Page 21 of Iron Princess
“You should have an Alfred,” I blurt.
A burst of rusty laughter gets away from him. “What’s your obsession with Batman?”
“I really don’t have one. I just find this whole thing to be surreal, and if you had a butler with a British accent, I’d truly believe I was dreaming.”
He plucks the glass out of my hand. “I think you’ve had enough.”
“That stuff didn’t even taste that bad.”
He laughs. “If you knew how much it cost, you probably would’ve choked on it.”
“Or felt really bad when I spit it out on your nice rug. Who decorated this place, anyway?”
I scan the cavernous room—which manages to be masculine, inviting, and functional at the same time—with its exposed ductwork, metal and wood beams, expensive contemporary furniture, and mahogany-and-cream color scheme.
“I did.”
“Wow.” Although, I probably shouldn’t be surprised, considering he probably couldn’t go hire an interior designer to decorate his secret hideout of a warehouse.Bat cave still sounds cooler. Especially now that I’m tipsy.
“One more drink,” I say, not wanting to lose this feeling. In the warmth of my buzz, I’m able to let go of the worry about everything I can’t control, even if only for an hour or two. Reality will descend soon enough.
“I thought you didn’t drink.”
I roll my eyes. “You really think my name holds true?”
“No, but you never went to the bar in the club to get a drink.”
“Because I didn’t know about it until Magnolia showed me. Besides, it seemed like there were some creepers there.”
His brows dive together. “Who?”
“Some guy named Giles. Sounded pretentious as hell. I thought names weren’t allowed there anyway, so it was weird that Magnolia let it slip.”
Something flashes across Kane’s expression, but it’s gone before I can attempt to interpret its meaning. Not that I’m in top form, or really good at reading the tiny things his expression gives away at all.
But I want to be.
That thought rocks my foundation. I’m already grappling with the fact that I still have a serious case of lust for a hit man, and now I’m threatened with maybelikingthe guy. I shouldn’t want to know him better.
My rational brain intrudes with a counterargument.Your brother is a criminal who apparently ripped off some very bad people. Does that make you love him less?
Touché, brain. Touché.
“If I could read minds ...” His deep voice interrupts my train of thought.
“What?”
“I was thinking I would learn a hell of a lot of interesting stuff if I could read yours.”
I shake my head but the realization stays stuck. I couldlikea hit man.That’s not happening.
So I lie, which is something I seem to do all too often around him tonight. “Not really. It’s mostly boring in there.”
“Not with as often as you must think about me naked,” he says with a wicked grin.
Images of him flashing the same wicked grin as he stalked toward me at the club dominate my mind, and I mumble, “Well, I am now.”
Both his eyebrows go up, and I fall further and further down the rabbit hole. He’s too attractive for his own good. And when I think about what’s beneath that placket of buttons and those perfectly tailored pants ...
