Chapter Thirteen
Fiona
My eyes automatically open at six—just a habit I’ve had since college. I blink as the gears in my head start engaging. The soft sheets smell a bit like Bryce—the same detergent, most likely. Even though it’s just soap scent, nothing more, every time my bare legs brush against the soft material, it feels erotic, like it’s Bryce’s warm hands gliding over my hypersensitive skin. The sensation doesn’t dissipate but pools between my legs. It’s ridiculous, but I’m wet and slightly swollen. If Bryce came into the room right now and slid a finger down my folds, he’d crow smugly with victory.
Damn him.
I thought he might slip into the room and demand an encore, but he didn’t try anything. It’s almost like he’s trying to be a gentleman.
Instead of providing relief, it’s just unnerving. It’s obvious he has the upper hand, and that he wants to humiliate and use me, just like Jude did. I wish my body would wise up, like my head has, but it craves the pleasure only Bryce can give.
So unfair. Billions of men out there, and he’s the only one who can make me lose my mind with sex.
He probably sold his soul to the devil.
My belly growls urgently. I didn’t have anything to eat yesterday—too nervous before the ceremony. Afterward, I couldn’t eat because I didn’t want to face Bryce in nothing but a T-shirt and boxers. My nipples were still sensitive and pointed, and the feel of the cotton rubbing against them was just too much.
I’ve never felt like a horny nympho until now. Sex before and after Bryce was okay. Jude could never manage to give an orgasm. I just faked it because having him on top of me was nauseating. Most of the time I told him I was on my period, including that time he made me stage that sex scene in Bryce’s bed. Jude acted like I was diseased, thank the Lord. I had a couple of boyfriends after heading to Wisconsin, but I could never really relax around them enough to enjoy myself.
I gasp as a horrifying possibility surges into my mind. Surely I didn’t let my emotional guard down enough to climax like that with Bryce, right? He hates me. If I show him even a hint of vulnerability, he’ll use it to shred me.
No, no. I slap my cheeks a couple of times.My reaction to him is one hundred percent physical. Like having an orgasm with a battery-operated boyfriend. Not all sex toys are equal. Some work better than others. Bryce just happens to fall in at the head of the line.
Food, coffee, then an action plan. In that order. I can’t let myself be maneuvered into doing what Bryce wants. I still don’t know why he wants to have sex with me when he had to have had plenty with other women after we broke up. I’m a realist—there’s no way he didn’t sleep around. Even when we were together, girls eyed him like they wanted to devour him. And there’s no way he still harbors any kind of nostalgia for what we had before.
For men, sex is just fun. Maybe a method of stress relief and relaxation. But nothing serious.
I sigh. I wish I’d protested more vigorously when Jude moved my things to his place. Or at least found a way to grab them before Bryce got so nasty about my going for them yesterday. I could’ve snuck inside before Jude came home—he probably had to deal with the guests, venue and caterers and go to the hospital for his injured knee. But it’s too late now.
I check the clock on the nightstand. Six thirty. Bryce is probablygone by now. The morning traffic is horrible in L.A., and he was always punctual.
I tiptoe out of my room. Nothing but heavy silence. I quietly pad to the kitchen. On a stool in front of the counter is my purse. Good. I look to see if there’s anything for breakfast. Two cups of coffee in the coffee pot. Guess the machine made it automatically. A used mug in the sink. I let out a soft breath. Yup, Bryce is gone. I can take the leftover coffee without any problem.
I pour myself a mug and sip the surprisingly aromatic brew. Guess he indulges on pricey coffee beans. Not surprising, though. He loves the finer things in life, and doesn’t care how much they cost. Must be nice to be rich—with his own money. Even before the Obermans went bankrupt, I never felt like I could touch a penny of their money. I had to wait until Zachary or Sherry noticed a lack and provided for me.
I open the fridge. Nothing but a carton of milk, some juices and two tubs of whipped cream cheese. The pantry has egg bagels and a box of cornflakes, my favorite breakfast. I pick up the cereal. Still sealed. Does he have another box that’s already open? The only things on the shelves are peanut butter, various jams and some pasta.
Guess not.
I stare at the cereal. If I open it, he’s going to know I rummaged through his kitchen and ate his food. I hate to take more than the money we agreed on. How about the bagels? I don’t care for them, but I’m too hungry to be picky. But…a brand-new bag. Ugh.
I have my purse, so I can just head out and get something.Draw a line. Keep our relationship clear, just between creditor and debtor.
“That cereal won’t jump into the bowl on its own.”
I jump and scream at the same time. The box of cornflakes hits the floor. “Oh myGod! You scared me!” I press a hand over my racing heart as I turn around to face Bryce.
He’s in a black three-piece suit with a blue-gray tie, knotted perfectly. His near-black hair is slicked back, showing his high forehead. His dark eyebrows pinch tighter, and his mouth settles into a flat, vaguely displeased line.
Is he that unhappy about my dropping his precious cereal? GoodGod, I’ll buy him a new box if it’s that upsetting. I start to bend down to pick it up.
He grips my forearm and stops me. “Take off that shirt.”
What?Gasping, I yank away from him and cross my arms in front of my chest. “No.”
The muscles in his jaw flex. He steps forward, invading my personal space. He smells like the detergent on my sheets and the shirt…and something else—minty soap and male flesh.
My mouth dries as I recall how the bedsheets felt against my bare skin. Alarm flares inside me at the wetness pooling between my legs. Just what kind of spell has he cast on me that I’m turned on by his scent?
