Blood Sport

Chapter Seven

She'd seen his room before. Still, she couldn't get over the way she felt strolling around it, running her finger idly across the top of the dresser, kicking her shoes off to the far corners beyond his bed.

It was a sign, more than anything.

Taking her into his safe space wouldn't intimidate her. No, on the contrary. Reagan would show exactly how comfortable she was outside of her own space. How he didn't scare her at all. How this situation didn't scare her at all.

He might've picked the setting, he might've been the captor and her the captive, but first and foremost, Reagan Sinclair was still in control.

She was here because she wanted to be.

With the hidden ace of her power tucked up her sleeve, she was top dog here. And the General would do well to remember that.

I'm your master, little General. Kneel at my feet.

In his room, there was still nothing personal. She hadn't expected anything to change, but maybe she'd expected to find something she hadn't noticed before. There was nothing. Killian didn't care much for this room, she assumed. He hadn't given it much of a personality.

She watched him inspect the mess she'd already made. He said nothing about the shoes, nothing about her rifling.

Instead, he stood by the door, slowly, purposefully turning the lock.

The General doesn't want interruptions.

His movements were calculated and meaningful, his gaze intense.

Once more, Reagan was reminded of that look of determination he'd worn when he came to get her from the cells.

His eyes raked over her figure. Over the new clothes she wore thanks to their last game of questions.

The General likes.

Not difficult. Reagan was highly likeable.

His tongue darted out over his lips, his red eyes never seeming to stray from her. Which made a first. And now she was suspicious.

Reagan had already noted a thing or two about the General before. Looking at her usually stirred up some sort of turmoil within him. As if he were doing something wrong. Something sinful. As if looking at her inspired something in himself he didn't like.

And yet he stared unabashedly now.

Reagan was too smart to miss it.

Paranoia welled in the pit of her stomach, though she didn't let it show.

"Is it to your liking?" He asked.

She shrugged impassively. "You need some colour in here."

"What kind of colour? Strawberry blonde?"

Too talkative. And flirty. The other day, she'd failed to acquire his name. Maybe the General thought he was being suave, but Reagan missed nothing.

"Any colour," She answered. "It's drab and boring. I'll bet that's why you don't smile, General. The dreariness of your room is rubbing off on you."

"I didn't think you'd like much colour." He looked her up and down. But not with that sneer of mild disgust he normally wore. The General was laying it on thick here. Trying to seduce me? He'd have to try harder to get one over her. "Your clothing preference is dark."

"I didn't choose the black, General. The black chose me."

He sauntered into the room, closer to her.

"You tell me a few things to change and I'll think about it."