“Only when I deserve it.”
Pausing, my gaze lifts to hers, and then she looks away.
“You will never be hit like this again. Not by him.”
That frown forms between her brows again, but she doesn’t say anything, and resigned, I continue to clean her up.
Her knee is the worst of it. I rinse the cloth and wipe the line of blood from her shin and then wince when I see the gash over her kneecap.
“You likely need stitches.”
“No.” She shakes her head and rifles through my first aid kit, then comes out with butterfly strips. “These will work. I’ve got this.”
Standing back to give her room, I watch as she opens the strips and expertly closes the gash.
“You’ve done that before.”
She shrugs and frowns at my hand. “You have blood on your finger.”
Glancing down, I see she’s right. I haveherblood on my finger. But rather than accept the cloth she offers me, I hold her gaze and lift the digit to my mouth, sucking her blood from my skin, and my heart pulses at the coppery taste on my tongue.
Her eyes dilate, and she licks her lower lip. The air between us crackles with sexual tension.
Fuck, I want to squat right here, bury my face in her pussy and eat my fill of her before I fuck her so hard, she’ll never think of another man again.
She’s not mine.
“Please don’t make me marry him.” It’s whispered so softly that I almost missed it. I know, without a doubt, that she means it with her entire heart and soul.
The problem is, I also know that Elliott will be a worthless husband if he doesn’t get his shit together real fast.
I don’t like this part of the world I live in. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t have to respect it and honor the deal I made with her father.
I don’t answer her. I can’t. Because if I’m being brutally honest with myself, I don’t want her to marry Elliott either. I’dtake her for myself if I wasn’t so much older than her, if I thought for a minute that I was the kind of man who could marry again.
Not replying, I simply stare into her eyes, holding her gaze until her shoulders roll forward and she looks away, making herself small again.
It grates on my goddamn nerves.
“My driver will take you home.”
“Oh, I can find my own way.”
Shaking my head, I help her off the vanity to her feet, steadying her, and then I back away, keeping a safe distance so I don’t give in and kiss the fuck out of her.
The next fifty years or so are going to be fucking torture. I think I’d rather have my fingernails pulled out every single day for the rest of my fucking life.
“Come.” I pull the phone out of my pocket and text my driver, telling him he’s taking Natasha home. Then I lead her to the elevator, scooping up her purse on the way.
“I can just get a cab.” I hate how fucking soft and timid her voice is. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble.” I press the button for the elevator, and when it opens, I lead her inside and pass her the bag before pressing the button for the underground garage. “Never again, Natasha.”
Her nod is jerky, and I back out so the elevator doors can close. Once she’s out of sight, I spin on my heel and march up the stairs to Elliott’s room.
Not bothering to knock, I shove the door so hard that it hits the wall, startling my son from where he’s sitting by the window, drinking another fucking glass of whiskey.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I roar as I yank the glass from his hand, throw it against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces, and then spin to smack him across the face, making his eyes bulge in shock.
