Dominate (Deliver 8)

“Out.” His gaze followed the action then lifted to hers, hard as polished gold. “Sit.”

The front door beckoned, but the chili promised instant relief.

She crossed the room and sat across from him, her eyes on the bowl.

He straightened, leaning toward the table, and grabbed the spoon.

“Let’s start with your bed partners.” Scooping a huge helping of beans and meat, he held it between them and wet his lips. “How many men have you fucked since you started reading my emails?”

For a bite of that food, she could give him an estimate. A staggering number, to be honest, especially for a woman who thought she’d married her one and only. She wasn’t ashamed of her sexual history or her voracious libido, but none of it concerned Tommy. If she told him about her past hookups, it would turn them into suspects and put them in his crosshairs.

“I’ve had one lover in the past year.” She didn’t want to look desperate, but her gaze kept drifting to the spoon, pulling like a magnet. “Evan isn’t a criminal. He knows nothing about you. There isn’t a chance in hell he’s involved in this.”

“Who came before him?”

She shook her head rapidly, frenzied in her hunger. “Tommy, please. I’m starving.”

He veered the scoop toward his mouth and wrapped his mean lips around the entire bite, humming as he chewed.

There were a million words in the English language, but not one could adequately express how badly she wanted to stab him with that goddamn spoon.

She could try to take the bowl from him, but she was operating at a fraction of his strength and speed. If she behaved, maybe she wouldn’t have to fight him at all. Maybe he intended to share with her.

He shoveled a second helping of chili and hovered it before her. “Give me names.”

“Douchebag. Fuckface. Jackass. Mouth breather.”

The spoon slid between his lips, another bite stolen.

She saw red. “You want to know why Paul followed me here? Look at your own history, the people you’ve murdered, the women you’ve fucked, and the ruthless company you keep. That’s where you’ll find your answer.”

“I’m looking at all connections, but the most glaring one is you. The more you cooperate, the quicker this ends.” He ate another spoonful, twisting pain through her stomach.

“Who I’ve slept with has no bearing on this.”

“You have no family or friends. It seems the only people who come into your life are the ones who come between your legs.”

“That’s not true.” A hot ember flared at the base of her throat.

“Then tell me, Rylee.” He spooned more chili, eating it cruelly in front of her and talking with his mouth full. “Among your acquaintances, who hasn’t been in your pants?”

“God, you’re such a prick.”

He continued eating, watching her with callous indifference as the bowl slowly emptied before her eyes. She could almost taste the hearty beans as they disappeared in his mouth.

“My colleagues.” A prickly burn swarmed the edges of her eyes. “I don’t sleep with them, and they’re my friends.”

“Colleagues,” he echoed in an acidic tone and wiped the back of his hand across his lips. “Define your relationship with them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have any of them been to your house? Or called you on the phone just to shoot the shit? Or invited you to hang out or grab a beer after work?”

“No.” Not once. “I don’t make friends like that easily. I’m shy. Reserved.”

“A shy woman doesn’t show up at a known criminal’s house by herself. But you’re not alone, are you? Whoever you’re working with sent Paul to check on you, and when he doesn’t return, they’ll send someone else.”

“Jesus, you’re all over the place with your theories. Which is it? Am I being tracked by an enemy, a lover, or some cohort who is helping me plot your demise?”

“You tell me.”

“None of the above. I’m so damn shy and guarded it took me ten years to work up the nerve to talk to you. Luring you here to meet you in person is so far out of my comfort zone. I told no one about you or where I was going. I just…I thought you were in danger with the cartel, and I panicked when you said goodbye in your last email. I don’t have friends like you do. I’m not good at letting people in.”

“You don’t have friends because you’re a lying, deceitful—”

“I’m afraid of being hurt again.” The confession blurted on a rush of anger.

He stared at her like she was the village idiot. Maybe she was. She’d made a terrible mistake coming here. Too late to take it back. But she was educated. Trained to listen to criminals and understand their motivations, views, thoughts, and actions.

If he didn’t view her as a person, he would continue to hurt her. She needed to remind him she was human.