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“I… What did you ask me again?”
A low, rumbling sound left my chest. It took me a moment to recognize it as a laugh.
That was enough to make me ease back. I might be affecting her, but she was entrancing me. I couldn’t push too far. She was Joseph’s, not mine. And if I stayed this close to her for a second longer, I’d do a whole lot more to make her tremble.
I glanced around at the mess she’d made to give myself an excuse to break eye contact. I noticed my sketchbook in the drawer she’d been going through when I’d walked in. It was unopened.
That was probably for the best. If I’d seen her reaction to my sketches, I couldn’t have held back. Because given Joseph’s tastes, she’d definitely respond to the images.
“You’ll clean this up later,” I told her. “Don’t go through my things again.”
I could just move her to one of the sixteen guest bedrooms, but I liked the idea of her sleeping in my bed, even if I couldn’t be in there with her. Besides, I had the nicest room in the house, and I didn’t intend to treat her badly while she was my captive.
“Come on.” I turned and gestured for her to follow me. “I made dinner.”
“Are you going to keep giving me the silent treatment?” I asked, teasing her just a little. Although she probably wouldn’t know I was teasing, since I didn’t smile. I rarely did; I didn’t have a lot of practice smiling while I was doing my family’s work.
Blue sparks danced in her eyes, and the angry twist of her lips let me know she wanted to give me a piece of her mind. She set her fork down beside her nearly empty plate. She’d devoured the spaghetti bolognese I’d made for her, so she must have been hungry. Even if she hadn’t commented on my culinary skills, she’d enjoyed it.
“What could we possibly have to talk about?” she asked, her voice clipped as she flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder. I wondered if it felt as silky as it looked. I could imagine wrapping it around my fist while she sucked my cock.
My dick throbbed, and I redirected my thoughts.
“You’re an Art History major, right? Tell me about that.”
She blinked at me. “How do you know I’m an Art History major?”
“I told you, I had people monitoring you. I know a lot about you.”
She scowled at me. “You don’t know anything about me at all.”
“Don’t I? I know you have a three point eight two GPA. I know you went through rush for a sorority but didn’t pledge. I know your favorite coffee shop on campus and your favorite dining hall. I even know that you like your pumpkin spice latte without foam.”
Her eyes widened. I’d clearly unsettled her, but there was no point hiding reality from her. This was our world, and she was a part of it now.
“I know your father is a psychiatrist in Savannah, Georgia, and your mother is a neurosurgeon in Chicago. I know they divorced when you were eight, but they both still provided you with enough money for you to have everything you could ever want.”
“Shut up!” she shouted with sudden fervor. The hint of fear I’d sensed in her had been overwhelmed by rage. I’d hit a nerve. “You don’t know me at all.”
She shoved back from the kitchen island where we’d been eating and got to her feet. Without a backward glance at me, she started storming out of the room.
I caught up to her before she got to the door. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I wrapped my hand around her slender arm when she didn’t stop walking. She tried to jerk away, but I held her fast.
“Away from you!” she burst out. “Let me go.” She shoved me. When that accomplished nothing, she beat at my chest with her fist.
I didn’t even bother catching her wrist to stop her. I simply started walking, keeping my grip on her arm. I was careful not to hold tight enough to bruise, but she had no hope of escaping from me.
She was forced to follow, even though she continued to twist her arm in my grip.
“Let me go,” she demanded again.
“No. Stop struggling, or you’ll hurt yourself.”
“You’re hurting me,” she shrieked. She was getting dramatic again. I didn’t find her quite as cute anymore.
“No, I’m not. Calm down.”
