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Chapter 11
I spend the entire drive back home sulking. That asshole. I am sure he went to a party, probably to fuck someone. And I had to be dragged to his house to meet him. Red dots my vision. My parents eye me quizzically but don’t probe. I am one second away from bolting through the streets and never coming back.
Patience. Plus, it’s not like I’m going to let him anywhere near me. He can do whatever he wants. Well, why can’t I do the same? The unfairness of this situation is going to give me an aneurysm.
When the car stops in front of our house, I storm inside and up the stairs, shutting the door to my room. Undressing in quick, angry moves, I get in the shower, willing the scalding water to ease the tension in my muscles, but it only increases. Who does Cato think he is? Even if this is all fake, he should respect me enough not to let some woman . . . No, not going there, and what if he had some other business to attend to? Yeah, right. Business, my ass. It’s called murder.
I am losing my mind, this has to be it, and over a man, which is even worse—it’s insulting, it’s ironic, it’s maddening. I will claw his eyes out if he ever touches or kisses me again with his dirty mouth, promising things my body is too eager to experience. I dry myself until my skin turns red. Putting a tank top and sleep shorts on, I climb into bed. I grip my phone so hard, my fingers whiten.
Don’t do it, some wise part of my brain advises, but my anger wins over.
I feel him challenging me even through the messages. His arrogance is over the top.Rein yourself in. I write a reply in a daze.Take that, you asshole. But I might kill him before the wedding—I mean, it would be one sin less. I type,Never, but erase it. I expected to feel better, but I don’t.
I toss and turn, sleep being just out of reach. I scoot upright when the window creaks open. Panic hits me for a moment, and my scream catches in my throat. How did Cato get through security? My stupid heart beats a thousand beats per second, a cacophony of sound that deafens me.
“Are you crazy?” I whisper. I should be yelling for security. The nerve of this stupid man. He prowls over to me, his hand shoved in his pants pocket.
“You didn’t answer.”
“What?”
I will forever blame whatever momentary lapse in judgment for keeping quiet because of his eyes—they’re clouds in the darkest night. And that scent, that has to be created especially for the worst of predators, drawing me in, until I am too far gone to escape.
“My father will kill you.”
“Are you worried? Actually, let’s test that, shall we?”
I remain perfectly still, shocked by his boldness. Meanwhile, he takes his jacket off and places it on my chair, rolling his sleeves up his elbows. Those forearms, strong, corded with thick muscles and veins, captivate me.
My eyes are fixed on him.
He cocks his head. “Is the door locked?”
“No.”
He walks toward the door with no care, locking it.
“How did you get past the guards?”
“Cara, I am their boss.”
He gets all the power with our sham of a wedding, and I get all the limitations. It’s so damn unfair I fist the sheets.
“Now, where were we?”
I jerk my chin. “You were leaving.”
The asshole gets in my bed and props up on his elbow. His eyes take in every inch of me. The sheer fabric makes me feel exposed and it’s as if he’s undressing me with his eyes, burrowing under my skin, and coaxing all my darkest desires to come out to play.
“What would you have typed?”
“Nothing.”
“I thought you were brave. I guess I was mistaken.”
Do not take the bait. He’s taunting you.
I bend over him, coming nose to nose. “I debated betweenneverandnot me.”
