'm asking who you need me to be in order to get you."
He was asking about the files. And the surveillance. And the ways he manipulated.
He was asking who he had to be to be with me.
My insides felt gooey like liquid chocolate. Goosebumps rose up my arms. I ran my teeth along my bottom lip, afraid I might get teary if I didn't keep myself together. After I'd caught my breath, I said, "I told you. I don't care."
I fiddled with the hem of the napkin and Donovan reached out to put his hand over mine. "You told me you didn't care about what happened in the past. You seem to care a lot about what's happening right now."
My brows pinched together. "I don't understand. If we are together, why would you need to do any of—"
My gaze landed on a Christmas tree in the lobby, the blue and gold ornaments as obvious as the realization that entered my mind. Even if we were together, even if we were a couple, Donovan had no intention of giving up his stalking, his interfering, his private viewing from the cameras in my apartment. He’d done all those things while he’d been with Amanda. It was how she’d ended up dead.