Page 6 of Redemption (Favorite Malady Duet #2)

“Good morning,” I greet, prompting her attention.

“Morning.” She barely breathes the word, but her mouth quirks in a pleasant smile.

The perfectly polite, good Carolina girl is back.

But I know her secret now.

I’m not good. She whispered her forbidden truths last night, when she tormented me with her responses to my dark questions.

She wears a mask, just like I do. Her genteel veneer hides a sensual woman with taboo desires: an inner darkness that complements my own.

Unlike me, she’s not cold and calculated. She’s guileless and soft.

The perfect match for my cruel needs.

But she’s still not looking at me. She’s finished her latte art, but she’s moved on to grinding the espresso for my Americano.

She must be embarrassed about last night. I’ll put her at ease by speaking in my practiced bedside manner tone. I won’t allow any shame to get in the way of our connection.

“How are you feeling today?” I ask, noting the faint dark circles under her eyes.

I wonder if she has a headache from drinking too much. If so, I’ll make sure she takes a break to drink water and eat something before taking ibuprofen. I’m sure I can charm Stacy into allowing her colleague a moment to collect herself.

Abigail’s careful smile remains fixed in place, and she places a paper cup with my name on it beneath the espresso machine.

Irritation makes my own charming smile waver. I’m not sure how much longer I can tolerate this reticence.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she replies softly. “How are you?”

The rote question doesn’t hold the same depth of true interest that Stacy showed me. It’s a bland social nicety, a requirement for her job.

I’m finding her shyness annoying this morning rather than intriguing. Maybe pursing her was a mistake. If she can’t bring herself to make eye contact unless her inhibitions are lowered by alcohol, she might be too tedious to hold my attention.

“I’m feeling good,” I reply with forced nonchalance.

This is definitely getting tedious. I don’t want to engage in small talk with her.

“The whiskey at the dive bar last night wasn’t good enough to tempt me to drink more than two.”

“Oh,” she says blandly. “I don’t know much about whiskey unless it’s mixed with Coke.”

My smile quirks despite my irritation, and I indulge in one of her secrets. “You prefer sweeter drinks.”

She blinks, and we finally make eye contact. Her pale cheeks flush a perfect shade of pink, and I think she’s about to thank me for the cosmopolitans I bought her last night. Instead, her gaze is a bit wary.

“Yeah, I guess I’m a cliché. I do enjoy girly, pink drinks.”

I don’t understand her strange energy. Her eyes are keen on mine, but they’re guarded.

“Do you want milk in your Americano, Dane?”

She says my name, but it’s not husky with remembered lust. There’s no familiarity in the way she addresses me.

It takes me a full three seconds to realize that she doesn’t recognize me. Apparently, she was so drunk last night that she blacked out our meeting.

I’m silent for too long, because she fills the awkward moment with a nervous laugh.

“I guess not. Black Americano, got it.”

She puts a lid on the cup that has my name written on it and places it on the counter between us.

Something tightens my gut, a strange sensation that I’ve felt before, but never to this degree. The pang is harsh enough to make me grimace.

Anger.

I’m angry that she doesn’t remember me. She doesn’t remember us , the electric connection we share.

She drops her lovely eyes and quickly returns to her espresso machine. Her fingers tremble slightly as she reaches for the milk jug.

I realize that I’m scowling.

I never lose control of my facial expression.

“I’m sorry,” I say as smoothly as I can manage. The last thing I want is to scare her off.

I’m more than just annoyed, but I’m finding the intensity of my response to her fascinating, even if it is unpleasant.

“I was short with you. I suppose I might’ve had more whiskey last night than I thought. A bit of a headache this morning.” The lie comes easily. “The coffee will help. Thank you.”

“No worries. Enjoy!” Her sunny smile is back, but she keeps her focus on her work.

Fuck.

I intimidated her.

How did this go so badly? I’d expected to saunter into the café and sweep her off her feet. We should be exchanging numbers right now, and she’s supposed to be sitting across from me at a sumptuous dinner in a few hours.

And she’s meant to be screaming my name in my bed shortly thereafter.

Instead, she won’t even look at me.

An odd feeling comes over me again, and I’m more reluctant to acknowledge this one.

Insecurity?

The ground feels like it’s shifting under my feet, and the angry churning in my gut has been replaced by a disconcerting knotting sensation.

It’s unpleasant and completely foreign to me.

Fascinating.

Suddenly, I’m eager to know what other new feelings this puzzle of a woman might elicit from me. I’m currently experiencing a spectrum of discomfiting emotions. But there’s the other side of the coin, too.

What would it be like to experience more than cruel, fleeting pleasure?

What ecstatic high will I achieve when she murmurs my name like a prayer and begs me for an orgasm only I can give her?

“I’m new to the area,” I say instead of leaving her side. “I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

Her nervous laugh fills the space between us. “We do have good coffee here,” she allows. “And we always love getting new regulars.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.” It’s a promise, and it comes out in a rougher, more intense tone than I intended.

A light shiver races over her fragile frame.

Arousal at the hint of danger? Or fear at my masculine attention?

Maybe both.

The impulse to grasp that alluring purple curl and tug her toward me makes my fingers furl at my side.

I force myself to relax. That would be far too frightening, and I’d probably end up in the back of a cop car.

I’m clinging to my control by my fingernails. It’s horrifying and fascinating in equal measure.

I have to leave before I say something else that I’ll regret. Abigail will be here whenever I want to see her. I’ll find a way to lure her into my bed.

“Have a great day!” she says in that falsely bright tone.

It’s so practiced that I almost believe it.

I summon up my own familiar mask and offer her one final charming smile before I stroll out of the café.

I barely suppress a grimace at the bitterness of the espresso on my tongue.

Usually, I take my coffee with a splash of milk and one sugar, but Abigail thinks I like it black now.

I can endure the bitterness to avoid further awkwardness.

I’ll come back for her.

I recall her submissive responses to my firm commands last night. She must be pliable enough for me to seduce her without too much difficulty.

Then I can explore and master these strange new feelings.

I’ll fuck her out of my system, and then everything will go back to normal.