Page 49 of Resist

“Look—”

“No. That’s not how this is going to work, Vaughn. You don’t get to lie your way out of giving me an answer. I call the shots. I—”

“How do you know the senator?” she asks, her question throwing me so far off the track that I’m surprised I don’t have whiplash, but the territorial feeling over her owns me.

“The senator?”

She’s slept with him.

“Carter Preston. The senator.”

You’ll go mad if you keep asking yourself who she’s slept with, Lockhart.

I clear my throat and glance to my pad of paper, where I’ve just written his name in block letters and underlined it. “He’s an acquaintance. We have mutual friends and run in the same circles. I see him occasionally. That’s all.” Don’t ask the question, Lockhart. “How do you know him?”

“You’re free to make assumptions,” she murmurs, and fuck if that doesn’t feel like a punch in the gut.

“He’s a client, then?”

“My client list is confidential, Mr. Lockhart. I would respond exactly the same way if someone inquired if you were a client.”

“The difference is I wouldn’t care,” I lie.

“My answer remains the same, Counselor.” There’s a chill to her voice, one that warns I’m pushing too hard.

I don’t give a shit. I push again. “Did you sleep with him?”

The need to know burns in my gut. The thought of them together even more so.

“It’s none of your business what I do when I’m not with you. If you’re so set on adhering to the contract, you should remember the terms you set. One woman who was required when you needed her, but who could do whatever she wanted at all other times. Isn’t that right?”

Touché.

“So that’s how we’re going to play this?” I ask, a smile toying at the corner of my mouth, still hating her lack of response but loving the return of her insolence.

“That’s how we’re going to play this,” she deadpans. “We’re on a need-to-know basis.”

Oh, sweetheart, there’s a hell of a lot I need to know, and for the fucking life of me, what started out as a need to know what your pussy feels like wrapped around me has turned into needing to know a whole lot more.

“And I need to know what happened the other night when we were in the hotel room.”

I expect the silence I’m met with. It’s deafening to the point of being audible. Another thing about her I can’t shake—the look in her eyes and the fear in her voice.

And isn’t that what makes me an asshole right now?

Obviously she’s gone through some kind of shit, and here I am forcing her to be with me.

Something is wrong with me.

“No sex,” I say to break the silence.

Definitely fucking wrong with me when I say something like that.

“What?” Confusion edges her tone, but there’s nothing like a little shock value to pull her back into the conversation.

“I said no sex.” My dick is already pissed at me for the comment. Already rebelling and hating me since it wants her desperately. But I’ve learned with witnesses on the stand that the best way to get what you want is to go the reverse psychology route. Change the rules around. Take the offer off the table so it owns their mind.

She’ll come around.