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His statement doesn't make any sense. My father and Riggs have always been tight. I've never seen him have anything but respect for my father, yet now, all I see is disgust in Riggs's expression. So my gut says he isn't lying.
"Sit down," he repeats, pointing to a chair.
I obey, unsure what else to do.
He sits next to me, and his scent teases my nostrils. I barely notice the stack of papers until he slides them toward me and demands, "You have to sign if you want to stay with me. And there's only one way this goes, Blakely, and that's my way."
My butterflies flutter so strong I put my hand on my stomach. I glance between him and the contract, then swallow hard. I inquire, "What does that mean?"
He doesn't hesitate, answering, "It means for a year, I own you. Your body. At times, your mind. And all the breaths you take."
A shiver runs down my spine. I wonder if this is a dream. Riggs Madden has haunted enough of them ever since I turned eighteen.
He drags his knuckles over my cheek, studying me.
I close my eyes, trembling, trying to decipher what he means. I finally ask, "What do you want to do to me?"
"Whatever I feel like at the moment," he states in his normal, confident tone.
I lock eyes with him until my gaze drifts to his lips, a tad puffy from all the sea salt only a hardcore surfer would have. They're the same lips that I couldn't shake. I even wrote a song about those lips and what it would be like to have them on mine and other parts of my body.
He continues, "A year, Blakely. You live here with me. No one knows about this place, not even your father. You only leave when I'm with you and allow you. I'll take care of you." His hand slides between my thighs, and tingles explode in every cell of my body.
My breath turns ragged. I gaze between his hand and mouth, debating if his lips could possibly come near creating the buzz his palm currently is bestowing on me.
He adds, "I'll fulfill all the deep-rooted desires that made you step on that stage tonight."
He thinks I went on the stage knowing what all this is about?
Just sign the contract and let him do whatever he wants.
What am I talking about? I can't do this.
Why not?
"Wh—"
He puts his fingers over my lips. "You want to focus on your music?"
I stay quiet.
"Answer me," he demands. "Isn't that what you love? Or is that no longer your dream?"
I sit straighter, trying to appear confident. "Of course it's still my dream."
"Then you can do that here. I'll never stop you from pursuing your music," he claims.
Unsure why his statement surprises me, I question, "You won't?"
"No. I'm not your father." His hand slides higher, and electricity in the air intensifies all around us.
I shift in my seat, pushing my hips toward him, unable to stop myself.
He curls my hair around his fist, then tugs my head back. It's the same way he did it on my twenty-first birthday. Ever since that moment, I've wondered what could have happened had my mother not interrupted us. Riggs had never touched me or been so forward before then. But I knew his loyalties were with my father. At this moment, his actions disintegrate all the questions I want to ask him about what changed, because something has.
His face hovers over mine, challenging me in the same manner as all those years ago, yet now, no one is here to interrupt us. For some unknown reason, he's no longer worried about me being my father's daughter, or my age, or whatever it was that stopped him from pursuing me when I was younger. His deep voice rolls through the air as he demands, "What's it going to be, Blakely?"
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