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“Nothing,” I said, shrugging. “You were just less grumpy when you were getting laid.”
His lips parted and his eyes crackled.
“Behave yourself,” he said.
“Why?” I said, deciding that if I was going to kick this hornet’s nest, I was going to kick it hard. “Is this easy for you? We were fucking less than seventy-two hours ago and now you’re just going to pretend we can go back to…to this?”
“We have to, Clara,” he said.
I shot to my feet and strode down the hall to the bathroom. I felt his eyes on me as I disappeared behind the door.
Heart pounding, I leaned on the sink. My eyes stung, but I was more angry than anything else. I hated how calm, how detached he was, when all I wanted to do was curl up and cry.
Instead, I ducked into a stall and wriggled my skirt up around my waist. Underneath, I was wearing a tiny, black lace thong that barely covered anything. I worked it off and balled it in my fists, smoothing my skirt down.
His eyes snapped to me as I crossed the room, heels clinking. The restaurant was full and everyone was focused on their own tables. No one but him noticed me walk up to our table and put my hand on his arm.
“How much is that whiskey a glass?”
His eyes narrowed. “Around three hundred dollars?”
“For that little bit?”
“It’s very good.”
I dropped my panties into his glass. We both sat there in stunned silence as they sank to the bottom. A scrap of lace in amber.
I couldn’t believe I’d done that.
Fuck it, he was being an asshole. Circling the table, I sat down and crossed my arms. Training my eyes out the window. The waiter appeared and put our food down, but didn’t say anything about the panties in Merrick’s whiskey.
I dragged my eyes up to his and they were burning. His face was carved from stone. The skin between his collarbones was flushed.
He lifted the glass and took a sip and set it aside. Between my legs, my pussy was slippery. I swirled my spaghetti and took a bite.
“How’s your food?” he asked lightly.
“It’s good,” I said. “How’s your whiskey? Apparently it’s expensive.”
He leaned on the table, resting his chin in his fingers. There was a faint smirk on his mouth.
“Would you believe me if I told you it tastes like your cunt?”
I gasped, blushing to my roots as I whirled to check if our neighbors had heard him. No one was paying attention, thankfully.
“You’re being vulgar,” I hissed.
“You are being incredibly difficult,” he said. “You need an attitude adjustment, cariad.”
“Oh, I expect you think that’s your job?”
“No, but if it involves spanking your ass, I’d be happy to help.”
“How dare you!”
He turned and lifted his hand to the waiter, who hurried over to our table. He bent and Merrick said something to him and his eyes widened.
I sat there, mouth open, as the waiters descended on the tables and everyone got up and walked out. Merrick remained as he was, one leg crossed over the other, his whisky with my drenched panties in his hand.
