She tracked her gaze upward and stalled on the intricate tribal design inked on his deltoid. Unconsciously, she chafed the patch of skin near her tailbone that held the duplicate to his clan symbol. Thank the gods for that extra two inches of fabric on her dress. Cut any lower and her foolish mistake would have been ousted to the last individual she wanted it revealed to. Bad enough she’d thrown herself at him all those years ago. She’d never live down the tattoo.
Get the damn thing removed. It wasn’t the first time the voice of logic had given her a stern lecture on her folly, but the pathetic reality was her stomach revolted whenever she contemplated heeding the advice. The tattoo was the only part of Jerrick she could claim as her own. Letting it go would be the end of a bittersweet dream.
Sad and pitiable didn’t begin to describe the sorry state of her mind.
“Are you done inspecting me like a side of beef?” Jerrick inquired dryly.
She smacked him on the ass and winced at the stinging burn spreading across her palm. He didn’t even flinch. Damn him and his rock-hard butt. Clearly having a flogger would be beneficial and save her a sore hand. “You’ll speak when I allow it.”
He grunted. “What is this? Method Acting 101?”
“You want me to get in character, right? So I don’t blow our cover and muck everything up?” Getting to throw his words in his face was immeasurably satisfying, especially since his tight expression hinted at precisely how difficult he was finding it to bite his tongue. “If there’s anyone who could use some brushing up on their acting skills, it’s you, Jer, since you don’t appear the least bit docile at the moment.”
“You’re deliberately trying to goad me. And I damn well don’t think this evil dominatrix charade is going to fly.”
“Only because you’re a stubborn mule who doesn’t like the notion of a woman holding all the power. Face it, you’re a control freak.”
He chuffed a humorless laugh. “If you honestly think that, then you’re a fool.”
Oh, I am. In more ways than one. But it didn’t change the fact that she was right about this one point. He was all about control. Having it yanked out from under him wouldn’t be pretty, and he certainly wouldn’t give it up without a fight.
Well, she had news for him. She was infinitely more stubborn than him. And she had the added edge of holding all the cards. “We’re not reversing roles. It’s this way or no way.”
A muscle ticced in his jaw. “This is a disaster in the making.”
That, at least, was one thing they agreed on. But damn if she wasn’t going to enjoy wresting all of that hard-fought control from him in the meantime.
Chapter Eight
He was starting to come to the conclusion that the smaller the package, the more potential for testing his patience. Despite being half his size, Avi possessed the ability to drive him to the limits of his sanity.
After their showdown in the bathroom, she’d calmly ordered him into the kitchen—where he was currently making her a salad while she kicked back on the sofa. She was taking this whole getting-into-character to an exasperating extreme. He knew she was doing it to prove a point, and he even understood why.
What she didn’t understand was the dangerous fire she was meddling with.
There was a reason he desperately needed to be the one holding the reins in this charade, and it had nothing to do with some farfetched notion of refusing to kowtow to a woman’s demands. As long as he remained in control of himself, everything would be okay. He could treat this job like any other and stay cool and professional in the process. But with Avi pushing him and stripping his defenses, what hope did he hold of resisting the potent pull of her?
He had to. Giving in was not an option. Popping a cheese cube into his mouth, he squinted at her profile. “It’s bloody cold in here. Can I put my damn shirt back on?”
“The lower temp is good for your metabolism. We wouldn’t want you developing a spare tire around your gut.”
“I appreciate your concern for my health.” Somehow or other, he’d find a way to get her back for this. “What else do you want in your salad?”
“Maybe a few slices of the Nahimi melon.”
He opened her cooler and inspected the contents of the crisper bin. “Looks like you already polished it off.”
“Well shoot.”
He waited for her to demand he drag his ass down to the grocer. Or perhaps produce some magical seeds and till her a garden so she could have her blasted fruit.
“Guess you’ll have to skip adding it. Chop up the rest of the cooked hen on the second shelf and toss it in instead. I need my protein, you know.”
Undoubtedly so she could keep her lungs nice and strong for bossing him around.
A minute later, meal completed to her exacting standards, he carried it to the sofa. She patted the cushion next to her. Before he even sat down he knew what her next request would be.
“You can feed it to me.”
Biting back a growl, he speared a serving of the greens and crispy poultry with the fork and held it to her mouth. Her lips closed around the metal tines with an mmm of pleasure that wrapped around his cock and refused to let go. Yes, she definitely drove him insane. In more ways than one. He battled the potent desire to suck the remaining few speckles of dressing from her berry-vinaigrette-glossed lips.
“Does it meet your approval, my precious?” His voice sounded strained and gruff to his own ears.
Her smile was as sweetly delivered as his endearment. “Color me impressed. Didn’t know you had it in you to cook. You’ve always avoided any domestic activity like it’s a fate worse than death.”
Damn sassy woman. Even if she was right. “It’s a salad. Not much cooking involved.”
She surprised him by snatching the fork from his grip. At bloody last, she was putting this ridiculous dominatrix stuff to bed for the night.
Truthfully, her roleplaying wasn’t the only thing wreaking havoc on his tightly strung patience. Sitting next to her and not running his hands all over her silky skin was killing him. Their brief contact in the bathroom only added kindling to the fire crackling between them. If he wasn’t careful, he stood a good chance of getting burned.
It didn’t help that they were sitting on the same damn sofa that’d witnessed his near downfall five years ago, when she’d offered him her virginity. He swore the piece of furniture was mocking him. An overstuffed, floral, brocaded reminder of his weakness where she was concerned. He needed to remove himself from temptation. Now. Desperately clutching the frayed strands of his willpower, he started to shove up from the cushion.
Avi stalled him with her hand on his thigh. His entire world narrowed to the distracting pressure of her splayed fingers. He didn’t immediately notice the fork waving inches from his face. “Wha—?”
She shoved the greens into his mouth, effectively shutting him up. He chewed the offering, his wary focus never leaving her face. She scooted closer and tucked her legs over his lap. A rush of familiarity swept over him. How many times had she curled into him like this? Too many to count. And just like those other occasions when he’d sweated through her need to cuddle, he questioned his ability to keep his hands safely out of the danger zone.