Last Kiss Goodnight (Otherworld Assassin #1)(52)
Author: Gena Showalter

A moment passed. A soft smile brightened her face. “And you’re forgiven for earlier.”

“That easily?” Surely not. If she were anything like him, she would keep a checklist of his transgressions, whether he apologized or not. After three, she would wash her hands of him. But then, no one could maintain a relationship when they kept a checklist, could they? The record keeper was always too conscious of the bad to concentrate on the good.

“You look astounded and suspicious,” she said, that smile widening. She could not be a mere mortal; she just couldn’t be. “I’m not sure why. You used the most pleading tone when you apologized, practically dripping with sincerity. I’m just sure of it.”

He laughed with hearty amusement, carefree in a way he’d never been, even outside the cage. But the sound cut off abruptly the moment he realized what he was doing, and only the crackling of the fire and the buzzing of the insects could be heard. He’d set out to charm her, but she was the one charming him.

• • •

“I want to play a game,” Solo said a little while later. He’d taken a bit of time to try to fortify himself against Vika’s allure, because he’d known he couldn’t dazzle her if he was always being dazzled. He’d thought he was ready.

“And you always get what you want?” she replied, her nose going in the air.

He’d thought wrong. “Is this a fit?” he asked, fighting a grin. “This seems like a little-girl-princess fit.”

She gasped with mock outrage. “How dare you! I do not have little-girl-princess fits!”

Will not laugh again. He sat across from her, a position he enjoyed. She was close enough to scent, close enough to touch, but just far enough away that he wasn’t tempted to dive on her—more than a few times. “Tell me. What do you do in your spare time?”

Her brow furrowed, her mock pique fading. “I don’t understand. What does that matter? What about the game?”

“We’re playing it right now.”

“Oh. And it is . . .”

“The question game.”

“Oh,” she repeated, still dazed and somewhat confused. “Well, what are the rules?”

“There’s only one. If I ask a question, you have to answer it.”

Understanding took hold, and her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Well, good luck. I’m playing to win.”

“Me too.” And he planned to win more than the game.

“Toss out question number one, and listen to me dominate.”

He enjoyed seeing her like this. Excited. Perhaps even happy. “I already did.”

“What did—oh, yeah.” Toying with the ends of her hair, she said, “On the days I’m forced to remain in my trailer I count my money and plan my future. What about you?”

He had to force himself to stare at anything but her hands. Her beautiful hands. So gentle. So feminine. Capable of delivering the most undeniable pleasure, he was sure. “I farm.”

Her mouth formed a large O as her gaze swept over him. “You don’t look like a farmer.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t stare at her mouth, either. “And you’ve met so many of us?”

“Well, no.” She lifted to her knees, practically bubbling over with enthusiasm. “Did you notice how quickly I answered that? I’m winning, aren’t I?”

The muscles in his stomach clenched as he said, “You’re definitely losing, and I’m definitely winning.”

She frowned, and he had to fight another laugh. “How?” she demanded.

“The more questions you can get a person to answer, the more points you earn. I’ve asked more questions.”

Her eyes narrowed, two lasers locked on him. “Perhaps I misunderstood the rules.”

“That’s understandable. You’re foreign.”

“But perhaps I didn’t,” she added. “You can’t just change them whenever you want.”

“I can, too. I’m the game’s inventor.”

“And what’s the score, Mr. Inventor?”

“Fifteen to one,” he said, choosing a number that wasn’t so high she couldn’t catch up, but wasn’t so low she could best him. “But because I’m such a nice guy, I’ll let you ask me the next question. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He tsked with false pity. “Another two points for me. One because you answered an unnecessary question and another because you fell for my trick. Better luck next time.”

“You dirty little swindler,” she said with a choked gurgle of delight that caused the muscles in his stomach to once again clench up. She tapped a finger against her chin, brightened. “Oh, I know! Will you tell me about your farm?”

“Of course.”

“Got you,” she said in a singsong voice. “Another point for me.”

Really will not laugh. “It’s situated miles from any other residence, and surrounded by rare clusters of trees.” Most forests had been burned to the ground during the human-otherworlder war. “There’s a natural spring that’s filled with fish, and birds constantly fly overhead. There are multiple flower and vegetable gardens, and there’s a pesky rabbit that likes to ruin both. I’ve named him Dead Man Hopping.”

Expression glazed with awe, she said, “I’ve never heard of such a promised land and cannot even picture its like.”

Maybe one day he would take her there.

The idea registered, and he froze. He’d once thought about locking her there, but now . . . he knew he would do no such thing. He wanted to have her there, yes, but he wanted her there of her own free will, happy and smiling. And naked.

“Do you have any secret talents?” she asked, unaware of his inner turmoil.

He had many secret talents, but there was only one he could share without scaring ten years off her life. “I can wrangle a bull with my bare hands.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Got you! That’s four points for me, for using your own trick against you twice, and practically in a row,” she said with a smirk. “And before you can ask, I’ll just tell. My secret talent is a backbend kick-over.”

He . . . had no idea what that was. “One day, I’ll want to see that.”

In a snap, all of her enjoyment drained. Her sparkle died.

“What?” he demanded, unsure what he’d done wrong.

“Those words . . .” she muttered. “ ‘One day.’ I hate them.”