Just watching Delilah walk was an erotic experience. The feline grace in every stride and every smooth swish of her hips captivated Hunter, and he was unable to tear his gaze away. Her small breasts bounced, the pert nipples a lovely shade of pink. He recalled clearly the satin texture of them in his mouth, the way they’d darkened and puckered.
His cock began to fill, the flesh firming with every step she took toward him. She settled herself on a stool topped with plush kleather padding. The kelp leather was prime grade, imported from Asia. The contrast of the black fabric against the pale flesh of her ass drew his gaze.
Everything about her drew his gaze.
And he liked having her here in his home. His instincts flickered to life at the reminder of what this woman was to him. Mate. The hawk within reveled at the claiming of her. He’d reached for her so often in the night that his body ached, but he’d woken again and again, the hunger so sharp he’d had to have her.
He blinked and swallowed, forcing his mind away from the heated memories before he bent her over the countertop to fuck her once more. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded, crossing her legs demurely. Considering her complete nudity, the gesture made him smile. He caught himself, the grin fading. He’d smiled more in the last day than he had in…years. Yet, it felt natural to smile at her, to laugh with her. She seemed to take such joy in living, throwing herself wholly into what she did and said. Whereas he was much more cautious.
Life after his parents’ death—life with his uncle—had taught him the value of caution. Nothing had changed his mind since. But he rarely changed it once a decision had been reached.
“Hunter?” She tilted her head to meet his gaze, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Are you going to offer me food just to tease me?”
He shook himself out of his reverie. “No. Of course not.” Turning to retrieve the required sustenance, he paused and looked back. “What do you like to eat?”
It was one of many things he didn’t know about this woman who was his mate. He knew she was a criminal, knew she was passionate and beautiful, but that was the extent of his knowledge. He would have to change that.
The deep craving inside him to know everything, to know all of her, had to spring from the mating instinct. He’d never been the least bit curious about his lovers. They were a means to a mutually satisfying end, nothing more. He’d never allowed any of them to be more.
The very notion of needing anything from anyone, of caring, was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat. He knew how the loss of someone he needed would feel, how it could make him pray for death himself. No one got close to him, not really. He preferred it that way. Swallowing hard, he stuffed the cravings into the darkest corner of himself, never to see the light of day again. He would deal with this as he did everything else in his life—rationally.
Regardless of where the desire to know the particulars of her life sprang from, it was a practical need as well. If he was going to be near the woman for the rest of his life, it was necessary to understand what kind of threat she might be to his company, what kind of weakness she might present to his enemies. She would eventually find out she was his mate, though he’d hold off telling her as long as possible, but it was best he had all the salient details at his disposal beforehand.
It would make her easier to control.
“I’m a cat. I like fish best.” A gamine grin lit her face, and her fingers spread over the shiny metal surface of his kitchen counter. “But, I’m hungry enough to eat anything you put in front of me.”
The soft rumbling of her stomach reached his ears, underscoring her words. He nodded and reached for a cutlery drawer, plucking two sets out to drop them on the counter. She picked up a utensil to examine it and he narrowed his gaze at her. “Don’t steal that.”
She didn’t even bother to feign indignation, just gave him a thoroughly feline grin and set it back down. “I won’t.” She waited a beat. “I don’t bother with the petty thievery. You have much more enticing pieces here.”
“Don’t steal those, either.” He flicked his gaze over her torso, staring at her breasts. “Though I do recall how much you appreciated my collection this morning.”
Stroking her fingertip across her collarbone, she flashed a sinful look. “You have very unique uses for your collection. I couldn’t help but admire it.”
“That’s good to know.” Moving away from her again, he keyed his food storage unit for two plates of Alaskan rockfish and fresh greens. It took a few moments for the information to uplink into the system, and then the unit’s door unlocked with a soft click. He opened it, pulled out the gently steaming dishes, and set one in front of her.
Her eyes widened and she gave the air a delicate sniff. “Mmm. That looks prime.”
Hauling a kleather stool around to his side of the counter, he was about to sit when he paused. “I have ice wine, if you’d like.”
“I’d like. Thank you.” She set down the bite of food she’d scooped up and waited for him to return to resume her meal.
Sitting, he watched her. He rarely had anyone in his house for anything other than business or sex. Or both. They didn’t stay long enough to share a meal with him. It didn’t feel wrong, just…odd. He took a drink of his wine and contemplated her for a moment. She dined as gracefully as she walked. It didn’t fit with the mental image he would form of an experienced criminal—and she had to be very experienced to have gotten into his home.
Another question he couldn’t answer about her.
Now was as good a time as any to start unearthing the mystery of his mate. He picked up his utensils and began eating, casting her a casual glance. “Where are you from?”
She froze, her wineglass halfway to her mouth. For the first time since she’d sat down, she seemed discomfited, and gave him a guarded look. “Why do you want to know?”
“Just curious.” He frowned, disliking her reaction. He took another bite of food, trying to bank his reflexive annoyance at her reticence. The spices on the rockfish burst over his taste buds, perfectly complementing the dish. He might as well have been chewing on polyglass for all it did to still the unwelcome emotions roiling through him. He’d done nothing to cause the amount of distrust in her gaze. “Appease me.”
“I can think of better ways to appease a man.” The expression of practiced seductress molded her features again, and it irritated him even more this time. He took a breath, reining in the unwarranted feeling. It wasn’t like him to overreact about anything. He didn’t care for it.
“We’ll get to that.” His brow arched, and he issued a quiet order, “Answer the question.”
“I grew up in the Vermilion District.” Her shoulder lifted in a shrug.
He blinked, uncertain how the woman before him could have come from the cesspool that was the Vermilion. “You don’t…the way you speak isn’t…”
She met his gaze, her green eyes open and frank. “My mother made sure my sister and I knew how to speak well, use the correct utensil, and waltz like a lady. To entertain rich men. Not that I use those skills very often, but I do have them.”
“Ah.” He understood what she meant by “entertain” without having to ask for an explanation. It did slide a few more pieces into place. The amount of contempt in her tone when she said rich men was surprising, though. Every answer raised more questions. “How often do you end up entertaining?”
“For money? Never. My sister didn’t want me to enter that line of work, so I found something that interested me more.” She took a deep swig of her wine and focused on her food, clearly dismissing the subject.
Her sister was a jade. Likely her mother