Page 52 of Dishonored

Caesar arched a brow. “Pretty damn sure that’s not what I asked.”

“Yes, but it is what I asked.”

“You’re insufferable, donna. It’s only the fact that I like the look of your face, and the shape of your ass that I haven’t thrown you out already.”

Aria shrugged dainty shoulders. “Is that why, or is it something else?”

“What else would there be?”

She set the glass aside again, and stood from the chaise. It gave Caesar the perfect view of that ass—he hadn’t been lying when he said he liked the shape of it—covered by a tight, short red dress with a slit in the thigh that would make any man’s mouth water. She bent down to snatch the clutch she’d left sitting on the chaise, and he got a peek of matching red lace beneath the dress.

Goddamn.

Caesar didn’t even realize Aria had turned to look at him because he was too busy taking in the red patent leather peep-toe pumps she wore, and the smoothness of her golden calves. She cleared her throat, and his gaze jumped up to meet hers. He didn’t even attempt to look ashamed at being caught staring.

“What were you saying?” he asked.

Aria smiled a little. “Distracted, Caesar?”

“I don’t know what you expect from a man like me when you wear a dress like that and bend over in front of me. What, do you want me to not look?”

“I like it when you look, actually.”

He stiffened a bit—in more places than one. It was only then that he decided to toss the gun to a nearby couch. Not that he didn’t think she was up to something because he did think exactly that. But really, he was more interested in finding out what it was, and he didn’t think he could do that with a weapon in his hand.

Aria hadn’t even given it a second glance, anyway.

“I was saying,” she drawled, ignoring his question altogether, “that maybe there’s another reason—other than the fact you want to fuck me—why you haven’t thrown me out yet.”

“Try me.”

“Maybe you’d like to finish our conversation from last week.”

It wasn’t even a question.

And she was right—to an extent.

Caesar thought that staying quiet and letting Aria speak might be the better option because this woman let more things slip when someone else wasn’t talking. He should have tried to use that to his advantage for now, and see what he could get from her, but he wasn’t very good at that whole self-control thing. It only took a mention of their hotel meeting to make his blood boil.

“You know,” he said before he could stop himself, “I haven’t forgotten how you threatened me.”

Aria nodded. “Good—you shouldn’t.”

“That’s not a good thing to do to a man like me. It pisses me off. And when I get pissed off, bad things tend to happen.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

What?

Her quick-witted yet still flippant replies only irritated him more. Like this was some kind of game for her, and she was enjoying getting under his skin. She didn’t try to make sense, or clarify, either.

Hell …

It also kind of turned him on. Caesar decided right then and there—he was broken. He was some kind of fucked up man that just … was altogether broken.

Ruined.

There was no other explanation.