Page 7 of Duke

“God,” I huffed. “You’re a barbarian.”

He shrugged. “Meh. Been called worse.” He eyed me. “And why is panties a horrible word? What else am I supposed to call them?”

I shuddered when he said the word. “Underwear?” I suggested.

“Boring. Panties is more fun.”

“Fun? It’s horrible! It’s just a gross word. Like moist.”

He cringed. “Nowthat’sa horrible word.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Yeah, and panties is worse.”

“So what do you call ‘em, when you wear ‘em?”

“Underwear. Or a thong, if that’s what I’m wearing.”

His eyes actually twinkled, but lecherously, rather than merrily. “Thongs, hmm? You like the G-strings better, or the ones with the wide waistband and the little lace strap between your ass cheeks?”

I goggled at him. “What are you, an underwear aficionado?”

That damn grin again. “Why, yes, yes I am. Duke Silver, underwear aficionado.” He scrubbed the stubble on his jaw with his fingertips. “Although, panty-master sounds more badass.”

I actually slapped my forehead. “Panty-master? Are you twelve?”

He shrugged and pulled awhy not?face. “Yeah, sometimes. Especially when it comes to hot women in sexy—underwear.” He wiggled the one eyebrow again. “And Fancy, you, in a G-string? That’s fucking hot.”

“Yeah, well…if you want to see me in a G-string, you’ll have to go buy last July’s issue ofMaxim.” I turned and walked away from him a few steps, cursing myself for saying that.

Sometimes my mouth ran away from my brain.

He wasn’t moving, still standing behind me at the top of the stairs. “Wait. You were inMaxim?”

I shrugged one shoulder and avoided looking at him. “Yup. Four page article, double-page photo spread.”

“How aboutPlayboy?”

I whirled on him. “No, I haven’t been inPlayboy!” I shouted. “And do you not possess a filter?”

“Nope.” He ejected the magazine of the pistol, looked at it, and replaced it, exactly like they do in the movies. For my benefit, probably. Asshole. “I say what I’m thinking, say what I mean, and mean what I say because, sweetheart, I may be a lot of things and not all of them good, but one thing I’m not is a liar.”

I huffed in irritation, because I couldn’t exactly find fault with that logic, since I had similar tendencies. “Are we going to stand here bickering all day, or are we going to get out of here?”

He pointed at me with index finger and thumb. “That, hot stuff, is an excellent point.”

I let my head hang back on my neck. “Swear to god, you have more misogynistic ways of talking down to me than I can even keep track of.”

He led the way through the house, a modern suburbia dump. White pressboard cabinets, warping laminate floor, low popcorn ceiling, claustrophobic floorplan…ugh. Double shudder. Except this place was clearly used by the deceased thugs in the basement as a sex, drugs, and torture den. There were empty forties everywhere, crumpled cigarette packages, overflowing ashtrays, glass drug-smoking pipes, bongs, condoms both used and still wrapped, empty Styrofoam carryout containers, McDonald’s bags…a vile, filthy pigsty.

“Hurry up and get me out of here before I catch a disease,” I said. “This place is disgusting.”

Duke moved through the kitchen, at the back of which were the stairs down to the basement. There was also a side door leading out into a driveway. Instead of exiting the side door, however, he went through the kitchen into the living room, stopping at the front door, a solid wood slab painted white with three small square windows near the top and a heavy glass storm door on the other side.

“Um.” I tapped his shoulder, which was kind of like tapping the side of a boulder. “Go?”

“Hush, Fancy.”

“I’ll hush when you use my fuckingname.”