In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(81)

“Except that you ejaculate into your bank account,” she said.

He snorted. “Great. So now I’m scum because I trade for fun?”

“For fun?” she repeated. “With that pocket change, you can afford to give Illuxit’s anti-trafficking foundation one point two million?”

“Among other gifts.” He sounded annoyed. “I’ve given away about six million this year, so far. It’s just something that I do. And? This is relevant exactly why?”

“Tam said you had money,” Sveti said. “But I never thought it was on that scale.”

“Why think about it at all?” he asked. “I don’t, because I don’t find it particularly interesting. That’s why I didn’t pursue it as a career.”

She waved that away. “Don’t you see the position you’ve put me in? Here comes the new girl, the one who f*cked that rich donor! Nice dress, wink wink, nudge nudge.”

“Sorry,” he said stiffly. “I didn’t mean to put you in a bad place. It just never occurred to me that throwing a big chunk of money at a worthy cause could possibly have a downside. For anyone.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she said. “You wanted to control me, and control the situation, with your money. Because you can.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped. “I give money away all the time. What the f*ck else do I have to spend it on? I don’t do drugs, I don’t drive fancy sports cars, I don’t have a high-maintenance girlfriend to impress. Or maybe I do, now. One point two million is pretty high maintenance.”

“Not funny, Sam. I can hear the gossip. Fund-raising with your ankles in the air, har de har har!”

“I have a solution,” he said. “It’s elegantly simple.”

“Enlighten me.”

She could feel his body heat, smell his salty sweat as he rested his hands on her shoulders. “Let’s make it clear to everyone that you won’t be f*cking any other donors,” he said. “You’ll just be f*cking me.”

She edged backward. “How do you propose we advertise that?”

“Marry me,” he said.

She stiffened, staring at him. Unable to breathe. “Sam,” she said. “Don’t. Be. Difficult.” She bit the words out slowly, one by one.

“There we go again. You hate my money, just like you hate my abdominal muscle tone. But the cat’s out of the bag, right? Why not indulge myself, and throw a tantrum as only a rich playboy can? Why not just swing my moneybags around, breaking all the china?”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I had to hear this from Nadine!”

“I guess I knew instinctively that my investment portfolio would be a huge turn-off for you,” he said. “On the level of, say, genital warts.”

“So you lied to me deliberately?”

“Hell, no!” He sounded aggrieved. “You wouldn’t even give me the time of day, Sveti, for years! Then, when you finally did, I got distracted by sex and violence. Money was never relevant. But don’t worry, it’s not contagious. Not unless you marry me.”

“Don’t try and make a joke out of this,” she snarled.

“Then don’t make such a big f*cking deal out of it! Let me spend some cash on something I genuinely care about, for once!”

She waved her arms in frustration. “But not like this! Designer dresses and shoes, brought up to my hotel suite, like I’m a rock star, or royalty? I can’t swallow it! It’s not my scene!”

“Look at it like a role-playing game,” he suggested. “I play the part of the spoiled playboy indulging his whim. You play the whim.”

“I’m not a whim, Sam! I won’t pretend to be one!”

He rolled his eyes. “The operative word here is play, Sveti.”

“I suppose you’re used to role-playing games, with your modest two-bed in borderline North Portland with the broken sidewalk, right?”

“What, you think I should act like a rich man?”

“I would never presume to tell another person how to act. But I do know it’s not healthy to pretend to be something you’re not.”

Her gaze locked on his smoldering eyes.

“You want me to drop the masks, Sveti?” he asked softly.

“I’m not afraid of reality,” she said. “And I’m not afraid of you.”

She was on the bed, pinned beneath him so swiftly, there was no time to gasp or flail. He shifted his hot bulk a little so she could breathe. His naked torso felt so hot, so hard. Her fingers clenched convulsively against the thick muscles in his chest. Nails digging in.

“This is the deal.” His rough voice tickled her ear. “I like you feisty and difficult and uppity. I do not want you cold and dead. I will do whatever, and spend whatever to that end, whether you like it or not. And call me spoiled and frivolous if you want, but I want you to have a hot dress and sexy shoes for your big party. I’m just selfish that way.”

“Sam, get off.”

“Spit all the nails you want, but I’ll win.” His voice drifted lower, a smoky, sensual rumble. “I’ll never get tired. I’ll never give up. I will wear you down, because you know in your heart that I’m right, to insist on your safety at all costs. And you know what else your heart knows?”