Page 57 of Cruel Delights
I sigh, my skin warming up. “Will we always get stares wherever we go?”
Kaden’s gaze tears away from their table and returns to me. “What about stares?”
“It seems like whenever you bring me somewhere, likehere, we get stares.”
“I know the men seated at that table. That is why they’re staring.”
I remain unconvinced. I pick up my glass of wine and sample its dark, fruity flavor, working up the courage to voice how I feel. The wine gives me a tiny boost in the right direction.
“Have you ever dated a Black woman before?”
For a second, Kaden’s brows draw together as if confused. Then dawning seems to wash over his face and the way he’s eying me changes.
It grows more… understanding.
“Is it a deal breaker for you if I haven’t?”
“Maybe. Have you?”
“No,” he answers simply. “I never have.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“I have slept with Black women before.”
“Also what I figured.”
He surveys me under a creased brow. “Have I mentioned I don’t have relationships? Most women I’ve seen are just women I’ve slept with. The Black women have been no different.”
“No girlfriends ever?”
“I didn’t say that either. I have had girlfriends. A couple, that is. No one worth mentioning.”
“Cold-blooded. If I were your ex, I’d be insulted.”
“It is traditional in my world to be coupled at early ages. Betrothed in the case of some families. It is treated as a business deal of sorts. Two powerful families seeking to maintain that power. Each with a son or a daughter they can pair off.”
“So you were fixed up with your girlfriends?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“And what about now?”
“I couldn’t give less of a damn. I have come to do what I want, when I want,” he says with a thread of selfish satisfaction in his tone.
Impressive in a way I can’t articulate. I just know I’d love to reach the same level of indifference.
While I’ve never cared about fitting in, I can’ttrulydo what I want. I have to fight hard to stay afloat and not drown. If I were as wealthy as Kaden, I wouldn’t need to. I’d have “fuck you” money as it’s called.
Kaden’s observing these thoughts flitter through my head. I know he is because as I blink out of my self-induced trance, I’m on the receiving end of his full attention. He sits across the candlelit table in his expensive suit with his head of loose chocolatey locks pushed back behind his ears.
The light hits him at all the right angles, emphasizing the perfect dimensions of his face—chiseled jawline and cheeks anchored by a straight, aquiline nose and thick, masculine brows. But it’s his eyes that capture me.
Dark and searching.
Piercing straight through me as though he’s reading my mind.
I blink again and drop my gaze to my wine glass in some clumsy attempt to fight off whatever mind-meldy trick he’s pulling.