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She cringes. “Sorry about that. Vic takes his job very seriously.”
I nod. “Yeah. He doesn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor.”
She smirks. “No. But he’s the best at what he does. So don’t worry about it. He’ll keep you safe. Now tell me what it’s like to be a famous artist.”
I laugh and slip down in the bed. “I wouldn’t say I’m famous. But it’s pretty cool except for the shows.”
We chat for awhile and I watch the door waiting for the dark-haired man to stalk back in. But he doesn’t come back and I wish I didn’t feel so damned disappointed.
CHAPTER4
Victor
Two days later, I wait impatiently by my car while they wheel her out in a wheelchair. I grin when I think about how hard she argued against it. She’s stubborn.
My smile fades. I hate how much I like it, dammit. How much I like her.
Every damn day I watched outside the door and then kept an eye on her in the room from a chair in the corner while she slept at night.
She is so fucking gorgeous. Her caramel curls drifting wildly around her head except when she inevitably pushes them behind her ear, trying to gain some semblance of control over them. But they’re just like her. Too wild to control.
That wildness calls to me like a siren and I’m fighting to keep from getting smashed on the rocks when I follow after her helplessly.
I straighten as they push her up to my car and she eyes me uncertainly. It’s the first time I’ve seen her uncomfortable. She bites her full lower lip and her frail hand lifts to push her curls behind her ear.
“What’s up, princess?”
“Where’s my father…or Fiona?” she asks, her voice soft and unsure.
I grin maliciously. “Worried, darling? It’s just you and me now! Fiona’s gone back to headquarters with her husband and your father left me in charge since he had a big business meeting.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course he did.” She goes to stand and I growl.
“Get back in that chair until I come around and help you.” She shifts and glares at me.
“I’m not a damn invalid.”
“I know. But you’re gonna behave yourself right now. Right, princess?” I lean down and whisper in her ear, wanting to shock her for some damn reason. “Or do you want to find out what happens to bad girls that don’t listen to what they’re told to do.”
Her green eyes shoot to mine, startled and wide. I can see I shocked her but underneath it, I also see intrigue. She wants to be controlled. She just wants to fight it too.
Good. One of us needs to fight whatever the hell’s going on here and it seems like it’s not me.
I can’t seem to resist her. Even now I can still smell the sweet, honeysuckle scent of her lingering in my nostrils from when I bent over her tiny figure. My dick is rock-hard in my dress pants and I grimace, shifting, trying to get comfortable again. It feels like I’m going to have my zipper tattooed on my fucking dick.
I help her in, fighting to keep from sliding my hand up under her shirt.
That’s fucking unprofessional, you jackass!I remove my hands as quick as I can. Running away to put the wheelchair back, I walk slowly back to the car, eyeing her sitting there.
She looks like she belongs. In that car. To me.
And that just can’t be. I don’t need that responsibility. I don’t need to fuck up again and let someone else I love down.
I throw my shoulders back and slide into the car, growling, “get buckled, princess.”
She glances over at me and then quickly puts her seatbelt on, her soft green eyes staring out the window, avoiding looking at me.
I glance over at her and then away. I don’t want to be the first one to talk so the ride to her place is dead silent and uncomfortably tense.
