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His arms tightened around her. “Well, I guess it’s only fair for me to talk about my triggers since we’ve uncovered one of yours.”
Jake stared out in the distance, and she took a moment to study him. He had such a strong profile, firm chin, chiseled cheeks, and full lips. She hadn’t noticed his eyelashes before, but they were some of the thickest she’d ever seen.
“Someone close to me died in a car accident. When I saw it was you on that bike, when I realized it had been you going that fast, and, by the way, I haven’t forgotten that, your ass will be paying the price of that ticket, it brought up all those old feelings of fear and pain. I imagined the worse. I could picture you lying in a ditch, alone and injured. Or worse.”
She ran her hand through his hair. Crap did she feel like shit now. “I’m sorry. I really did know what I was doing.”
He turned his deep, brown gaze to hers. “And I really do think those things are dangerous. I don’t want you riding one.”
“I could simply buy one when I leave.”
He nodded. “You could, once you leave you’re free to do what you like. But I wish you wouldn’t. Because I’ll still worry about you. And while you’re here, with that contract in place, you will not be riding one.”
“Hard limit?”
“Yes. No motorcycles. No speeding. Understand?”
Part of her chafed a bit at the dictate. This was her life, after all. And this wasn’t a permanent arrangement. But she saw the fear in his eyes. Had heard in the starkness of his voice how much losing that person had affected him. Somebody he’d loved . . . a parent? Friend? Lover?
Molly nodded. She couldn’t cause him any pain and doing so would just make her petty. No matter what she’d said before, she wasn’t actually planning on buying a bike. They weren’t practical, and she wasn’t going to need one in Samoa or wherever she ended up.
“All right, no more bikes.”
“Or speeding.”
She sighed. “Or speeding.”
“Good.” He stood with her in his arms. He really needed to start giving her a warning. “Now we can get to your discipline.”
9
Was this really her life? Or was she living in an alternate reality? That’s kind of what it felt like. An out-of-body experience. She followed Jake through his house, which seemed kind of empty and a little cold. A surprise considering how happy the house looked on the outside.
She stepped into a huge, masculine master bedroom. The bed was enormous, with a dark, wooden headboard. The bedspread was a dark gray. Everything was neat as a pin—and boring as hell.
Jake turned to her with his hands on his hips and that look on his face that sent shivers through her. “Strip and present.”
“Yeah, I don’t really know how to do that. The presenting part, not the stripping. I’ve been undressing myself since I was five.”
He just stared at her for a moment, then he shook his head. Over her lack of expertise? Her bratty mouth? “Take off your clothes. I’ll help you get into the correct position.
She stole glances at him as he drew a big, brown leather bag out of the bottom of the closet. She wondered what was in it. He placed it on the bed and, without looking at her, growled, “You were given an order, Molly. I suggest you obey before I add to your punishment. And sit down to take off your pants; I don’t want you putting too much weight on that ankle.”
Drat. Did the man have eyes in the back of his head? She pulled off her top then sat on the bed to drag off her pants, wondering why she’d bothered to put pretty underwear on when he didn’t even glance her way.
She looked around for somewhere to put her clothes. Didn’t seem right to just dump them on the floor. Finally, she settled for setting them on the top of the dresser. When she turned back, Jake just stood there watching her intently. She thought about trying to hide herself. Kind of stupid when he’d already seen and touched everything.
But the look in his eyes was pure fire. He ran his gaze over every inch of her, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. And as he stared at her with undisguised need she felt her self-esteem grow.
“You’re so fucking hot.”
She glanced down at herself, hoping this was a dream, one where she’d somehow lost twenty pounds and gained three inches in height. Nope, still her cellulite-ridden, dumpy body.
“I’m not going to like the thoughts running through your head, am I?”
“Probably not,” she agreed. “I just don’t see it.”
“How beautiful you are?”
