DRAWN (20 page)

          “
Senpai,
will you please stop fantasizing and listen to me?”

          Oh, shite.

          “I was just---”

          “
Senpai
,” Yuki growls.

          “Yuki,” I growl back.

          His lips compress in a way that’s now wonderfully, painfully familiar.

Hoping this next attempt will get Yuki to see reason, I say slowly, “I know you understand that I have to go. I just don’t believe---” I stop, a little horrified I almost called Yuki a
god
to his face.

I mean, really!

He’ll never let me hear the end of that.

          His baby blues narrow. “Don’t believe what?”

          “Don’t believe you’d be so childish,” I say.

          Unfortunately, Yuki knows me inside and out by now, and he says very softly, “The truth,
senpai
.”

          I mutter my answer as quickly as I can, hoping he doesn’t hear a word I say.

          But of course he does. I mean,
of course
he bloody understands it. He’s a god, right?

          Yuki bursts into laughter. “Really,
senpai
, a
god
?”

          “Demon god,” I snarl.

          “Still a god, so I’ll take it,” he says, still laughing. He grabs a lock of my hair, using it to gently pull me toward him. “If I’m a god,
senpai
, what does that make you?”

          “An angel?” he murmurs.

          I shake my head.

          “Priestess?”

          Another shake of my head.

          “A nun?”

          Bloody hell no!

          His lips twitch at my horrified expression. “Well, then, what,
senpai
?”

           “Your most devoted slave,” I confess because I’ve already fantasized about it.

          Instead of laughing, Yuki’s eyes turn contemplative, which worries me. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. I freeze when Yuki starts to speak.

“Okay,
senpai
, I’ll agree to loan Stanford my toy---”

          “Oh, for the bloody love of hell,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. Did he really have to use the word ‘loan’?

          Yuki goes on like he hasn’t heard a word I’ve said. “---on a limited arrangement, of course, but dependent on one primary condition.”

          “Why are you talking like a lawyer?” I ask, confused. It’s totally cool with me. I mean, it’s hot, too, since I’ve never tried fantasizing about Yuki as a lawyer, but---

          “
Senpai
, concentrate please.”

          Right. I must not forget we’re currently negotiating. I frown, doing my best to recall his last words. Oh, yes, the condition. “So, what is it?”

          “You will sleep at my house Friday night.”

          I…would like to think it’s because Yuki’s been missing me since our weekend in Key West, but I just know that’s not the reason. Anti-loving gods like him don’t do sentimental stuff like that so he must have an ulterior motive.

          Arms crossed over my chest, I ask with narrowed eyes, “What are you up to
again
?”

          He traces my lips. “If I told you now,
senpai
, what would be the fun of that?”

          Ah, blast it.

          He has a point.

          Friday night comes before I’m even mentally ready for it. And let’s not even talk about packing. I still can’t decide which undies I want to bring with me. Yuki’s weird fetish for knickers is pressuring. Even the fates seem to be conspiring
–
for or against me I’m not still uncertain – since Kelly’s already called to say she won’t be coming home again.

          “This is going to be a long one,” she’s told me over the phone. “The results from our multivariate tests are all across the board. I just don’t know if we’re ready for launching the new O.S.” Kelly frequently forgets to speak in simple English when she’s worried about something at work.

          I wait for Kelly to bring up what happened last weekend. She doesn’t. So I don’t. I say finally, “Just be sure you don’t wander too far around, Mom.” When Kelly “loses” herself in her work, she does so literally
.
One time, she’s been thinking so hard about this glitch in one of her microchips that she ended walking all three blocks from her office without even knowing it.

          “Oh, don’t exaggerate, Kat. That whole fiasco last year was a one-time thing.”

          “Really? Because your secretary just told me last week she’s had to track your phone’s GPS when you called her to fetch---”

          Kelly quickly cuts me off. “I have to go, Kat. Got oodles to do!”

          Drew and his little troop have also come over again for dinner. Since I survived the last time without getting myself killed, Drew didn’t need too much convincing to go home with his family after dinner.

          “Just don’t hesitate to call me for
anything
,” Drew stresses as he ties the apron strings around his waist. My brother loves playing the house hubby. Or maybe he doesn’t have a choice since Cheena’s a certified danger in the kitchen. She doesn’t set anything in fire. She’s deadlier than that. Everything she cooks is just different versions of food poisoning.

          “You’re up to something,” Cheena says the moment Drew leaves.

          It’s time for the Dining Room Word War, Round 2, and Cheena draws first blood.

          “I’m not up to anything?” Blast it. That sounds so lame even to my ears. I take the baby from her, hiding my face as I inhale Samantha’s sweet scent.

          Cheena pulls her chair close to mine, its legs noisily scraping against the hardwood floors. “Yes, you are,” she crows. “Is he coming over?”

          This, I can answer honestly so I stop playing “beautiful eyes” with Samantha just to look at Cheena and say very firmly, “No one is coming over.”

          “Damn,” she grumbles. “I really thought---” She pauses and whispers a moment later, “Oh my God.”

          Yeeargh!

          I hate it when people are too smart for my own good.

          “You’re going to sleep at his---”

          “Cheena!” I hiss since she’s close to shrieking the truth. If Drew hears her, I’m
beyond
dead.

