Oh my God, he called me pretty.
“So did I get this right, you fucked all of your past bodyguards?” he asks bluntly, and I almost choke on my wine for the second time this evening. So much fortoo much information.
“Maybe. Jealous?”
He laughs again, one of those deep belly laughs and I feel my cheeks getting red.
“I’m just joking,” I backpedal, feeling slightly humiliated. I don’t know why I am offended by him thinking I’m not able to pull anyone.
“Nothing more than chaste cuddling with the hands over the blanket.”
It’s not the whole truth but getting my pussy eaten isbarelymore than a hug, and this and sparse cuddling are really the only things I did with them. Not even kissing. I’m weird when it comes to kissing, that’s just one intimate step too far.
“Ruby,” he says as he puts his half-empty glass down on the ground. “Just so that we’re clear, no. Whatever you’re thinking. No. You won’t play your dumb little games with me.”
“We’ll see,” I whisper into my glass.
“We won’t,” he replies, and I’m surprised that he even heard me. “Any funny business, and I’ll get a restraining order.”
Open-mouthed, I turn to look at him, only to see the tiniest hint of a smile dancing over his lips.
“As if.”
Why is my goddamn heart beating so fast? That’s ridiculousand I decide I need to leave this situation before I get even more humbled by James.
Which God made this man so hotanddisinterested. It’s plain unfair, I think to myself as I get up from my lounger, clutching my wine glass harder than necessary. I wish I had eyes on the back of my head to see if he’s looking at my ass while I walk away.
“Where are you going?” he asks loudly as I’m back inside the house while he keeps on sitting outside.
“To my room, taking a shower. You wanna watch? Join?”
“Restraining order,” he shouts and I can’t help but laugh as I open my bikini top with my free hand. It lands on the marble floor with a wet thud and I don’t check if James is watching.
I just tell myself that he does, because I have to keep the last bit of my ego intact.
6
SAMUEL
Eleven more days. I can do this without taking myself out with Mr. Barron's rifle. Maybe.
I hear the pitter-patter of Ruby’s feet as she jogs up the stairs, but my focus is on the discarded bikini top on the living room floor. I know little about marble, but I doubt that this is good for the tiles.
With a big swig, I down the rest of my wine before I get up and walk back inside the house. Grumbling to myself, I take Ruby’s stuff with me and pick up her bikini top from the living room floor, because my mom raised me right.
Unfortunately, my manners bring me nothing but trouble. Now that I have a hold of her things, I have to put them somewhere. I put her book and her headphones on the living room table while I contemplate throwing her bikini top into the garden.
I didn’t have to wash any of my stuff so far, so I avoided talking to Ruby about the whole laundry topic. As much as I like to live in a clean environment, which is already hard when you have to share a house with Ruby, I won’t start acting like her personal housekeeper. But I know for a fact that her wetstuff will be lying around somewhere until it gets moldy if I don’t say anything.
And that’s theonlyreason I walk up the stairs and knock on her door.
The shower is running and I’m sure she didn’t hear me knock, but like I said, I don’t want to see her shit everywhere. I knock a second time and when I don’t get a reaction, I open the door and walk in.
“Did you change your mind?” she yells from the bathroom, and I can picture the self-righteous smile on her face. Not sharklike, like her father’s. More wolfish, and horribly charming.
As much as I hate to admit it, Ruby is hot. It’s hard not to notice with the way she flaunts her body, like she has exhibitionistic tendencies. But it’s not just the outfits. She’s the type of woman that would look good in a fucking burlap sack.
In any other scenario, I would have a girl like her pinned against the nearest wall or bent over the kitchen counter until she can’t remember her name and begs for mercy.
