I glance over my shoulder for a split second. Arloe is watching me while sipping her drink. “She started as business, but now I’m not too sure. I guess we will have to see what the future holds.”
“Well, whatever she is to you, she doesn’t seem too thrilled you’re talking to me.” Celeste points with her brows, and I look back again, catching sight of a perplexed Arloe as she pushes her way toward the exit. Even from several feet away, I see the grimace that adorns her face, and can practically feel the anger rolling off of her body.
Or maybe it isn’t anger.
Jealousy?
I smile at the thought. I never took her for the type of woman to get so bent out of shape so easily. She made it clear from day one she never even liked me, but this proves otherwise. I watch her stomp through the crowd for a moment and admire her determination. But I’ve already told her, I get what I want. No one tells me no, and she won’t be an exception.
I advance in her direction, knowing she doesn’t even see me coming. She finally makes it to the front, and the only thing separating her from the outside is a chubby bouncer. He catches my eyes over her head, and I give him a firm shake. He nods in return and steps into the threshold and crosses his arms.
She doesn’t get a chance to protest his action because I waltz up behind her and wrap my arm around her waist. Bending down, I whisper in her ear, “Now, amore, this isn’t the place to cause a scene. I’m going to pull you away, and you’re not going to fight me.”
Her body stiffens in my hold, but she doesn’t argue.
I tip my head to the bouncer, then lead her back through the club until we hit the door for Emilio’s office. I push it open and let her step inside before me.
“Where do you think you were heading?” I say to her back with my eyes narrowing in on her bare shoulders, and I’m reminded she disobeyed me earlier.
I should be able to see her neck, watch her veins pulse when I’m close to her, but her long brown tresses hang in my way.
Arloe turns with her head high. “I was attempting to get away from you,” she says blatantly, and her stone-like expression travels to my dick.
She’s good at pretending, it’s the first thing I noticed about her and probably the only reason I agreed to this. I’m curious to know her, curious to break her, find out just how innocent she is.
“Then I’d have to punish you,” I announce and step toward her.
“Excuse me.” She frowns. “You don’t own me.” She grunts. “And I’m certainly not going to stand around while you flirt with some woman in front of me,” she spits out.
I smirk, liking the air about her that comes with being jealous. She probably doesn’t even realize it, and I’m happy to show her because she’s wrong.
So very wrong, and she should definitely run as far away as she can.
“When are you going to realize you’re mine?” I’m close to her now, my chest flush against her. “You leave when I say you can.” I scoff, my gaze landing on the ends of her hair.
Reaching up, I push the left side out of her face.
“Just be glad I’m not punishing you for this.” I flick the ends of the hair on her right side.
“For what?” she questions, like she doesn’t know what I’m referring to.
I yank her close, bridging the gap that remains, and use my free hand to make a fist in the hair at the nape of her neck. Her lips part when I tug her head back, and she stares at me over the brim of her nose as I walk us further into the room until her ass touches my brother’s desk.
I stare down at her, expecting to see a tremor, anything that shows the innocence I seek. But that’s not what I find. There’s resentment, but it’s not for me. I see the fight in her eyes, the struggle she has with herself. She likes this, she wants me to claim her. I know because she’s giving me the same expression she wore while listening to that guy reading his Mafia romance.
The intrigue, the desire, the curiosity, all packed up in the cute little form of her. It’s here now, written all over her face. That’s why she kept her word, why she didn’t go to the cops. It’s why she came with me tonight, and not because I made her.
She didn’t really fight to avoid being here, being close to me. Just like she didn’t fight when I dragged her into this office. She didn’t ask about the man she witnessed me beat, and even defied my request to wear her hair up. Arloe’s not afraid of me, she’s inquisitive. And most of all—a liar. I groan at the thought, loving the facade she pulls to her lips, the snarl that is meant for me.
“You lied earlier,” I say while tracing her lips with my eyes, my grip still firm on the back of her head.
Arloe breathes out, her chest rising and falling like a rapture, but she doesn’t speak, not right away. We stare at each other like this for a moment with me waiting to see what she’ll do next. Then I bring my thumb to her chin, pulling slightly, and her tongue peeks outs. I want to bite down on it, drag a whimper from her lips as she lets herself enjoy it. I move the pad of my thumb to her bottom lip and harshly smear her lipstick, trailing the stain to her neck, she shudders.
“You don’t fear me. You wouldn’t be here if you did,” I gruff out.
“You made me,” she seethes.
I smirk, a low chuckle leaving my gut. “I don’t believe that, amore. It’s what you’ve told yourself to justify the fact that you’re attracted to me.”
