“I know who you are.”
Adam smiled as he ran his fingers around the rim of his margarita glass.
“Is that supposed to scare me, Darling? Make me quake in my bloody boots? You’re not very intimidating.”
Jean took a sip of his martini, leaned back in his chair, and smiled.
“It wasn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted you to know I’m well aware of your occupation and like many other journalists before you I intend to leave you at this table alone without a tale to tell.”
Adam dipped his finger into the margarita and put the wet digit into his mouth. He suckled, eyes locked on Jean, and pulled his finger out slowly.
“Just sitting here with you, Mister....Lechiffre, is tale enough. Most of the few who’ve tried to get this close have ended up dead or so scared they quit the business. Did you know that?”
Jean smiled as he took another drink. Adam watched his fingers caress the stem of the glass and wiggled in his chair thinking of them caressing other things. Mr. Duran was a very handsome man and it had been a bit too long since he’d last been fucked.
Way too long.
“I do,” Jean said, setting the glass down again, “And I won’t apologize for protecting myself or my business. You of all people know that your reputation can affect your business. I need my clients to know their privacy is my top priority. I don’t think with my penis, Mr. Towers. I think with my mind.”
Adam’s gaze dropped down suggestively. “Why can’t you do both?”
“No one is good enough in bed for me to gamble with my livelihood.”
He reached across the table and took Jean’s hand.
“Believe me, Mr. Duran....I am.”
















