Taming the Beast

“I…”

“Hmm?” He passed the pad of his index finger over her lips and tilted his head.

She was looking down at his hand and holding her breath.

“Is that as wild as you get, sweet Mary?”

“That is none of your concern.”

“Then what will you give me for my answers? If you wish to be so thorough, what do I get in exchange? I’m not obligated to be a good citizen when the citizens in this town aren’t good to me. They can all go fuck themselves.”

“And me too, right?”

No, he wanted her to be fucking him. She’d be so delicious riding atop him, breasts unbound and pressed against his mouth as his fingers notched into the meat of her fine ass.

His trespassing spy was so lovely, and smelled so wet.

“Just tell me what you want, Mr. Toft,” she said with more than a little exasperation.

“For a start, you can call me Andreas.”

“Does that get me one answer?”

He swirled the pad of his middle finger over her chin, just beneath the bow of her lip.

He loved touching her. He didn’t want to stop touching her, and that wasn’t so unusual for their kind. Their people touched casually simply to satiate tactile urges and for social connection, but he wanted more than that from her. He wanted her body pressed to his. He wanted her hands moving, gripping, urging. Her mouth whispering, licking, biting.

He pulled his hand away and let out a breath. “That earns you one answer.”

“I’m not sure if I really want to know the answer, but…what will earn me more?”

“More… Hmm,” he purred and leaned in close yet again. “I’ll tell you when the time comes.”

“Can I use my recorder?”

He shrugged. He didn’t see any reason why she couldn’t, though if her questioning went on too long, he imagined that she wouldn’t want to.

Gasps of pleasure probably didn’t make for very good case evidence.

Chapter 3

While Mary rooted through her tote bag in search of her digital recorder, her notepad, and a pen, Andreas lounged brazenly on the old, faded settee. He looked like some kind of overindulged duke with his feet bare, wearing clothes that were probably more expensive than her tablet computer. She hadn’t noticed what he was wearing at first because she’d been too busy trying to shake the mental fuzz caused by the anesthetic. She may not have been able to see the exact brands of his clothes, but the cuts of his fitted button-up shirt and his dark slacks were very fine. Either he knew how to dress himself or he knew how to find people to dress him. No matter which way, he made a pretty picture. More viscount than Viking.

“So…” She tucked her skirt under her knees and slowly stood with her interview tools. “Is this where you live?”

He closed his eyes and put his head back. “Is that a question you’d like to trade for?”

“No!” Gotta be careful with this guy. “I’m just making chitchat. Polite conversation.”

“Ask what you like, but the cost will be the same whether you’re asking for business or for pleasure.”

“Pleasure has nothing to do with anything.”

“Are you sure about that?” He crooked up one dark brow, somehow managing to fix his face in an expression that managed to be even more ducal. That he didn’t have the entire town at his feet begging to be in his service—or in his bed—could only be due to his masterful antisocialism.

She let out a breath that sounded far too wistful for her liking. “Quite positive. If you don’t mind, I’ll withdraw the question, and we can move on to the interview.”

“You haven’t asked what the cost of the first question is.”