When he had finished lacing his shoes, he remained for a brief moment seated on the bed, bent nearly double. And then he stood up, grabbed his jacket off the chair, and turned.
"Do not speak of this."
Eroica was smiling back at him, sheets tangled carelessly around his waist. Every line of his figure expressed contentment. "Whyever not?"
Something cold dropped into his stomach. "Idiot."
"I think you'll find I can be persuaded."
Eroica had seemed almost fragile, last night. And now his solid satisfaction, its true source revealed, became much less than flattering. "That is -"
"Blackmail? Of course."