          “Oh my God, oh my God, Kelly told me you went away for the weekend with your boyfriend last time, but one look at you and I know you’re still the Big V.” Her eyes
sparkle –
and I just can’t believe they’re sparkling especially when she asks, “You’re going to do it tonight, aren’t you?”

          “Cheena!” I hide my face behind Samantha again.

          Unfortunately, Samantha’s mother decides to take her back. “Don’t be shy,” Cheena says with a wide grin. “It’s totally normal for kids to have sex---”

          I catch a glimpse of worry in Cheena’s eyes and ask, “What?”

          “You
are
in love with your boyfriend, aren’t you? Because it’s not cool if you just feel you have to do it to fit in.”

          Touched but feeling a bit awkward at Cheena’s concern, I shake my head. “I’m, um, yeah.”

          Her brows furrow. “Yeah…what?”

          This is so bloody embarrassing. “I’m
in love,
okay?” I snarl.

          But Cheena only collapses against her seat in apparent relief, making Samantha giggle at her sudden movement.

          “Good.” Her eyes go back to its sparkly mode. “So? Are you?”

          “Will you just not ask about that?” I cry out.

“But I promise I won’t tell!”

          “
Cheena
!”

          A mutinous look sets on her face. “Let me rephrase myself. If you don’t tell me the truth, I
will
tell---”

         
“Fine!” Gah! Drew should’ve gotten a thirty-something stuck-up career-oriented chick for a wife. With our ages too close, Cheena’s fast becoming the scary big sister I often hear stories about in school.

          “I’m sleeping over his house,” I mumble, “
but
we’re not going to do it. Honestly.”

          “Oh?” Cheena’s face is openly curious. “Why?”

          “Because of Dad, hello?” Why is it I’m the only one to realize how hard it would be for Jason when he learns that all those times he’s been lecturing about chastity his only daughter’s turned into a, well, typical teenager?

          “Sheesh.” Cheena shakes her head, as if I’ve just told her I’m Angelina Jolie’s missing sister – never mind the fact she doesn’t know she’s missing one in the first place.

“You’re such a nice kid.”

          Honestly.

          If only everyone knew.

          Nice girls just don’t fantasize like I do. Nice girls don’t become toys like I have, and nice girls certainly don’t fall in love with
guys
gods like Yuki.

“Yuki, be serious! I can’t wear that!”

          If gods can pout, then they’d look like Yuki this exact minute.

          It’s nine-thirty in the evening and Yuki and I are alone in his home, with Sascha and Akito-san out on a business trip to Dubai. I’ve been here for fifteen minutes, but it honestly feels like it’s been fifteen hours. I’ve been tortured that much.

          “You have to,
senpai
. You’re my toy.” He takes his time speaking, like I’m a three year old who can’t understand big words.

          In his vocabulary, big words include
French, maid, uniform.

          Yuki sighs. “If you’re not going to be reasonable about this, then maybe that trip to Miami of yours---”

          I snatch the outfit from his hands. “I’ll wear it.”

          On my body, the outfit is just a hundred bloody times worse than it looked a minute ago. The heart-shaped bodice with its wired push-up frame makes my barely-there cleavage suddenly look Playboy-quality, and its tiny ruffled skirt gives more than a peek of my bum if I bend just an inch.

          This is so, so bad it’s turning me on. I mean, off. It’s such a turn-off.  

          Yuki impatiently knock on his bathroom door startles me. “
Senpai
, I know you’re done.”

          Should I be flattered or terrified he knows exactly how long it takes for me to change clothes?

          Taking a deep breath, I open the door and stalk past him.

          “
Senpai
.”

          I whirl around, growling, “What?”                      

          Yuki’s smile is sweetly angelic. “You look good enough to eat.”

          And he is so bloody cute it’s cracking my heart open once more!

          “Shut up,” I mumble, my face flaming, and my body heating up as his gaze stakes a claim on every inch of me. To cover my embarrassment, I demand aggressively, “What next?”

          “It’s good that you asked,
senpai
.”

          And of course that means I was better off
not
asking.

          Baby blues gleaming and a tiny familiar smile erasing the cruel twist of his lips, Yuki says softly, “You’re going to serve your master.”

          Ten minutes later, and we’re back in his living room, a single incandescent bulb showering golden light on us as we play out Yuki’s latest challenge. I like
experiencing
my fantasies come to life, but this make-believe scenario is
not
something I could ever have imagined.

I lower myself to my knees but not to the point of sitting on the floor, which is a huge no-no for servants. Instead, I rest my weight on the heels of my partly tiptoed feet, my head respectfully bowed down while I carefully lay down the tray of tea set on the table.

          “Y-your tea is here, Yuki-sama,” I say awkwardly.
Sama
is an honorific term, sort of
Master
for Yoda.

          “Thank you,” Yuki says in a coolly bored voice, relishing his role as my master, and clearly
not
bothered as I am. “You may pour my tea.”

          “Yes, Yuki-sama.” As I reach for the tea pot, I catch a glimpse of cerulean silk when Yuki, seated
boss-style
with his legs tucked in, places his hands on his lap.

          Oh, shite.

          That flash of silk is enough for me to almost lose hold of the teapot.

          “Careful,” Yuki admonishes, but I can hear the laughter in his voice.

          Bloody sod knows how much he’s affecting me.