Compromising Kessen (Vandenbrook #1)(59)

Aroused beyond belief by the look on her face, he cursed and looked away as he waited for her to finish writing. His answers obviously didn’t take long since he had already memorized them, but he pretended to take a long time and to be confused so she wouldn’t get suspicious.

He waited until after she was finished before putting down his own pencil. “Do you want to start or shall I?”

She shrugged. “Either way you’re losing—doesn’t matter to me.”

“Not that I like rewarding a bad attitude,” he said, putting the cap back on his pen. “But I’ll allow you to go first, my lady.”

She did a mock curtsy—how she managed to do it while sitting down was beyond him—and cleared her throat. “Your favorite animal was a bobcat because you thought they were all named Bob.”

She knew more than she led on, the little minx. He bit back a smile and motioned for her to continue.

“Number two is a trick question. You’ve never tried holding your breath under water for longer than ten seconds, because you believe it’s pointless. After all, who wouldn’t save a drowning marquess?” She didn’t hide the judgment in her voice or on her face. “You sleep in your room, alone, with nothing but your thoughts and sins to keep you company.”

Christian grimaced. That hurt.

“Your worst date was when Duncan set you up with a family friend and forgot to mention she was a fan of your family history. She ended up quoting you to you for an entire hour before sobbing her eyes out about how she was going to die alone. When the date was finally over, she slapped you for being too forward, when you pitied her and wanted to give her a nice peck on the cheek. She proceeded to press charges against you and won on account of psychological damage and now drives a luxury car.”

He shook his head in astonishment and pure anger. That girl had totally played him and used him for his money; he was still seething over that lawsuit. What he wouldn’t give for one more date to show her his true feelings. Too bad she had fled the country soon after and now lived quite comfortably in France.

“Okay, last question, America,” he said, irritated. She nodded her head. He repeated the question just in case and urged her to continue.

She bit her lip, which was something he noticed was a nervous habit when she didn’t know what to say or was uncomfortable. It always ruined his concentration, because it made him think of how soft her lips were and how warm they felt against his own.

He cleared his throat to distract his wandering mind.

“Your biggest fear,” she stated, “is you’ll end up alone.”

Christian cleared his throat to fill in the awkward silence. She had guessed on that last one, but rather than feel excited about winning, he felt nothing but pain. Of course, he had written down his biggest fear as being something silly, like bankruptcy or spiders.

In all honesty though, how could he deny the fact that her guess was spot-on, regardless of what he had written down for his answer? And to make matters worse, he wanted nothing more than to deny it to his grave. What type of aristocrat was he, if he couldn’t even fight off loneliness? He had everything anyone could ever want in this lifetime, yet without someone to share it with, he had felt positively empty. Until now.

He picked up his paper. “You missed the last one.”

“I did?” She sounded shocked.

“Yes. My biggest fear is spiders.”

Her eyes squinted with doubt. “Spiders? A big strapping man like you has a fear of spiders? I don’t believe it.” She crossed her arms and shook her head. “Nope, you’re lying, and you’re cheating.”

He threw up his hands in frustration. “I’ll show you the answer sheet. You, my dear, are wrong. It’s possible, although probably not realistic, that I’ve somehow gotten an answer wrong myself. So, without further delay, let me read my answers to you.”

“Fine,” she bit off.

What right did she have to be angry anyway? He was the offended party. Kessen thought she knew him so well. It would be a dark day in Hell before he admitted to her she was correct in her assumption. The truly upsetting issue was, she had gathered that by only spending a few days with him.

Scary indeed.

Time to focus, he thought, then began reading aloud his answers. “You do not snore, but it’s also a tricky question, because you do tend to talk in your sleep. Nick refers to it as your own made-up language. Something like the Elvish tongue from Lord of the Rings.” He leaned forward and winked. “Just for your information, I am counting down the days until I can experience your private language myself.”

“Dream on,” she muttered.

He blew her a kiss and continued. “You love the Wall Street Journal, because the front of the page allows you to read every single news story within ten minutes. You’re able to find out which stories you want to read the most and which stories you’d rather not know about, without having to search the entire newspaper.”

She shifted uncomfortably and avoided eye contact.

“I’m not finished,” he said, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “You do have some odd habits. The oddest of them all is you have to smell everything you eat before it goes into your mouth. Including drinks and candy, but excluding anything chocolate, for the simple reason chocolate never changes. It is your one constant in your life.” He looked up from his paper and sighed. “Does it bother you that the longest relationship you’ve had has been with a piece of food?”