“There’s no way I could let you—”
Ciara kicks me in the shins.
I can imagine him leaning on the desk, smirking into the phone. “Why?”
“Let him pay for it!” Ciara growls lowly.
Getting to my feet, I leave my sister on the couch and scramble upstairs for some privacy. “Aiden, you’re not—”
“I wasn’t asking permission, bug,” he interrupts. “I was informing you of my decision.”
“No.”
“No?”
Why does it sound like the bastard is enjoying this?
“No! This is my house. I got it on my own. I’m responsible for paying for it.”
Why is he laughing at me right now?
“Bank of Ireland. Ten-year fixed-rate mortgage. Lowinterest. Account number…”
Blood swims in my ears as he rattles off my bank account information. I don’t even know if that is my account number, but he seems pretty sure of himself. “Aiden James Quinn.” How the hell did he get my information?
“I told you before, Katie,” he growls, a low, sexy sound. “You’re my woman. I’m not going to ask your permission to treat you like the queen you are.”
“It’s too much!”
He scoffs. “Not enough.”
“Aiden!”
“Katie,” he does not raise his voice; instead, he drops it to a dangerous, commanding whisper. “The deeds will be with you in two days. I’ve already sent the payment.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“You will not!”
“Aiden!”
I hear his fist bang on his desk.
Oh, now I’ve pissed him off. Good. He’s pissed me off.
I hear him breathing heavily, most likely counting to ten in an attempt to calm himself down. “Bug…”
“I’m not talking to you now; you’re an arsehole.”
“But I’m your arsehole.” From his tone, I guess that he’s smiling.
I roll my eyes, unable to resist a small grin. “Yeah, unfortunately, you are.”
“And you love me.”
He’s never going to let me live that down, is he? I haven’t said it since, more so from mortification than anything else. Plus, he hasn’t made a move to say it back so I’m clearly the only one of us two who feel that way. “Not right now, I don’t.”
“Still do.”
