“But you let me?”
“You want to know who I am, and me and my Rubik’s cubes are one and the same, princess.”
He no longer says princess like it’s an insult. He says it like he’s savoring it and me, that and the warmth in his eyes pretty much melt me and my plans, at least momentarily. He holds out his arm and runs a finger down the only vertical line of numbers on his forearm. “What is this?” he challenges.
I don’t know why I think I know the answer, but I do. “How you solve the cubes.”
Approval lights his eyes. “Yes. How I solve the cubes, only I no longer see those numbers when I solve it anymore. It’s natural, like how trying to please my father became.”
“About that. About him. He called my mother. She demanded that I call him. I’m going to see him. I’m going to just talk to him and find out what he wants. Buy some time. And I know you’ll say no, but I’m going.” I start to walk away.
He catches my arm and stands up, towering over me. “You aren’t going to see my father.”
“I am. You can’t stop me and—”
“I can stop you,” he says softly, but his voice is firm. Absolute. “You will not go see my father. End of discussion.”
“And if I push back?”
He sits down and takes me with him, handing me a cup of coffee. “I?
?ll fight you and win.”
“Calling my mother’s a threat. I have to push back. I have to win.”
“You win with me.”
“I have to go see him.”
“No. You will not. I will win this battle with you,” he repeats.
I look into his eyes, and I know he means his words. He means to win, but I’m not my mother and he’s not his father. “You win only if you give me a reason and a plan that works better than mine, and quickly. The clock is ticking. Threats are in the air.”
“All right,” he says simply.
“All right? Then what are we going to do?”
He motions to the chess board in front of him. “Play chess.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’d rather show you than tell you.”
“Eric—”
He leans in and kisses me. “Am I going to have to fuck you into submission?”
“I’m not my mother. I don’t submit.” It’s out before I can stop it and he pulls back, and what I find in his eyes is not what I expect.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Harper
What I see in Eric’s face in response to my declaration that I’m not like my mother, that I don’t submit, isn’t dominance, isn’t demand, it’s satisfaction. It’s tenderness. “Good,” he says. “I don’t want you to be your mother. And I’m damn sure not my father.” He strokes my hair. “But submission is pleasure, sweetheart. The kind of game we play with no clothes on and I promise you, I’ll play for pleasure.”
“Eric,” I whisper at the rawness of this promise, the realness of his man. The rightness of this man.
“I wish I could show you, but right now,” he winks, “we’re going to play chess.”