Disapproval for sure.
But there’s something else, something that shoots through me like lightning. It eats at me, taunting and drawing me in at the same time.
Lust.
That’s it. He lusts for me, but there is something about the tension in his shoulders. Despite how relaxed his face is, his jaw tics as he looks me over. Taking in my hair and drawing in a deep, aggravated breath, he traces the rest of my body, his pupils dilating, saying so much without him speaking at all.
I pull my spine straight and hold my head high because—shit, I don’t know. It makes me feel less small in his presence like I at least have control of the way I appear. He glances at my hair again, letting his gaze fall to the ends of my long waves.
I swallow, roll my shoulders, and tilt my chin so that my head remains high. “How do you know where I live?”
Easton leans forward with his palms on the doorframe. “Why isn’t your hair up?”
I hate that.
Him answering my questions with questions. Not once in the few short days that I’ve known him has he been straight with me. It’s his way of showing me who’s really in charge here. Proving to me that the only thing that matters is whathesays. And tonight, I guess that thing is my hair.
“I like my hair down,” I say pointedly.
Easton checks his watch, his face still void of emotion, all except for the twitch in his jaw. He steps closer to me, his six-foot frame crowding over mine. He’s so close that I smell his cologne. My skin ignites with recognition, every sense in my body heightened. The way he smells, the feel of him against me, and the sad thing is, he’s barely touching me. If not for the rise of my breasts and the torturous brushes they make along his hard chest with each breath, I’d feel nothing.
There’s only the tiniest bit of space between us now, and even that isn’t enough. I think he’s going to touch me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches around me and pulls my door shut. We make eye contact, and it’s dangerous. I see that now. Forget the fact I witnessed him in the act of murdering someone, that wasn’t enough to steer me away. It’s at this moment, with him in my space, making demands of me without ever really using words, do I realize this is all a mistake.
“Where are we going?” I ask while craning my neck to look up at him.
Easton uses his eyes to direct me toward the elevator. I don’t move, refusing to cave so easily.
“I’m not going anywhere until you answer at least one of my questions,” I protest.
He watches me, and somehow, I know to continue.
“Where are we going? And how do you know where I live? Why did you buy me this dress?” The words fly from my mouth in rapid succession before I can stop myself.
His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “I have business to attend to, and you’re my date. Now, let’s go, amore, people are waiting.”
“What people?”
He walks away, stopping a few feet ahead in front of the elevator.
“Answer me.”
Still nothing.
“Did you kill that man?” I ask with a shaky voice as he presses theCallbutton on the elevator.
The lift dings, the doors screeching when they open, and he holds a hand out to keep them from closing. “Is that really what you want to know?” he counters with his hands in his pockets.
The material of his black tux stretches across his muscles, tight and appealing. He looks good—like he could be a model if he wanted to. His hair is cut lower than it was three days ago, his beard trimmed, outlining his features perfectly.
I notice the pocket square, and it’s an exact match to the color of my gown. Of course, he coordinated our outfits, another way for him to claim me. Wherever we’re going tonight, he wants them to know I’m with him.
“Hm?” he mutters but I don’t answer him. Easton continues in my direction and stares down when he finally reaches me. “Don’t ask questions you don’t really want the answers to.”
His mouth is close to mine, his breath hot on my lips. I turn my head away from him with my hands balled into fists at my sides. Easton pushes out a breath, and my hair blows in response.
“You’re beautiful by the way,” he whispers against my neck before kissing me. It’s gentle and barely noticeable. Then he takes my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. “Are you afraid of me, Arloe?”
I drag my eyes to him, and he leans back to stare at me.
