“Please,” I whisper. “Just—please don’t.”
“Stop arguing with me,” he snaps. “I’m on a deadline.”
I sob. “I-I really can’t have sex with you.”
He recoils like I slapped him.
“You think I want to—” He jabs a finger at me. “I didn’t bring you here forthat.”
“Then why…”
“Take off your fucking clothes,” he growls. “You’re soaked in street water, and I’m not having you ruin my carpet.”
Oh.
I sniff and peel off my wet jacket.
“Well, you brought me to your bedroom,” I mutter. “What was I supposed to think?”
“I’m not attracted to you.” He yanks the jacket from my hands. “I would never have sex with you. Have you even looked at yourself? You’re… You’re…” His jaw works. “No man would wantthat. Even if you were offering.” He balls up my jacket, the veins standing out on his hands. “I can’t believe you’re the girl I ended up with.”
“You can just take me home.” I hiccup. “I won’t—”
“I said take off your clothes!” he thunders.
Sniffling, I whisper, “Are you… Are you going to watch?”
He makes a sound of pure disgust and turns his back—slowly. “Of course not.”
Right.
Because even when I get kidnapped, the guy still thinks I’m ugly.
The tears threaten to fall as I hurry to peel off my wet clothes.
I sniffle.
“You better not be crying,” the deep voice snarls. It sounds like he’s getting ready to hit something.
It’s fawn, fight, flight, or freeze, right?My mind whirls as I contemplate getting undressed.What’s the response for sniveling and crying and wishing you hadn’t tried to be good and skip the office snacks?
There’s a big island with drawers in the middle of the closet-room, and I duck behind it as I pull my blouse over my head.
“You want everything?” I croak.
“All of your clothes.”
My mouth is dry. This is the first time I have ever in the history of ever gotten undressed in a man’s house.
The air is cold, and I cross my arms over my chest, feeling my hard nipples against my cold skin.
“Okay,” I squeak, shoving my clothes on top of the island then ducking back down.
He turns around, his eyes half-closed. Sees me then steps toward the island. I scuttle back, gulp when I realize that might not be a good idea, and instead crouch down even farther.
He sees the underwear on the table. They’re my Friday-I-need-to-do-laundry underwear, and they have a giant hole in them.
Curse my mom. I should have let her take me underwear shopping.
