My thighs clench. Fuck. My mouth opens to reject his conclusions. He hooks his thumbs into the sides of my shorts and raises an eyebrow in challenge. There’s a wicked part of me that wants to lie just to see if he will follow through on his promise. I mean threat. Definitely threat. I drag my bottom lip between my teeth as his thumbs caress the skin on my hips. I should be freaking out, right? I can barely tolerate being in thesame room as a man. But Fox isn’t just occupying the same space, he’s breathing the same air.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“I’m turned on.”
“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
CHAPTER 23
FOX
Cheese is a classic.
Ipushed her too hard. I’m an asshole, which is why she’s hiding out in her bedroom under the guise of needing a nap like a ninety-year-old woman.
Duke eyeballs me from the sofa as I clear away the untouched snacks I’d set out in hopes of getting this woman to eat something. “Don’t judge me,” I grumble to my overly perceptive dog. He raises a brow. It’s always amazed me how expressive dogs are—how they communicate with body language I’m sure they learned from us.
Still, every second I spend with her is an insight into the tightly controlled psyche she exudes. Her deepest darkest desires don’t lie with a missionary vanilla guy like my best friend, Samuel. No, Cleo Williams conceals a darkness that sings to my own soul, drawing me in like a moth to a flame.
Whatever she’s running from, whatever she’s been through, makes her suppress her needs in an act of self preservation.Perhaps it’s the cultural stigma that dictates the type of man she should be desiring warring with the type of man she needs.
I pinch the bridge of my nose as I stare out of the kitchen window. This is not laying low. Women are supposed to be off the menu for the time being—even ones as tempting as Cleo Williams. She wears her innocence like a shimmering shroud, which screams her need for something more wicked. I want to unravel that desire burning in her veins and offer her a sanctuary in my arms as she explores what sets her on fire.
Fuck. I’m a mess, swinging between never touching her and demanding she let me. It’s not like I’m out in the public eye pursuing her; she’s here in my space. Behind closed doors, I could take the time to unpick everything that makes her tick and help her explore her needs in a safe environment. It would be a public service, really, providing the therapy she so clearly needs.
Wait. Am I going to justify my actions with the pretense of psychological help?Get it together, Fox.
On the surface, Cleo isn’t my usual type. I prefer superficial encounters, ones where both parties understand it’s nothing more than a fling. Those women don’t present a danger to me, because they don’t hold my attention. I don’t spend hours wondering if they’ve taken care of the ache between their legs or if they’ve had enough to eat.
If I’m brutally honest with myself, my focus on Cleo is as much about me as it is her. I don’t do well with being idle and can’t remember the last time I took a vacation. Sitting back while others handle the mess I call my life doesn’t sit well with me—my mind needs constant stimulation, and Cleo presents a puzzle too intriguing to not solve. And therein lies my dilemma. Do I allow my inner demon to rise to the surface in the hopes of drawing Cleo out of her shell? Or respect the wall she’s erected around herself?
Deep down, I know I should leave her alone. There’s always the danger that if I allow myself to explore her deeply enough, I’ll become too entangled with her. On the other hand, she’s leaving in a month, and I’ll likely never see her again, which makes her safe. She can be someone to play with to pass the time, something to focus my enquiring mind on. And when she leaves, she’ll have a clearer understanding of her needs, making it a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Decision made, I clear the dishes, then settle down to watch a recently released movie. It’s cheesy as shit, but definitely addictive. I take Duke out for a walk around the grounds, usher Samuel and his team out of the main house, then return to the pool house to find Cleo sneaking back to her room with a can of soda.
“Did you have a good nap?” I ask. Duke prevents her from returning to the bedroom by nudging her hand in hopes of some attention. She mindlessly scratches between his ears as she looks everywhere but at me.
“Sure, nap. Awesome.”
My lips twitch. “I’m about to order a pizza for dinner.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I’m not hungry.”
I stride to the bedroom door and lean against the frame, ensuring she can’t escape to the confines of her room. “I insist.”
“I was thinking,” she starts.
“Dangerous.”
Her eyes lift to mine in defiance.There she is.“Perhaps it would be better for us to have as little interaction as possible. I can sleep on the sofa in the main house until the guest room is ready.”
“My grandmother wouldn’t allow it.”
Her face falls. She knows I’m speaking the truth. “Also,” I add, “you would be sleeping in a wide open space. Would you be comfortable with that?”
“No, I guess not,” she whispers.
