It didn’t.
I’d faced worse men in my life, and learned something as he stormed out and slammed the door so hard the walls shook. My monster had a moral compass of some kind. Which is where he’d falter. The men in this world didn’t.
And neither did the women.
I spotted the overturned bag near the door frame and swiped it up. With the last sip of my coffee I freed my hands and dumped the contents of the bag onto my bed. A glob of tissue paper poured out which I had to untangle to reach a scrap of silk in a deep crimson. I lifted the material and inspected the front and back of it. Then laid it across the rumpled bedding. I was a small slim woman but at 41 I didn’t want to put this much on display. Hell, even at 20 I wouldn’t have worn anything this skimpy.
I went out to confront my gratuitous benefactor, the dress clutched in one hand. “What the hell is this?”
He sat, composed now, pulling a piece of toast away from his lips. An action juxtaposed with the size of him. “A dress.”
“No shit. Where’s the rest of it?”
A crooked smile sparked at the corner of his mouth, barely there then gone. He didn’t answer only stared at me.
I tried a different tactic. “Ok, what the fuck is it for? I assume you have a reason for wanting to stuff this forty-year-old body into a stripper dress.”
The laugh he let loose sent another chill through me. “Coming from the woman standing in my kitchen in her underwear.”
“As the woman standing in her underwear I know every action has a purpose. So, what is the purpose of this?” I shook the silk at him.
He watched me seriously now. No doubt wondering how I’d mess up his plans if he told me the truth. I seemed to win since he swiveled on his stool to face me. “Distraction. Not just to show them you’re my property now, but also the distraction the display of your body will provide.”
I threw the dress at his face. “You’re a fucking idiot. How was I taken down by someone who knows so little about the psychology of how these idiots work?”
He surged up, the stool fell back to clatter against the countertop. He gripped my upper arms in his rough hands. God, I should have been terrified. He could crush me between his palms, but he barely applied pressure as he walked me back to the nearest wall. When my bare skin met the cold surface, he lowered his face level with mine. My heart took up a snare beat, but not in fear. Thankfully he didn’t acknowledge what must have been written across my face.
“Call me an idiot again and I’ll just lock you in the basement until I’ve finished demolishing your life’s work.”
We stared each other down, him only a few seconds in realizing I stood trapped mostly naked in his arms. To his credit, he didn’t look down, or lean in, only stared straight into my eyes. Somehow making me feel even more naked. A pang hit me, a jolt in my chest I hadn’t gotten since I was a teenager. I pushed at his shoulders and he let me go.
I faced the wall, unable to look at him while my chest felt spread open for anyone to see. “If your goal is distraction let me dress myself.”
“You’re not leaving this apartment without me.”
“Fine, go with me then.” I stalked back to my room and slammed the door needing distance between myself and this feeling. Trying to shut it out, I grabbed my bag and jammed my legs into the first pair of pants my hands met. The blouse received the same treatment.
I quickly brushed my teeth, washed my face, and exited my room to find him sitting on a stool waiting for me. “I could send you with one of my men.”
“And yet, you’re sitting here.”
He rubbed his hands down his thighs and tightened his gaze. “Maybe I don’t trust you.”
“Maybe? We both know you don’t. And I don’t trust you either.” I gestured at the door. “Shall we go?”
He glared one last time, stood, and jammed the elevator button. The ride down was painful. My body had yet to give up the awareness he instilled there. And my brain was fighting it every second of the way.
On the bottom floor, a scowling undertaker of a man led me to a black car on the curb. He didn’t say a word as he opened the door. I climbed in while —I realized I had no idea what to call him. My captor seemed silly, and I wasn’t going to call him The Count. That was an ego driven name if I ever heard one.
Once in the car I faced him. “What the hell am I supposed to call you?”
He looked at me and I caught the tightening of his jaw. Usually it would indicate lying, but why would he lie about a name? “You can call me Will.”
I scanned his black button down and equally black pressed slacks. “You don’t look like a Will.”
Instead of answering, he faced away from me while the car navigated traffic. Conversation over then. We stopped outside a high-end boutique and I climbed out before the driver could open my door. I chucked as he scrambled after me. Making people uncomfortable was the easiest way to get an accurate read on them. But he simply straightened his jacket and held open the store door for us. Not a blip to read on his face.
I walked in and a sales associated greeted us with a smile immediately. I hooked my arm through his and tugged him tight. “My husband has a business meeting tonight and I want to be able to help when needed.” I squeezed my breasts together and raised an eyebrow. “If you know what I mean.”
