Page 47

When I pulled on his boxers, they were loose but still caught on my hips. To make sure they stayed in place, I folded over the extra cloth and used one of my hair pins to hold it. His clothes smelled like him, masculine and clean with a light forest scent, pine or cedar or something.

I towel dried my hair as best I could, careful of the wound, then brushed my teeth.

And while Court was gone, my mind wandered back to his admission that he’d hurt that drunk man who’d followed me off the bus.

That he’d been stalking me, essentially.

So every single time I’d felt like someone had been watching me, it was him.

Two whole months of that feeling. Everywhere I went. I tried to think about exactly what I’d done, where I’d gone, what I might’ve said in those two months that he would’ve seen or heard. And not only was he stalking me, he’d been watching Thorne’s security cameras at work. Clocked every single fucking moment of my time there.

But none of that made me feel violated. I tried to find that same feeling that had come up when I’d watched Thorne and Tom casually discussing kidnapping, drugging, and raping me, but I couldn’t.

“That fucking bastard,” I hissed, spitting toothpaste into the sink.

No wonder he acted so familiar with me.

I ran my fingers through my hair and yanked hard with a quiet growl, frustration pouring through me.

I couldn’t catch a break from all these fucked up men. And now I was living with one. Sharing a room with a green-eyed devil that kept charming me with his sweet smiles and weird words.

Still, it was better than being kidnapped by Thorne. I’d bide my time here. I didn’t have to stay, I could leave whenever I wanted. But if I did stay—and if I helped them—I’d be twenty grand richer in just a month or two, and then I would be free of all these creeps. I just needed to keep telling myself that, and everything would be fine.

The money was all I cared about. I could endure Court’s penetrating eyes and warm hands and annoying words that kept slicing into me in the worst way. I could endure anything for twenty thousand dollars.

And I would. Hell, maybe I’d just take what was in that safe and fuck off with it, leaving them all with nothing.

I was properly tired now, the heat from the shower still fogging up the bathroom and making me feel drugged. I gave my reflection a quick once-over before opening the door and stepping into the bedroom.

It was empty, so I helped myself to the bed and found the remote to the TV. The bed was plush and cozy, the pillows soft and silky as I leaned into them.

Court really knew how to be comfortable, that was for sure.

I powered on the TV and flipped through the channels, settling on the classic movie channel.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Court walked in with a couple blankets in his arms. He paused when he saw me splayed out on his bed, one arm behind my head and the other resting by my side with the remote clutched in my hand. His eyes traveled slowly down to my feet, where I’d put on a pair of his socks, too, and I didn’t miss how he lingered on my bare legs. When his gaze collided with mine, it was so intense, so full of heat, that I folded first and looked back at the TV.

“Didn’t like the sweats?” His tone was casual, but there was an underlying huskiness that skittered over my skin and probed for cracks.

“They would have fallen right off. Maybe that’s what you intended to happen, though, since you’re a creep and all.” I shrugged a shoulder, not looking away from the TV.

He laughed, low and deep, then started unfolding the blankets and arranging them into a makeshift bed on the floor.

I muted the TV. “Look, I was thinking…I don’t feel comfortable taking your bed, or—no, I don’t really want to sleep in your bed, so let me have the floor.”

I geared up for him to argue with me, but all he said was, “Okay.”

Okay then.

That was easy.

A little disappointing, but easy.

Did I want him to argue with me? To insist that, no, Whitney, you’re going to take the bed and my word is final?

Yeah, I kind of did. I kind of liked the back and forth that I always instigated. I liked pushing and pushing and trying to shove him over the edge. He had a firm foothold, though, and part of me knew that no amount of pushing I did would ever get him to budge.

“I’ll give you the floor, Whitney.”