“No!” Face turning six shades of red, she gives me a fierce glare. “For the record, I was on time.”
“What time did you ring the bell?”
“I was standing on your porch before seven o’clock.” She scowls at her bag and drops it on the end table next to her. Hands free, she places them in her lap. Shifts.
I don’t fill in the silence.
She puts her arms on the chair. Frowns.
I watch her calmly, but with intent.
Another squirm. She crosses her arms. “I was here.”
The tone is petulant, and I hide a smile. The dominant part of me can’t help but enjoy her agitation. “When did you ring my bell, Anna?”
“A couple minutes after, but I was here.” She surprises me with a full-blown pout.
I want to bite that puffed-out bottom lip. But that has to wait. “If you were on time, you would have stood in my foyer at seven.”
She huffs, looking adorable. “I stood on your steps before seven.”
“You think I’m being unfair?” It’s been so long since I’ve played this game. Only now, in the thick of it, do I allow myself to acknowledge how much I missed it, how much effort it took to hide it from her.
“Very,” she says, voice full of righteous indignation.
It’s always more fun when a girl plays right into my hands. The fact that Anna does now is an unexpected pleasure.
When I allowed myself to think about her showing up, I pictured a little rabbit I’d need to coax out of hiding. To see her playing the bratty, disgruntled sub as though born to the role both pleases and surprises me. And I love surprises.
It’s not a trait I’ve ever sought out, preferring obedience, but I like it on Anna. I can’t help wonder if it’s something she needs. In our time together, I caught little hints of fire, but they were glimpses behind a curtain—something she quickly hid, not wanting to indulge in what she perceived as childish behavior.
But maybe indulging is exactly what’s required to break free from her reserve. Time will tell, but for now I want to know about her research, and I want to see how my patience winds her up.
I tilt my head. “Tell me about your reading.”
Her hands fall to her lap, and she twists the silver ring she wears, a gift from her mother. “Look, Mason, I’m about to snap. Won’t you please put me out of my misery and get on with it?”
I study her for a long moment. Do I force her to discuss what she learned or concede to her wishes? Most women learn to be careful what they wish for after one of my concessions.
I test. “I assume you have a lot of questions.”
Her chin raises. “My biggest question at the moment is what exactly you plan to do, since you’re being unreasonable about this time business.”
“Unreasonable, huh?”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Yes. I was here.”
“All I know is you rang my bell at seven-oh-three after I expressly told you not to be late.” I smile pleasantly. “In fact, in deference to your lack of experience, I even texted you this week to remind you of the time.”
Her arms drop, and she shrugs. “I was here.”
“So you say.”
“Fine. Be that way!” She waves a hand. “So can we just get on with things?”
I consider. I intended to go easy on her. I expected her to be on time—oh sure, I expected it to be at seven on the dot—but still. I thought I’d have plenty of time to talk to her about what she learned, about her feelings, and discuss my expectations. I planned on easing her into things, letting her adjust before we headed down this road.
But now I see that isn’t going to be possible. Maybe we know each other too well and the only way to break from the past is a trial by fire.