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“Am I under-fucking-stood?” I whisper in her ear.
Silence ebbs and flows between us. I can feel the tension leave her body the moment she breathes it out.
“Yes, Tarian,” she replies without further argument.
Releasing her, I watch as she sashays to the waiting car before following behind her,
That girl is going to be the fucking end of me.
On reaching the vehicle, we both slip into the rear passenger bench seat, and I shut the door behind us. The chauffeur offers me a nod before starting the engine and driving us away from the airfield. I wish I could’ve brought Jerome with me on this mission. When we were kids, Etienne and Ares would flirt with the girls, while Jerome and I much preferred playing detective.
Grecia is silent beside me, and I’m tempted to touch her thigh so I can feel her shiver again, but I don’t. Keeping my hands busy with a smoke, I focus on the darkness outside the car window rather than on the goddess sitting next to me.
It’s annoying that she’s so fucking sexy. It’s also frustrating I can’t get a taste. With another lungful of smoke, I close my eyes and rest my head on the back of the seat. It’s been a long day, and I’m ready for bed.
Suddenly, my cigarette is pulled from my lips, and when I open my eyes and turn my head, I find Grecia staring at me. With her eyes on mine, she takes a long pull on the smoke, and then her pouty lips curve into a smile.
There are no words exchanged between us, but our silent conversation is filled with sexual innuendo that I really don’t need, because the zipper of my jeans is already at breaking point. I watch her mouth as she blows out small smoke circles. There’s nothing innocent about her actions, and the image that’s now taken hold of my mind is of her on her knees in front of me, sucking my cock. She hands me the smoke, which I take back happily.
Turning away, I stare out of the window again and fill my lungs with more nicotine. I’m hoping it will calm the ache twisting in my gut I’m trying hard to ignore.
I doubt it’s going to work, though.
I don’t think I’m going to be able to fight this desire for much longer. But I know if I give in, I’m going to end up hurting her.
My phone buzzes, and I’m thankful for the distraction. A message pops up on my screen, and I can see it’s from Heinrich, informing me we’re all set. I haven’t met him in person before, so I don’t know what kind of danger he poses to me. But he is part of the society, which means if he does anything to harm me or Grecia, he’ll be killed.
Shoving the phone into my pocket, I settle in my seat and turn my attention back to Grecia.
I don’t know how to apologize, so I say, “I don’t like mind games.”
She stares into my eyes, her gaze burning right through me. It’s as if she can see into my blackened soul, and she wants to touch it, to dig deeper and find the pain I’ve locked up tight. She gives me a small nod in response, and I know she’s waiting for a sorry.
“Your sister is enough of a head case. I don’t need you to be one as well,” I tell her.
Kelli is something else. She’s already fucked Ares and Etienne, and she’s tried to get with me, but I don’t deal in teen drama.
“I’m not my stepsister.” Her voice is adamant.
I have to agree, she’s nothing like Kelli, but they grew up together, and from my own personal experience, I know that families tend to have the same traits running through them. Blood or not.
I’m about to respond when the car comes to a standstill, and I realize we’re at Heinrich’s mansion. I fling my door open, and stepping out of the vehicle, I watch as the driver opens Grecia’s door.
When she exits the car, her elegance shines through as she squares her shoulders and tilts her chin up. She doesn’t show any fear, not one bit of it, but I can feel it emanating from her.
“Ah, there he is.” The deep Dutch accent comes from the doorway, and I’m met with the tall, formidable presence of Heinrich Gotlieb. “And this beauty must be the lovely Grecia Harding.” He smiles as he takes her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles. Then turning to me, he offers me his hand to shake.
“Birchwood,” Grecia tells him without missing a beat.
“My apologies, Ms. Birchwood.”
He grins down at her with amusement, and I’m almost certain she’s the first and only woman who’s ever corrected him.
“Good to finally meet you,” I tell him.
Heinrich nods before leading us inside his home. The decor looks like it belongs in a history book. The antiques adorning the interior probably date back to when the mansion was built in the seventeen-hundreds.
Old portraits hang on the walls, and the men in uniform depicted within them stare out from the frames, casting a stern eye over their domain. The carpeting is plush with dark brown and red patterns, and the wooden railing on the sweeping marble staircase belongs in a medieval castle rather than a modern-day home.
