Page 83 of Shadow Waltz

“I'm not playing a game,” he said when I was close enough to see the way his pulse jumped at his throat. “I'm showing you what it looks like when someone chooses you instead of just submitting to you.”

“And what's the difference?”

“The difference is that I could leave right now, and we both know you wouldn't stop me.” Ash's eyes never left mine, and I could see the intelligence burning behind them, the quick mind that had always been his greatest asset. “The difference is that I'm here because I want to be, not because I have to be.”

The conversation was moving into territory I'd never navigated before, where my control was revealed to be largely illusory, based on his willingness to stay rather than any real power I held over him. Every instinct I'd developed told me this was dangerous territory.

But looking at him—collar gleaming at his throat, chin raised in challenge, eyes bright with the kind of fierce intelligence that money couldn't buy—I realized he was right. And that terrified me more than any threat I'd ever faced.

“You know what the problem is with that?” I asked, reaching out to trace the edge of his collar with careful fingers.

“What?” Ash asked, though he didn't pull away from my touch.

“It means I have to deserve you staying,” I said, letting my thumb find his pulse point and feeling the way his heartbeat accelerated under my touch. “It means I can't just own you—I have to earn you.”

“Are you?” Ash asked quietly. “Willing to earn it?”

I could feel the weight of his attention, the way he was studying my face for any sign of the answer he was hoping for.

“I don't know,” I admitted, the honesty feeling like removing armor in the middle of a battlefield. “But I'm starting to think it might be worth trying.”

Something shifted in Ash's expression then, a subtle softening that spoke to relief and hope in equal measure. “That's all I wanted to hear.”

The intimacy of the moment was electric, charged with the possibility of something that could transcend everything I'dknown before. But underneath the hope was something darker, more primal, that reminded me exactly what kind of man I was and what I was capable of when pushed.

“Before we explore this new dynamic,” I said, my voice dropping to the register that made grown men confess their sins, “I need to be certain that your choice was made freely. That Reddick didn't plant any seeds of doubt that might bloom into betrayal later.”

Ash's expression hardened slightly, recognizing the shift in my tone. “What are you suggesting?”

“I'm suggesting that words are easy,” I replied, stepping back to put distance between us. “People can say anything when they think it's what someone wants to hear. But actions, choices made under pressure, those reveal truth.”

“What kind of test did you have in mind?” Ash asked, steel threading through his voice. He understood exactly the kind of game I was proposing—and yet, beneath that defiance, something softer waited.

I moved to the bar cart in the corner of the room, pouring myself two fingers of whiskey that cost more than most people's cars. The familiar ritual gave me time to weigh exactly how far I was willing to push, what I needed to see to quiet the paranoid whisper in my mind that warned about trust and vulnerability.

Setting the glass down untouched, I turned to face him directly. My voice softened just enough to make it clear this was his choice. “I need to see if your trust is real. If you're willing, show me—now. But if you're not, you can walk away. No punishment, no consequence. This only happens if you say yes.”

For a long moment, silence stretched between us. Then Ash's gaze met mine directly, raw honesty shining through the guarded defiance. “Yes,” he finally said, low and steady. “Show me how.”

Heat surged through me at his willing surrender, but I kept my voice carefully controlled, deliberately measured.

“Strip,” I said softly, letting the single word hang in the air between us like a promise.

Ash hesitated, and I could see the internal battle playing out across his features. I waited, patient as a predator, letting him make the choice in his own time.

I set the whiskey down—slowly, deliberately—letting the clink of crystal punctuate the silence between us. Every part of me wanted to close that gap, but I forced myself to wait, to let him come to his own decision.

“Take your time,” I said, voice low but not unkind. “But understand that hesitation tells me as much as compliance.”

He didn't move immediately. Didn't break eye contact either, even as his breath quickened just enough for me to notice. The stubborn tilt of his chin sent heat through me—not anger, but something deeper, more possessive.

I strode across the room, each step slow and deliberate, until there was nothing between us but anticipation and choice. My hand came up to cup his face—gentle, but with the underlying strength that reminded him exactly who I was.

“I said strip,” I murmured against his ear, my voice carrying quiet authority. “Not because I'm forcing you, but because I want to see if you'll choose to trust me this completely.”

He hesitated, the conflict in his eyes naked and raw. Part of him wanted to give in, to show me the trust I was asking for. But the part of him that had survived everything still needed to test the boundaries.

My hand drifted downward, fingers skimming along his jawline with careful reverence, then further down, brushing over the collar at his throat. I hooked two fingers beneath the leather, not tugging, just holding—a reminder of what connected us.