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Still, I don’t hesitate another moment. I simply slide the rock off my finger. “Does that please you”—I hold it out to him—“Sir?”
In the middle of pocketing the jewelry with a scowl, Jett freezes. “Yes. You’ve heard the gossip, I take it.”
“I have.” I want to ask if it’s true, but I don’t.
He rests his palm on my crown and threads his fingers through my hair before closing them under the elastic band holding my loose bun in place, tugging until I meet his gaze. “Everything goes, Whitney.”
“It’s just a ponytail holder,” I argue.
“It’s in my way.”
As if his words settle the matter, he plucks the round elastic band from my hair deftly but inexorably. The skeins come tumbling down past my shoulders, clinging to my back, and curling in at my waist.
As he pockets my elastic band, heat flares in his inky eyes. “Wait here. Don’t move.”
Command rings in his voice. I don’t dare cross him, even when he pivots around, turning his back on me utterly, and stalks back inside the house once more.
My knees ache, and the wind grazes my damp nipples again. Still, I don’t move, partly because I fear he’ll leave if I do…and partly because I’m desperate to know what he’ll do if I don’t.
So I’m alone with the night and my thoughts. With my regrets and worries.
He’s going to realize the truth quickly. Then what will you say? What defense can you possibly muster?
The voice in my head is right, but I don’t have any answers except the obvious. Jett Dean will know very quickly that I never got over him.
On the one hand, I want the truth between us because I’m dying to know if the knowledge will make a difference. On the other hand, once he realizes…I’ll be so vulnerable it’s terrifying.
It only takes him a minute to reappear. My clothes are gone, but he’s slung a fluffy white robe over one thick arm.
His eyes are full of approval. “Excellent. I half expected to find you’d disobeyed me and retreated to some other corner of the house.”
“No.”
He holds out his hand to me. I hate the way I tremble as I take it and he helps me to my feet. “Smart. Hold your arms out at your sides.”
I do, and he slides the robe around me, then belts it at my waist. “Until nine o’clock next Saturday night, you will not wear anything I don’t provide. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
Jett sends me a quelling stare. “You know what I am. Respond properly.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He pockets my elastic band, then tucks my hand in his. “Come with me.”
I don’t say a word as I trail behind him and into the house. He locks the French doors behind us and leads me through the interior, all the way back to the grand foyer. The hamper and the clear shoebox are still sitting, open and waiting. I see he’s tossed the garments I came in on the hall table. My engagement ring sparkles in the shadows beside the heap of my clothes. Then he releases my hand, gestures to the receptacles, and steps back.
I have to be the one to tuck my clothes away. It’s symbolic. I’m shedding all my outward skin for him and coming to him naked, both literally and figuratively. That’s doubly true of my engagement ring.
“I’m waiting,” he growls behind me.
I chose to be here. I took a chance.
There’s no escape. And once I comply, there’s no going back.
Sucking in a steadying breath, I reach for my clothes and toss them into the hamper, then I tuck my shoes into the box, putting the ring inside between them.
“Close them both,” he insists.
He’s mind-fucking me before he ever fucks me at all. He’s making me give up my one barrier between us, to willingly tuck it out of my reach before he commences with debauching me.
It’s agonizing. It’s awful. It’s dirty. And I love the way Jett’s mind works.
I do exactly what he says, closing the hamper and settling the lid on the shoebox. Then I turn to him expectantly. “Done.”
He gives my effort a cursory glance, then nods and grabs my hand again. “Do you understand?”
The significance of his gesture? Yes. What’s to come? Not exactly. We’ll have sex, I’m sure. Beyond that…I have no idea what he’ll demand for his forty million dollars. But since the price is so steep, I’m sure he won’t make anything about this week easy.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Very good. Upstairs with you.”
He leads me up a slightly curved staircase with an ornate wrought-iron railing. At the top, we reach the landing. His hand at the small of my back guides me to the end of the hall without a word.
My breath catches when I take in the room.
A massive bed dominates the space, topped with soft white cotton and gray velvet. Pillows of all shapes, sizes, and textures are propped against a mirrored headboard and take up half the mattress. Above, a chandelier that’s a balance between light-refracting crystals and elemental iron hangs. It’s anchored to a ceiling covered in mirrors, too. There are a pair of nightstands flanking the bed and a plush white chair in the corner. A shaggy gray throw rug warms up the milkwashed planks of the floor. There’s a cheerful hearth opposite the bed. Open French doors overlook the backyard, blowing gauzy sheers in with the summery breeze.
