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She grins at me. “Well, if you’re not happy about it, then I think I can accept.”
“I had a feeling you’d like that, but don’t be too excited.” I nudge a bag with my foot. “You should see what’s in this one. I expect you to wear it.”
She blushes and looks away. “I’m not playing dress-up for you.”
“You might like it if you did.”
“That’s not going to happen.” She glances at me and I see a strange glimmer of anger in the line of her lips. “I’m not your whore.”
I clench my jaw. She glares up at me, arms crossed over her chest. I take a few steps toward her and she flinches like I raised my hand to slap her down. It breaks my heart, and my teeth clamp together as I stop.
“No, Siena. You’re not my whore, and don’t you say it again. You used that against me once to try to scare me away, but I won’t hear it a second time. Do you understand?”
She shakes her head. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel.”
I close the distance between us. She sucks in a surprised breath as I catch her wrist and pull her against me. I tighten my hand in her hair and tug it back, exposing her throat, and making her pretty lips part with a short gasp.
“I’m not telling you how you feel, princess. I’m telling you how I feel. You’re not my whore. I didn’t bring you here to use you like that.”
“Then why is your hand pulling my hair?”
“Because whenever I do, your lips fall open like you want me to bite them.”
“I don’t want that at all.”
“You’re a bad liar. You were excited when I sent you those texts, weren’t you?”
“I was scared.”
I smirk and stare into her eyes. “If that’s what you call scared, then I want you fucking terrified, princess.” I hold her tighter and she gazes back, her teeth biting down on her lower lip, before I release her. I picture those lips wrapped around the tip of my cock and a deep, dark desire rolls down my spine like a hurricane.
I’m not going to survive much longer with this girl.
She steps away, blushing like crazy. I can tell she wants to say something, and I think about those texts. She was flirting with me, and I couldn’t help but flirt back. I released all my pent-up desire, all my need and want, and my heart-juddering passion in those messages. She seemed to like them until she stopped responding.
I won’t overanalyze. It doesn’t matter what she wants. Neither of us have much of say in this situation anymore. If we don’t move forward, she’ll end up back in those whorehouses, and I’ll be punished by my father for misleading him. I need to come up with a solution and quickly, before my time runs out.
And my first step is simple.
I turn from her and give her some space.
“Get dressed,” I say, gesturing at the bags. “Find something decent. We’re going for a walk with my mother.”
She lets out a surprised laugh. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not joking. Mother wants to speak with you and she can be a very big help if we can convince her that we’re—” I hesitate, not sure if I can say it.
“If we’re what?”
“You know. Thinking about getting married.” My hands clench into fists. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I just say the word? It’s not like they’re true.
“That’s not what you were going to say.”
I look at my hands. She’s right. I can’t meet her eye, but I pull in a breath. Since when did I become a fucking coward? I kill men for a living. I break their knees. I cut their throats. And I can’t even say this to a woman?
“I was going to say, we have to convince her that we’re in love.”
“In love,” she repeats, like a ghostly echo. “You want to lie to your mother?”
