Twisted Together (Monsters in the Dark #3)(93)

I couldn’t breathe.

“But at the same time, I don’t want a little girl—I would drive myself insane—I’ve seen too much shit happen, and I’d have a heart attack trying to keep her safe.”

My heart wouldn’t stop clanging. I never thought Q would want children. Never in a million years. Dammit, now I couldn’t get the image of a little girl running after Q, with long dark hair, surrounded by sparrows and other winged creatures.

I swallowed hard, taking a gulp of the lychee alcohol. I flailed around, trying to think of a change of subject. “Um, I think that makes you a Sagittarius.” Oh, God. I wanted to slap myself. What a ridiculous thing to say after the man I was in love with admitted to a commitment bigger than marriage, more life-changing than even nine billion dollars. Children!

Q narrowed his eyes. “I see two things make you nervous: what I’m going to do to you tonight, and talking about any offspring we may or may not have.” He ran a finger over his bottom lip. “After all, we do need an heir to take over our company. Can’t rely on Frederick to propagate—I think that man shoots blanks.”

I wanted to laugh.

But all I could focus on was ours.

Our company.

Our children.

No longer mine, and his, and separation.

Together.

Ours.

The waiter appeared with a groaning tray of food. I leaned away, throwing back the rest of my drink, silently thanking the intrusion. I needed time to think. To pull myself together.

Plates of delicatessen hors d’oeuvres, salads, gourmet breads, dips, gnocchi, prawns in ravioli, lobster fettuccine, tiny lasagnes, and feta wrapped with aubergine decorated the table.

I’d never seen such incredible looking food. And I wouldn’t be able to eat any of it. My stomach was a churning mess; my mind consumed with images of a future I never thought I wanted.

The waiter smiled once everything had been placed accordingly. “Another drink?”

Q nodded, passing him his empty tumbler. “Martini and single-malt whiskey. Grazie.”

The waiter nodded, then disappeared to fulfil the request.

Q eyed the food, before glancing at me. His face tensed as he froze. “Quel est le problème maintenant, esclave?” What’s the matter now, esclave?

I fluffed my curls, airing my suddenly heat-prickled back. Nothing was wrong—in fact, everything was amazing. We were finally talking, learning, exploring one another. I wasn’t hungry for food, but knowledge. I wanted in—to his secrets, his thoughts, his hopes and dream.

I was endlessly greedy for anything he would share.

“I want to do something.” Did I just say that? Shit, Tess. I hadn’t thought it through. The idea just sprang into my head. Q would say no. Of course, he would say no.

Q smiled as the waiter returned with fresh drinks then left again. Q raised the whiskey to his lips. “For you to flush as bad as you have, I’m guessing it’s either sexual or something you think I’m not going to agree to.”

I copied him, sipping my martini. “Forget it. It’s a stupid idea. Let’s eat.” I looked longingly at the food, knowing I’d end up with horrendous indigestion if I ate while so worked up. I had to relax.

“Tess…don’t make me spank you in public.”

My eyes flew to his where a small smile graced his lips. I sucked in a breath, trying to find courage. “Okay…have you heard of Truth or Dare?”

Q’s nostrils flared. “Of course I’ve heard of it and you were right to flush. I won’t play it.”

Grabbing my fork, I speared a gnocchi and placed it in my mouth. It tasted heavenly—rich, buttery, but it could’ve been ash for how much I wanted it. Swallowing hard, I took another sip of my drink.

A rush of queasiness rolled my world; I carefully placed the glass on the table. Q was succeeding in getting me tipsy. My nerves only rushed the intoxication.

Silence fell between us while Q sampled a piece of everything. The way his lips slid off the fork and his jaw worked so smoothly as he chewed, pushed aside my nerves in favour of desire. He couldn’t do anything without making it erotically charged and—intentionally or not—making me wet.

I tried to eat, succeeding in devouring a few pieces of prawn ravioli, before Q put his fork down. He gulped a shot of whiskey. “Have you played before?”

I instantly thought of Brax and his straight-laced ways. I thought of my parents and their cool indifference. I thought of my brother and his bullying. I thought of my friends and their giggling, slutty knowledge. Not once had I played. Not once had I done anything so reckless as to give someone the right to ask me any question or submit to any dare.

It was dangerous. It was ludicrous. I should stop this.

“No.”

His face remained unreadable. “Why do you want to play?”

I clutched my fork, turning my knuckles white, brandishing it as if it would save me from the awkward conversation. “Because it will force you to answer questions you might not want to otherwise.”

His eyes narrowed. “What sort of questions do you have in mind?” His fingers twitched around his glass, giving the impression he didn’t want to play, not because it was a stupid game, but rather because he had too much to hide. I wanted to know what he kept hidden.

I wanted to know why he hadn’t stopped glowering around the restaurant. I wanted to know why we stayed in a hotel with thumbprints for keys.