Exposed Exposed (Dom Nation #1) - E. Davies Page 0,30
him. That wasn’t a D/s thing, that was a human thing.
“I know you are,” I told him softly. “And I know I’m like, twenty years younger. And I’m diving in and meddling overnight. Feel free to tell me to fuck off.”
He huffed a laugh, short and sharp. Irritated. “It’s not that.”
“What, then?”
Slate was quiet for a time. I watched and waited, keeping every word inside despite how much I wanted to grab him by the arms and shake him and tell him that it was okay not to be okay.
But I could be patient. Watch the beams of light flickering across his face in the dark back seat. Wait for answers.
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Slate said at last, turning that breathtaking gaze to me. I could hardly see the icy blue of his eyes, the shadows playing along his nose and hardened jaw.
“Let me guess: oldest son of a Mafia boss.”
Slate paused, his brow doing a funny little furl-and-raise thing as his beautiful lips parted. “What?” But he huffed a breath, too, almost a laugh. I’d take it.
“Oh, no. You’re a scientist who knows how to stop the end of the world, and the timer is halfway to empty.”
“This isn’t funny.” But Slate’s lips twitched, and he looked away, smoothing a hand over his mouth.
I smirked, leaning back in my seat and folding my arms. “You’re from the Capulets, and I’m from the—”
“Okay,” Slate interrupted, shoving me with his shoulder. Good thing for the seatbelt. I might have hit the car door otherwise. “So it’s not like the stars aren’t aligned. Twerp.” Then he cast me a sideways, narrow glance like he was trying to work out whether he was allowed to tease me in return.
I allowed it. He was so fucking cute, after all. I’d let him get away with a lot more than that—but I wasn’t telling him. He’d have to find out on his own.
“Then what?” I stayed focused on the important stuff here.
“You are twenty years younger.” That wasn’t really Slate’s problem, surely. He cast another look toward the driver.
“So?” I said, tart and crisp as an apple. I folded my arms. “I’m a grown man, too. I’m perfectly capable of deciding I like you. And you’re just as deserving of being liked.”
Slate turned his head away, gazing out the car window. He was quiet for long enough that I knew I’d struck somewhere close to the truth.
But we were arriving at my building, so I had to leave the conversation there—outside, in the quiet in-between of the taxi—and climb out of the car. I thanked the driver and offered Slate a hand.
He took it, his palm big and hot in mine, and I felt better for it. Once he’d stepped out, I didn’t let go.
I felt him draw closer to me as we approached the glass-fronted building. “You live here?”
The questions wrapped up in that one question were too numerous to count, and I didn’t care to provide any answers to them. “Yes,” I said simply.
I nodded at the doorman, a big blond Swedish guy who stirred from his post behind the desk and hurried over to open the door.
“Evening, Jens.”
“Good evening, sir.” Jens only glanced at Slate for long enough to not be rude, nodded, and withdrew to his desk, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the book he’d been reading.
It was rare that I brought company back, and they’d certainly never been in pajamas before. But he knew better than to ask and left me to my own devices—just the way I liked it.
Through the lobby, into the elevator, and up to the top floor, I kept holding his hand. As we rode the elevator, he didn’t even look around. He seemed to stare into the distance, until his head nodded forward. Then he suddenly straightened up, trying to hide his exhaustion.
It was totally adorable.
If only I were in the market for adorable, I reminded myself, sharply looking away from him. “Here we are.”
The elevator door opened to another door, and I watched Slate for his reaction as I unlocked it, pushing it open.
What if he decided that I was a spoiled rich brat, like so many guys did at first glance?
But Slate hardly glanced around. He didn’t even question the elevator door situation. He just kicked his shoes off, loosened the tie on his bathrobe, and pinched the bridge of his nose like he was trying not to fall off his feet.