Descent (Black Heart Romance presents Heaven & Hell)

“But I want to see you again. Tomorrow. We’ll have dinner.”
For a split second, my heart stops.
It’s the shock.
I don’t know if it’s the suggestion, or the calm, certain way he says it, as if he knows this is going
to happen and I should just climb on board and enjoy the ride.
I meet his gaze, so stunned I forget to be embarrassed. “Are you insane?”
He shrugs, seeming to have recovered from the momentary lapse of having a conscience.
“Maybe, but not in a way you should be worried about. When you’re as rich as I am, it’s called
eccentric.”
“I am not having dinner with you.”
“You are,” he says immovably. It’s not cocky in the sense that he’s so arrogant he doesn’t believe
he can be turned down. He seems almost understanding of the fact that I haven’t given in yet—but also
damn sure I will, and this is just a dance we have to do first.
It’s just like last night, but somehow even odder because we’re not in a private dungeon in a
depraved sex club; we’re in a beautiful, public ballroom decked out for a wedding.
“No, I’m not,” I say, my tone firmer.
“You are, one way or the other.”
My spine straightens at the subtle threat in his words. “What does that mean?”
“Remember a minute ago when we were discussing the syringe and all that? I’m having dinner
with you tomorrow evening whether you accept my invitation and get into the car I send for you or
not. It’s your call. I would prefer we do it the easy way since I was already pretty hard on you last
night, but if you want to do it the hard way, we can.”
“You cannot make me have dinner with you. And honestly, if you keep harassing me like this, I
will have to go to the police. It’s not an empty threat this time, last night I was just trying to stop you,
but now—”
“You’re still just trying to stop me. You won’t. You’re wasting your energy, sweetheart.” He
flicks a glance at my salad. “Are you a vegetarian?”
Startled, I look at my Caesar salad, then back to him. “No. What does that have to do with
anything?”
“If you’re determined to be difficult, I’ll have to hire a private chef to make us dinner at home.
Can’t risk you acting out in public.”
I laugh at the sheer absurdity. “Are you serious? I wouldn’t agree to meet you in a restaurant so
you think I’ll come to your house?”