Three Little Mistakes (Blindfold Club 3)

Her pretty eyes focused on me, and she looked relieved. Fuck. This was going to be difficult.

“I ordered you the special,” she said. “Crab alfredo. Please tell me you’re not allergic to seafood.”

“No.”

Her relieved look expanded into a smile. “I’m realizing we don’t know that much about each other.”

“That’s the fucking truth.”

She seemed displeased. “If you use that word all the time, it loses its power.”

Her attempt to lecture me made it slightly easier to want distance. I snatched up my wine and drank, then set the glass down, watching the liquid roll side to side. I’d look anywhere but at her. “You said you had questions for me.”

“Why do you want this?” she asked. “What do you get out of it?”

Looking at her was unavoidable, and when I did, I began to ache. It was so cruel to give me a taste and then take it away.

“Do you want an honest answer?”

She took her napkin and dropped it in her lap, and then set her gaze on me. “I looked some stuff up on my phone while you were gone. Honesty seems to be an important aspect of this arrangement.”

This sensible, restrained version of her. Christ, it echoed him.

“I like the power. I like to be in control.”

“Since the time in your life where you didn’t have any,” she said. “I want to know about that.”

“No.” It was sharp and aggressive.

“Why not?”

“I don’t like talking about it, so we won’t. What other questions do you have?”

My short tone had set her aback, and she scrambled to adjust. “Uh . . . you mentioned you’d control the scene, and I’d control the limits.”

“You’d tell me what was and wasn’t allowed. I take you to your limit, and decide when you’re ready to push further.”

Her eyes heated a degree. “How do I set the limits? I haven’t done much.”

“You won’t know your limits until you reach them. We would find them together.” Shit, no we wouldn’t, I thought bitterly.

Subtle pink colored her cheeks. It would be so much better if she wasn’t getting turned on, because it turned me on. I had to start shutting this down.

“Do you have limits?” she asked. “Other than talking about yourself?”

“You better watch that smart mouth, little girl.”

“Or what?” she challenged back.

I couldn’t stay on task. “I’ll discipline you.”

“How?” This single word from her wasn’t condescending, it was curious. Intrigued.

“I’ll think of something,” I grumbled. “I don’t mind talking about myself. What do you want to know, beside what I said I didn’t want to discuss?”

She rattled off a list of questions, and I gave her curt answers. Where I lived, if I’d gone to college, which I hadn’t, and how many businesses I owned. I told her about the front for the blindfold club, my membership-only wine bar.

“Does your family live around here?” she asked.