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“Are you stalking me, Mr. Rexroth?”
“Are you complaining, Miss Van Der Zee?”
Never. But I’m not sure I’ll get out of this alive once you find out just how bad I am going to hurt you.
“Undecided yet. Depends on whether you’re in the mood to be a jackass today.” I pretended to examine my nails. My heart drummed so fast and hard, it threatened to shatter my ribcage. He looked, walked, talked, and moved like a flawless demon. It both scared and thrilled me at the same time. Trent stopped when his body was next to mine. When everything ceased to exist but us, and we were alone in the world. My breathing was ragged, and it became painfully difficult to look at him without rolling my eyes and giving in to his powerful scent.
“I love the color black on you.” He raised his hand, seemingly to brush a lock of hair away from my face. I wondered if he knew what he’d said, because it sure as hell was obvious that he had meant it.
“What are you doing here? Rina gets your mail every day,” I said quietly, staring at his pecs, not his eyes.
“I saw you on the CCTV.”
“And?”
“And I wanted you alone.”
“Why?” I licked my lips. Why did he want me alone? He was nothing but rude and arrogant toward me, unless Luna was involved. I reached for my seashell necklace and clutched it like it was expensive pearls. His gaze followed my hand. He unwrapped my fingers from it and took it in his hand, examining the shell.
“Why did you want me alone? You say you can’t touch me, but you almost do. All the time. Last night, you lost control. Tomorrow, you will do it again, because we can’t stop this. Whatever it is, it is happening. You tell me I can’t sleep with other people, but you don’t give me what I need. Give it to me, Trent, or I will find it elsewhere.” I couldn’t believe those words left my mouth, but at the same time, was relieved they had. His thigh pressed against mine and my back was firmly pressed against the printer. Now his hand moved away from the necklace, his thumb brushing my collarbone.
“I should warn you, Edie. I’m not the prince in this fairy tale. I’m the villain. The poisonous apple, the flame-breathing monster.”
“Good. I always enjoyed the broken in the fairy tales better. The apple always looked shinier because I knew it could destroy me. The villain was just damaged and misunderstood, and the monster…” I leaned on my tiptoes, biting the tip of his ear, just barely reaching his impossible height. “I always kept the door to my closet a little ajar as a kid to make sure it could come out in case it wanted to play.”
His breath skated on my neck, hot and wanting and deliriously fresh. “The monster wants to play.”
“And I’m not scared of the dark,” I retorted. “So what are we waiting for?”
“Frankly, for you to be legal,” he deadpanned.
“I turned eighteen in January.”
Pause. Tick of an overhead clock. A loud swallow—I wasn’t even sure if it was me or him. And then…
“There will be rules,” Trent informed me, pulling away to cup my cheek and look into my eyes. “And if you break them, the consequences will be grave. Do you understand?”
My eyes dared him to continue. I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of answering him. He moved away, walking out of the room. He left me there for several minutes—standing, waiting, hoping, begging. I looked up, watching the cameras in the room die off, one by one, the red dots disappearing. Then the door creaked again, Trent reappeared—was the security panel even on this floor?—and walked back over to me.
“I don’t kiss. I fucking hate it. I don’t do relationships—my life does not allow for it right now. And I don’t like when people try to stab my back.”
A thin smile found my lips when he reclaimed his position, almost on top of me. “Gotcha. Pretty Woman. No kissing. No flowers. No stabbing. I have rules, too,” I said.
“Of course, you do,” he humored me, his hand skimming to my neck. “Let’s hear them.”
I hooked my leg over his thigh and leaned back on the printer, feeling his erection digging into my stomach, and moaned my answer. “Rule one—it’s just sex, nothing more, so you don’t get to boss me around about what I do separate from this. Rule two—no Saturdays. It’s non-negotiable. I have somewhere to be on Saturdays. Rule three…” With this one, I got a little creative. I’d only had two in mind, but it gave me an excuse to demand what I’d silently prayed for. “I want you to go with Luna to those sign language classes.”
