"Does anything ever not have a deeper reason?"
Angela slowly closed her book, placing it on her lap. "Don't mind what Cecilia said," she replied, her voice cool. "It was a moment of sentiment. It's not one of my prouder chapters."
"Tell me, Angela," Stevan insisted, the plea raw in his tone. "If you haven't noticed by now, I want to know. I need to know who it is I'm…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence with—in love with.
She turned her head then, smiling. "I don't want you to know more about me, Stevan. I just want you to own me. To be the only key that fits this lock. Knowledge complicates possession."
"I'm not the kind of man who can own something I don't understand," he countered, his jaw tight.
"But you are the kind of man who will fuck someone he doesn't understand," she fired back with a sass in her voice. "Repeatedly. With gusto."
"Angela…" he sighed. "Just answer the question."
