“Your Ladyship.” No smirk softens the title. He’s serious.
“I never asked you to call me that, so don’t start now.”
“Is that an order?”
We’re facing each other. Two bulls about to charge. I don’t know whether to run towards him and jump into his arms, wrap my legs around his waist and feel his heat and hardness against me, or run towards him and hit him with my fists, a two-year-old having a tantrum.
Instead I stare, just like he does. Assessing.
“Why did you apply for the job?”
“I wanted to be near my father. He’s not getting any younger.” His answer is quick. Truth or carefully planned?
“That’s good of you.”
“And I needed a job. You needed a keeper.”
“I need security to ensure I’m safe. Not a babysitter. Listen to what Micky tells you. He knows how to let me have some freedom, keep me sane.”
“Like when you were in Cuba?”
His eyes are glinting the same way they did when he pulled my hair and his expression gloats.
“Exactly.” I don’t rise. He knows something about Cuba. I don’t need to panic and demand he tells me.
“So my job includes paying off anyone who takes photos of your tits in a one-night stand so they don’t sell them too?”
Fuck.
“Did you have a good look at how my tits looked?” It shouldn’t be like this. No after so long. We should be too different people, mature, grown up. Not the same as we were when we were kids with added innuendo.
Ben laughs. “No. Your tits don’t interest me.”
They used to.
“And there were no photos. But Micky told me about Cuba. You can’t be doing shit like that, Princess.”
I turn away and walk. I know my place. I know where my limit lies and I know what my future should hold. But that doesn’t mean I can’t dictate the path I take to get there.
“If you’re going to lecture me about safety and security, you’re working with the wrong person.”
“I’m not working with you; I’m workingforyou.” He hasn’t followed me. “It’s my job to keep you safe and there’s a fuck ton of people who’d like to see you raped, maimed or dead.”
The oak has ribbons tied around it, libations from a nature lover. I study the faded colours and wonder who tied them there and what they wished for.
“I’ve heard it all before. Especially between the ages of eighteen and twenty-three. Cuba was me being sedate. It was a one-night stand.”
I look at him and see his face is now carved from the darkest of stone.
“He didn’t know who I was. He didn’t speak English. I wore a wig and had a dark fake tan on. Took me four days to scrub it off. His grip wasn’t quite tight enough to pull the wig off when he was fucking me from behind.”
“You should tip the company that makes the stuff.” He gives no reaction.
I mute mine.
“You never kept in touch.” The distance between us is a galaxy.
“It wasn’t my place.”
