Oaths and Omissions (Monsters & Muses #3)(22)

My breath hitches, warmth pooling in my stomach and expanding lower, like heated jelly between my thighs.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” I say, because in spite of the butterflies erupting in my chest, there’s an undercurrent of unease that digs its claws into me, too.

“No?” Jonas tightens his grip, sending a flurry of sharp pain across my vertebrae. “It sounds good to me. I could take you to the back. Have you stripped and ravished before you can even bloody blink.”

Some memories are like vampires, sinking their fangs into your vulnerable flesh and draining you until they’ve transformed you completely. A year ago, I might have been able to handle the flirting. Might have even taken him up on the offer.

Now, all I feel is wary.

Uncomfortable in my own skin.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight, and my heart hammers inside my throat. I swallow over the sudden dryness coating my tongue. “Sex wasn’t on the table.”

“Well, no, I suppose it doesn’t have to be.” He shifts, brushing his hips against mine, and my muscles tense up. “I’d be just as happy to bend you over the bar and make you see stars, little puppet.”

“Glad to see my attitude hasn’t actually hampered your ego at all.”

Smirking at the reference to the night we met, Jonas slowly lets his hands fall from me, taking a step back. I wipe my mouth with my palm, trying to erase the imprint of him on my skin, and he tosses a quick glance around the room.

Most of the people are going on with their night like we aren’t even here, but there are occasional outliers who find it necessary to gawk. Like they’ve never seen two people make out in a dark alcove before.

Pressing my palm to my stomach, I try to relieve the ache flaring in my gut; something twisted and anxious, warning me of trouble to come.

“Maybe we should talk in your office?”

Jonas dips his chin, looking down his nose at me. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What? Why not?”

There’s something about this man—it’s wicked and dangerous, tainted by evil doings, but he somehow maintains a certain charm despite that.

Mama would say it’s his accent, deep and silken that confuses Americans and makes them putty in a Brit’s hands.

I’ve heard our staff members whisper that it’s a curse on the Wolfe family. That being likable is their penance for generations of corruption.

Standing here with him though, all that charm seems to evaporate, leaving just the husk of a criminal behind.

“I accept your proposal.”

My shoulders sag as relief flushes over me. “Really? Oh, my god, that’s great. We can—”

Lifting his index finger, he presses it against my mouth, silencing me. “Ah, ah. There are, as you can imagine, stipulations. Three of them, specifically.”

The corded bracelet on his wrist is rough as it rubs my chin, the W-shaped pendant catching my attention. Another reminder that my impulses aren’t to be trusted.

“If we do this, we do this. Dive into fantasy a hundred and ten percent, and we don’t let up until both of us get what we want.”

It feels like an elephant sits on my chest, crushing my lungs beneath its weight. “Okay…”

“We’ll move you out of Primrose Manor.”

My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. “We said nothing about living arrangements—”

“We’re saying it now. It’s already a far-fetched story. The idea of a whirlwind courtship is much more feasible if we live together. Gives us time to fabricate stories and a connection. The public will eat it up, and more importantly, well…” He trails off with a shrug. “Your father will hate it.”

Most likely, he won’t allow it. But I’m not in much of a position to argue. “Do you even have room for another person in your house?”

“We won’t be staying in my house, love. Far too many things for you to see that you have no business shoving your nose in.”

“I know what you do for a living.”

“No, you only think you know. I can assure you that whatever morsels of gossip about my life you’ve been fed over the years, they’re either greatly exaggerated or completely off the mark.”

Someone shuffles past us, knocking into Jonas as they stumble to the bathroom; he slides closer, lining the hard ridges of his body with the soft contours of mine, and I don’t exactly hate the way it feels.

I don’t love it, though, either, and find myself trying to disappear into the wall behind me.

“There’s one thing to clarify here before we go any further. Murder is my default setting, and I charge handsomely for it.” One of his brows quirks, as if waiting for me to object or voice concern.

Like that wasn’t a deciding factor in me asking for his help.

“I don’t bloody well trust you. I’m not sure what your aim is, but make no mistake, little puppet. If you’re scheming for your father, I’ll find out. And I don’t play nice when threatened.”

Linking my fingers together behind my back, I nod. My ulterior motives have nothing to do with him. “What’s the other demand?”

“It’s simple, really.” He reaches up, bracing his forearm on the wall above my head. “You want my help, love?” His mouth morphs into a sinister curve, incinerating good intentions. “Beg for it. Right here, right now… where everyone can hear.”