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“I told you before,” he snipes in a breath of irritation. “I've never brought a woman to this house before.”
“C’mon, Bruce Wayne,” I chide. “You don’t have to try to make me feel better. I don’t mind.”
He stops in his tracks, turning swiftly to face me, his expression growing sterner by the second as his eyes suddenly become flame-throwers.
“First of all…” He grinds his teeth. “Iwantyou to mind. Because the very thought of another man being taken to your apartment makes me want to hire a bulldozer to knock the entire fucking building down… with him in it.”
Oops…
“And second of all,” he continues, eyes spheres of silver in the shimmery morning light. “I’m an insufferable asshole. I can be moody and withdrawn. I’m dominant and demanding. I’m already picturing the rooms I’ll be spanking that tight little ass of yours in this weekend, for example. As well as on which pieces of my land.”
Words fail me as I attempt in vain to pull my hand away, caught in what is now becoming the signature Greyson Everitt maelstrom where I’m torn between arousal so tingle-inducing that foreplay becomes redundant, and outrage at his dominant suppositions.
“I'm emotionally stunted, as you’ve kindly pointed out,” he rasps, “and part of me wishes to hide away from humanity for the rest of my days so that I don’t have to start murdering people in order to feel a sense of peace.”
He takes a step towards me, towering over me like one of the trees back there, nestled around the back of his barn.
“I possess a host of unpalatable personality traits which I have no doubt I’ll be subjecting you to within short order”—he leans into me, his usually elegant face so hardened that I almost forget I want to give him shit for that spanking comment, I mean, if I wasn’t so damn aroused by it—“butlyingisn’t one of them.”
For reasons unknown, some sense of respite softens my body.
“I don’t lie,” he reaffirms. “I've had women before you, Indie. Many. But when I say I've never brought a woman to this house, I mean it.”
“All that just to say you don’t lie?” I shrug. “I believe you. Are you done with the speeches?”
“No,” he growls, his fiery eyes veritably gleaming like a sun-kissed lake in the glow of the morning. “I don’t want you to befinewith me bringing women here,” he adds, echoing what he said before. “I meant what I said about being possessive over my property. And I’d rather not feel like I’m losing my fucking mind alone.”
“Alone?” I raise a sassy brow. “Listen, when we were at that restaurant on the island, I don’t know if you saw this, but one of the waitresses kept checking you out and I swear to God, at one point I was about three seconds away from throwing her and her little notepad into the pool and then dive-bombing her.”
The rigid tension in his body dissolves as his lips twist up.
“So don’t worry about me being jealous,” I add. “I've seen how women look at you, including all those so-called colleagues of yours in the fuck-me heels. I’m already envisaging a stint in jail if we go out in public again.”
He closes the space between us, his body stiff but his gaze melting a little. “I’m glad that makes two of us,” he grumbles like the volatile jerk that he is and frankly with the way he’s eating me with his eyes, if it weren’t for Stanley being around, I’d quite possibly be dropping to my knees right now just out of sheer naked lust for this man with his flighty moods.
I throw him a cheeky smile and his eyes narrow before he tugs me roughly along the path towards his garden like some caveman on a mission.
“How did Stanley know my name last night?” I ask after a moment, glancing to the right where, a hundred feet or so away, stands the large barn made of vertical planks of wood which look very weathered, as if unused. Its roof is one of those gambrel ones, with two slopes on either side. I spot a large flat slab of stone to the left of the barn, nestled in some long grass, but as I pull his hand towards it, he tugs it back, directing me away.
“He and I are close. I trust him. And I confided in him that there was a smart-mouthed, pink-haired brat who was consuming my every thought and asked him what I should do about it.”
He glides his mischievous gaze onto me as we walk.
“And, um, what were his words of wisdom? Did they involve carrying me into your house like a troglodyte who’d just been dive-bombed by hornets?”
“No, that was a little surprise. I’m sure it amused him. He did advise me however to… explore the only woman who has ever been able to get under my fucking skin.”
“Explore?” I repeat dubiously. “What the hell does that even mean?”
“I guess we’ll see soon enough, wildflower,” he responds as he leads me through an arched passageway between two short, dense hedges and into a meticulously pruned garden sporting some herbs and flowers planted in the beds, but not much else apart from a pristine lawn.
I glance around. “You could grow so much food in here!”
“Do you want to be in charge of my garden, Indie?”
“Um…” I try to raise my eyebrows cutely. “Yes?”
“Good. How about you, me and Stanley hatch a plan for it next week?”
