Twisted Together - Winters Pepper (онлайн книги бесплатно полные TXT) 📗

Something rubbed against my ankle; I jumped.

Q chuckled under his breath. “Subtle, Tess. Really subtle. How am I supposed to play footsies with you if you leap a fucking mile?”

I laughed—I couldn’t help it. “Did you just say footsies?” I flung up the tablecloth, pretending to search. “Where’s my sadistic master—what have you done with him? He would never utter such a word.”

Q leaned forward, stealing my hand. His face darkened. “I’m right here, esclave, and you’d faint again if you knew the things running through my head.”

“What sort of things?” I whispered, caught in his web like a stupid butterfly who stared death directly in the face and didn’t do a thing to stop it.

“Things like laying you on this table, throwing up your dress, and eating you in front of everyone.”

My throat snapped closed; heart went wild. I tugged my hand away. Q’s fingers latched around my wrist, keeping me prisoner. “Tell me. I’ve seen every inch of you. I’ve been inside most of you—and soon to be all of you—and I’ve murdered men who dared steal you away.” His thumb drew little circles on the underside of my wrist disrupting my ability to concentrate. “What exactly is conversation etiquette for a first date, if we already have…history.”

Our drinks arrived.

Q leaned back, letting me go reluctantly. We waited for the waiter to place a tumbler of whiskey for Q and a fancy cloudy martini for me. Q nodded in thanks as the man left.

Swallowing away the desire Q had conjured, I pretended to be heavily interested in my drink. Peering at the liquid, I asked, “What did you order?”

Q grabbed his glass, swirling the whiskey, sending fumes of malt and alcohol in my direction. He took a sip, visibly relaxing as the spirits hit his tongue. “I ordered you a lychee martini. Drink up, Tess. I plan on taking advantage of you tonight and you need to be sufficiently intoxicated—as first date rules tend to imply.”

Once again his eyes cast around the restaurant, subtly, quickly, but now I’d noticed his awareness every nuance was obvious.

I took a sip, surprised at the sweet but very strong concoction. “You don’t have to get me drunk to have me in your bed tonight.” I fluttered my eyelashes, enjoying the game he’d started.

His gaze was deadly serious, boring into mine. “What if I want you drunk? So I can ease you into accepting another part of what I want to claim?”

Holy hell, I couldn’t think when he looked at me like that. It didn’t matter a thrill of fear darted into my stomach, spreading, shivering with apprehension.

Anal.

Q wanted to claim all of me and that was the last part unconquered. I took a gulp of the martini, not to obey, but to steady my nerves.

Q smirked. “Good girl. Knew you’d come around to giving me what I want eventually.”

I couldn’t make eye contact. I wasn’t ready. And I both loved and hated the panic he’d instilled—which would remain the rest of the dinner—knowing what awaited the moment he got me back to the room.

Needing to change the subject, hoping he’d forget all about it, I muttered, “The hotel—you keep a long standing room there? Why?”

Q blinked, taking a sip of whiskey. “I had a lot of business dealings in Italy last year. We expanded rather heavily into the Italian market, and I needed to oversee a few…complications.” His jaw ticked; he tried to hide it by swallowing another mouthful of alcohol.

“By complications…you mean girls?” I kept my voice low, looking around the restaurant. The beauty of the booths bordering the perimeter meant no one looked directly at us and were too far away to eavesdrop.

It didn’t stop Q from never relaxing or glaring at the waiters as if they were assassins.

His face tightened, but he nodded.

“How many?”

“Four last year—before I met you.” He took another swallow, before placing the heavy glass on the table. “Je ne veux pas en parler.” I don't want to talk about it. Running a hand through his hair, he added, “We’re on a date—not talking business. So, tell me. What have I been missing out on by not putting myself on the market.”

I smiled, appreciating his attempt at humour. “Well, there’s things like sweaty handholding, nervous laughs, endless awkward silences. The very first kiss where our noses bump and—” Brax popped into my head. Everything I’d listed, I’d done with him. The giggles, the forehead bashing as we went for our first kiss. Why the hell am I thinking about him?

That was in the past. I didn’t want to do any of that with Q. However… “And of course the generic list of questions.” That I wouldn’t mind indulging. I wanted to know more about Q—I wanted to know everything.

“Generic list?”

“Yes, you know. The how old are you? What do you do for a living? Do you want kids? That sort of thing.” I took a sip, cursing my thudding heart. Such innocent questions but rather large milestones we hadn’t talked about. Especially the last one.

Q sat back, collecting his glass to nurse the amber liquid. His lips twitched. “Okay…I’m twenty-nine. My birthday is the eighteenth of December—which makes my star-sign—fuck, I don’t know.” He took a sip. “I run my own company, which you now part own, and yes eventually, I think I do.”

My heart flopped out of my chest and into my martini glass. An image of a miniature version of Q came from nowhere. I’d never thought of having children. Never entertained the idea of being responsible for another human being—let alone one created by the man who I’d grow old with. But…wow…

Q’s eyelids lowered to half-mast. “That’s only a recent development. I swore I’d never have something so vulnerable in this sick and twisted world. But—since meeting you…I have this crazy need to make you immortal.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“But at the same time, I don’t want a little girl—I would drive myself insane—I’ve seen too much shit happen, and I’d have a heart attack trying to keep her safe.”

My heart wouldn’t stop clanging. I never thought Q would want children. Never in a million years. Dammit, now I couldn’t get the image of a little girl running after Q, with long dark hair, surrounded by sparrows and other winged creatures.

I swallowed hard, taking a gulp of the lychee alcohol. I flailed around, trying to think of a change of subject. “Um, I think that makes you a Sagittarius.” Oh, God. I wanted to slap myself. What a ridiculous thing to say after the man I was in love with admitted to a commitment bigger than marriage, more life-changing than even nine billion dollars. Children!

Q narrowed his eyes. “I see two things make you nervous: what I’m going to do to you tonight, and talking about any offspring we may or may not have.” He ran a finger over his bottom lip. “After all, we do need an heir to take over our company. Can’t rely on Frederick to propagate—I think that man shoots blanks.”

I wanted to laugh.

But all I could focus on was ours.

Our company.

Our children.

No longer mine, and his, and separation.

Together.

Ours.

The waiter appeared with a groaning tray of food. I leaned away, throwing back the rest of my drink, silently thanking the intrusion. I needed time to think. To pull myself together.

Plates of delicatessen hors d’oeuvres, salads, gourmet breads, dips, gnocchi, prawns in ravioli, lobster fettuccine, tiny lasagnes, and feta wrapped with aubergine decorated the table.

I’d never seen such incredible looking food. And I wouldn’t be able to eat any of it. My stomach was a churning mess; my mind consumed with images of a future I never thought I wanted.

The waiter smiled once everything had been placed accordingly. “Another drink?”

Q nodded, passing him his empty tumbler. “Martini and single-malt whiskey. Grazie.”

The waiter nodded, then disappeared to fulfil the request.