“I’ll get them cheaper. What’s that?”
I squinted. “Oh, that’s an old shed.”
“What’s in it?”
“Nothing.”
He shook his head.
I cocked mine. “I have a feeling your dream woman wears a tool belt and carries an M16.”
“I have a feeling your dream man eats Kale and smells like patchouli.”
“Oh because all therapists are beatnik hippies?”
“How does it feel to be labeled?”
Touché.
“When was your last girlfriend, Phoenix?” I asked despite myself.
No response.
“Ah, the Lone Ranger can’t remember. Let me guess, the moment a woman tries to get too close, you bolt. Why? Because the playing field becomes blurry. You have to be in control at all times and the only way to do that is to keep a relationship at arm’s length.”
“Who says I’d have to give up control in a relationship?”
“Uh, every woman on the planet.”
“Wrong. Every woman who’s never had a real man take care of them.”
“I thought we established that you need to accept that you can’t controleverything?—”
“Wrong, again.” He turned on his heel, stopping inches from my face. I barreled into his chest. Strong hands gripped my hips, rooting me to the ground. He looked down at me with an intensity that had my heart slamming against my ribcage.
“If you were mine, it would be my job to control you, Rose Flower. To keep tabs on you, know where you’re at, where you’re going. It would be my job to keep you safe, to keep you happy. To keep you comfortable, content. Satisfied. It’s my job, as your man, to control all that. It’s my job to keep you mine.”
My eyes rounded, goosebumps racing over my arms. I searched for words, for any coherent sentence, but came up short as he stared down at me with piercing blue eyes that dared me to question him.
In nothing but a breathy whisper, I finally said,“IfI was yours.”
“… Of course.”
He turned and walked away, leaving my pulse racing, mouth open, and a rush of heat between my legs that had me trying to remember the last time I’d bought triple-A batteries.
Holyshit,was all I could think.
“You coming?”
Oh dear God, yes.
The voice in my head. Thorn. That perv.
I snapped out of it and chased after him—in my six inch heels, in the rain, I literally chased after the man.
He was checking the shed when I caught up to him, and to no one’s surprise, he’d popped the chintzy lock I’d attached to the rickety double doors.
“There really is nothing in here.” He said almost in disbelief.
