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“I want to take you. That’s final.” I didn’t want to hear another word out of her. My word was law. I always got my way—no matter what.
She crossed her arms over her chest and retained her angry look. “No.”
Now she’d crossed a line. “Do I need to remind you that your brother’s life is in my hands?” I inched closer to her, my jaw hard and my eyes unforgiving. I was tempted to grab her by the neck and throw her on the bed with her pants around her ankles. I wanted to spank her until her ass was blood red.
“I don’t want to be in the same room as that psychopath.” Her words escaped as a whisper, but her voice shook. She never showed fear to anyone, not even me. But the thought of Bones clearly made her uncomfortable, made her twist as if a knife had penetrated deep into her gut. “I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want him to look at me.” She finally ended eye contact and turned her gaze in a different direction, as if she were ashamed of the confession.
I didn’t blame her for being so disturbed. He was so disgusting that I actually changed my mind about handing her over to him. When I’d pictured that chain around her neck as she cradled a broken arm, I’d turned soft. I didn’t want that fate for her. I needed to make Joseph pay for what he did, but I couldn’t waste such a perfect woman. She deserved better than that. This woman actually made me somewhat compassionate—which was an accomplishment. “He won’t lay a hand on you. I promise.”
“I still don’t want to look at him.” She stepped away as if she needed space. “I don’t want to be in the same room as him. I don’t want to breathe the same air. All I’ll think about is the way he grabbed my tits and punched me…like I was some kind of animal.” She turned around altogether, hiding her face.
I suspected tears had built up in her eyes. The only time I’d seen her cry was after her nightmare. She refused to show weakness to anyone, but she allowed me to catch glimpses. Her interaction with Bones was limited, but the three-day period she waited for him to retrieve her must have been just as scarring. She couldn’t sleep or eat because she knew what her fate would be. That must have been the worst part.
I came behind her and rested my hands on her hips. My face pressed against the back of her head, my nose catching the smell of her freshly washed hair. She’d used my shampoo, but it didn’t smell masculine on her. With her own scent, she made it flowery and sexy. I felt the slight but prominent curves of her frame with my fingertips and noticed the way she inhaled deeply the second I touched her. “You’re always safe with me, Lovely. A man won’t even look at you unless they have my explicit permission. You don’t need to be afraid.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to be prey…” She’d said that to me once before.
“They call me the scotch king for a reason. I own the industry, and soon I’ll own the world. And as my queen, you don’t need to be afraid of anyone. You’re my possession, and no one will lay a hand on you. I promise.”
She breathed again, feeling my hands glide up her torso. “But I’m not your queen. I’m just your slave…”
I pulled her against my chest and rested my chin on her head. “Either way, you’re still untouchable.” I’d wanted to make Josephine my queen, but being royal in scotch didn’t mean anything to her. Now I needed the right woman for the spot. London couldn’t be the woman for that. She didn’t have the right blood, the right wealth. But she wasn’t nothing either. “You can hold your head high and look him in the eye without fear, Lovely. I’ve never seen you bow before. Don’t start now.”
Jacques looked London up and down, his face a mask as he examined her. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking until he expressed his feelings candidly. His fingertips rested against his lips as he circled her, looking at her specific measurements and her qualities.
I was certain making her look beautiful would be easy.
I sat on the gray couch, and his assistant brought me an expensive bottle of wine and two glasses. I didn’t care for wine, but I drank it to be polite. Some expensive brands of champagne were pleasing, mainly the ones with the highest alcohol content. I crossed my legs and watched London stand on the pedestal, her brown hair over one shoulder and body slumped with a lack of self-confidence. It was out of character for her to look that way, but she was being silently judged by a stranger.
