Page 61 of Renegade Path
Pietor’s chuckle filled the car, and then he shoved open the door, letting me step out. I shouldn’t have teased him. I knew, all things considered, it was probably a death wish. He was being nice enough now, but later…
Yeah, poking the bear had been a little stupid. Still, I wasn’t about to roll over and give up the fight. That wasn’t who I was. I was a fighter, a lawyer, and a damn good closer at that.
Of course, he was around the car in a flash, and I followed him into the house. As we entered, I saw the same security posts doing the rounds of each floor, the grounds, and the front door. There were eyes everywhere. Yeah, like I said, no getting out of here easy.
“Well there, sweetheart. I’m definitely not hungry, so I guess it’s back to the room to do some research. Would you like to join me for a study session?”
I glared, marching up the stairs to the door and pushing inside. “Why to make it seem like I have a choice?”
At once, Pietor’s hand was at the small of my back while the other skirted up the front of my chest to grip my neck. He hovered over me, whispering his lips across the shell of my ear.
“You have a choice, darlin’. Not my fault you don’t like the outcome of disobeying me.”
My entire body hummed, and I was frozen like a pathetic doll. No one was nearby, which somehow mattered deeply to me at the moment. I was embarrassed; my cheeks were flaming, and I didn’t want to consider why it was that I was so worked up.
Stepping back from me and giving me a gentle nudge forward, Pietor stepped back, still wearing that damned smirk.
“After you.”
***
We’d spent the remaining hours of the day scrounging the web for more information about my boss and his current partner. Pietor had seen fit to grill me about everything I knew, from the law firm itself to their personal lives to how I started working there.
I was damn exhausted at this point, and irritation flared in my gut as Pietor asked me to recount how I’d arrived at the firm for the millionth time.
“I already told you this, and I’m tired of repeating myself. I know this tactic, Pietor. I’m a lawyer, for Christ’s sake. You need to stop badgering me.”
He cocked a brow. I’d snapped at him, and it was too late to take back the words. Fuck, I’ve really stepped in it now. You and your big fat mouth getting you in trouble—again.
When he just stared at me, his brows raised, my eyes fell to the floor. I sucked in a deep breath, distracting myself with the intricate patterns of the ornate rug at my feet.
The entire room was fucking ridiculous. It was some French luxury boudoir, not a mafioso’s bedroom. What on earth could have possessed him to decorate the place like this? And that’s when it hit me. He didn’t decorate it like this.
I had no idea why it mattered suddenly. But whether boredom, curiosity, or exhaustion was pulling the strings—maybe a combination of all three—I actually asked.
“You didn’t pick out the stuff in this room, did you?”
It threw him for a loop, and a hard chuckle burst out of him. He shook his head as he recrossed his legs. It was a good few moments before Pietor responded, and he hadn’t forgotten how I’d snapped at him.
“What makes you say that, huh? Don’t I look like the type to appreciate French-style crown molding?” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his leg. “And I’ll badger you all I want if it means I’ll get answers. Need I remind you that we have a common enemy? It behooves you to be forthright with me.”
I choked down a swallow. He was clearly using that type of language to needle at me. He had a point, of course. I’d judged him, decided what he was like. Still, I knew I was right about the room.
“You don’t look like the type to enjoy this particular décor. You wear ripped jeans and leather jackets, well, one exactly. You pierced, probably places that I can’t see. I can see the edges of several tattoos poking out from under your cuffs and at the neck of your shirt. I didn’t say you weren’t educated, and I’m sorry if I implied that. But…”
I stood up from the bed, walking a little closer to where Pietor sat in the large armchair.
“You clearly have something to say with your presentation, and it’s not ‘frilly French stuff,’ now, is it?”
Pietor held an impassive expression as he stood up from the chair, stepping up to meet me in the center of the room. His mismatched and gorgeous eyes never left mine, and I fought against the urge to flinch as he towered over me.
Raising my brows at him expectantly, I waited for a response. I didn’t get one.
Instead, Pietor’s hands went to the buttons of his shirt, the jacket long since ditched, and began undoing them. He was taking off his shirt.
“What…What are you doing?”
Unconsciously, I reeled back. My heart was furious against my ribs, and that gnawing hunger in my low belly roared stronger, making my mouth fall open. The folds of Pietor’s shirt split further, revealing more of his muscled chest. Something that looked like intricate geometric designs done in black and gray covered the skin of his pecs and then traveled up his neck.