Page 137 of Dishonored

“About what, specifically?”

“The marriage.”

His right eyebrow arched, and he passed her another look. “Go on.”

Now or never.

She could give them what they both wanted.

He had to let her, though.

Setting her half-empty mug of coffee on the stand next to the chair, Aria stood, and dropped the blanket. Caesar’s gaze drifted over the silk baby doll nightie she’d slipped on the night before to sleep in, and then traveled down her bare legs. Once she was close enough for him to touch, he reached out a hand and did just that, stroking a single palm along the curve of her thigh down to her knee.

His touch burned her.

In the best way.

“You seem … more pleasant this morning,” he noted, glancing up at her.

Aria nodded. “You don’t give me much of a choice.”

“That so?”

“Very much.”

“Or are you trying to get something from me?” he asked.

Aria grinned.

He knew her so well.

Kind of.

“I’m not being nice because I want something,” Aria told him, reaching out to run her fingers through the longer bit of hair at the top of his head. “I don’t need to be nice to get what I want, Caesar.”

“Mmm, good.”

“Good?”

“That’s what I said, donna. What do you want, then?”

“To talk about something.”

Caesar made a face. “Fine, but first I get what I want, and then you.”

“And what do you want?”

The words were barely out of Aria’s mouth before she found herself yanked to the bed, and pulled on top of Caesar. His hands cupped her face, and pulled her in close for a kiss that took her breath away. The kiss—like him—was fierce, and hot, and violent.

Dangerous, too.

A war between two people, but the only kind that wouldn’t end in bloodshed between them.

Murmuring against her lips, Caesar said, “You said no to last night. It’s not last night—it’s today. And feel, I woke up ready for you, love.”

Goddamn him.

He was right.