Delgano: A Dark Contemporary Interracial Romance

“I’m very obedient.”

He motioned to the chair across from him. “If that’s the case, sit.”

“Mr. Del?—”

“Sit down, Sayeda.”

She eased down onto the chair, and he’d seen brick walls less rigid. There were plenty of reasons for her to be afraid of him, but she didn’t seem to care. The woman was a walking juxtaposition if he ever saw one—modest clothing wrapped in an attitude that could singe lava.

She reached for the utensils.

“I’ll serve,” he snapped.

She made all his meals and cleaned up after him, so the least he could do was serve her breakfast.

“In the wild,” she began, her voice razor thin, “there are predators who appear to play with their food before eating it. Why play, Mr. Delgano? It won’t make the meat any more tender.”

The most he could see of this woman were her eyes, a sliver of her cheekbones, and from her wrist to her fingertips. Yet, the way she said the words “meat” and “tender” made his mind fill in the blanks, adding a spot to rest his head for him to spend as long as he wanted between her legs.

“You’re ruthless,” she goaded. “Be ruthless.”

“Why are you obsessed with me killing you? I find you too interesting to kill. The day you stop being interesting, maybe I’ll take you up on your offer, but as of right now, you’re way down at the bottom of my kill list.”

“But I’m on the list.”

“Yes, but way down at the bottom. That’s the important part you’re not paying attention to.”

“How many people are on this list?” she asked. “Because, if there are four, I have to make sure my affairs are in order. If there are five hundred, then I might not have to worry until I see you pop up at the nursing home.”

Grinning, he shuffled a stack of the airy pancakes onto a plate.

“Mr. Delgano, of all the ruthless people I’ve known, none of them have ever been the type to serve me breakfast.”

He glanced at her. “Who are these ruthless people? Are they still in your life?”

“Why?”

“I’m getting restless.”

“You want blood?”

“Can you give it to me?”

“I can give you anything you want.”

As his brow wasn’t the only thing that popped up, he set her plate and glass of orange juice in front of her and took his seat. The misconception was that men like him only responded to women like the one with the tomato-paste-colored hair. But intrigue could be as intoxicating as beauty, and this woman was triggering parts of him in ways he wasn’t used to.

She turned away and stared at the pool as if it wasn’t the same one they saw every day, and questions ran through his mind he wasn’t sure whether she could answer: was he right, and she was stuck in a similar sort of kidnap contract? When she left, where did she go? Did she have a family, and were they being held hostage by the “ruthless” people she’d mentioned? Exactly what circumstances had led her to this house, with him, at his beck and call?

He broke his egg yolk with a chunk of bread and took a bite. She glazed her pancake with honey butter, cut into the stack, and raised the veil to slide her fork between her lips. From where he was sitting, he couldn’t see any more of her face than he’d already seen, but he was beginning to enjoy the mystery.

“Just so you know,” she began, “eating with company is a pain. That’s why I prefer not to.”

“Don’t care. Get used to it. We’re eating together from now on.” He aimed his fork in her direction. “Now, do you know how long I’ve been here?”

“After an answer like that, you expect me to tell you?”

He waited.