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“No, one more thing,” she said as she found the cap, closed her marker, stored it back in her handbag, and picked up Marcy’s dress. “You know what my friends call me?” Okay, she only had one friend, but the false plural version worked better. “They call me Ice-Maiden. Yes, IMT—that means Ice-Maiden Terror. So good luck trying to get what you want from me because it’s never going to happen. Never!”
With that, she marched toward the door of his office. She had no idea where she was going, but she was so mad at herself, she deserved to take a short walk off a long cliff.
She didn’t get very far before the floor beneath her feet gave way and she was lifted into the air. Hunter had reached her from behind and scooped her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing.
With his long, confident strides, mindless of the weight he held against him, Hunter ignored her demands to be put down immediately.
He carried her into an elevator, then down another passage, and soon they entered a room that she instantly knew was his.
He pulled back the covers while still balancing her in his arms and then placed her gently down on her side. Then, he covered her up.
“Sleep,” he ordered and left before she could argue with him about how he couldn’t tell her what to do. But as soon as he shut the door, she turned onto her back, grimacing as her butt stung, and stared at the ceiling, still epically mad.
Well, she had made her bed...
She hated that saying.
A million thoughts zinged through her brain, but her body had already succumbed to the soft, rich, extremely luxurious comfort of the bed.
Stupid, Kensley.
Since he planned to follow the terms of the contract religiously, she knew he would be slipping in beside her whenever he came back. She didn't know how she was going to handle that.
She couldn’t believe everything that had just happened to her had occurred only in one day. She didn’t want to think about what the next day had in store for her. The only silver lining was that there were now twenty-nine days left.
Sleep beckoned despite her determination to continue self-flagellating. Soon she drifted off. Her last thought was that somewhere in his study was a picture of her spanked naked ass, but she couldn’t muster up any energy to go back and find it.
Clearly, she slept through the night because when she opened her eyes, a young lady dressed in a traditional maid's outfit stood at the foot of the bed with a tray in her hands, a smile on her face, and bright sunlight streaming through the windows.
Kensley sprang up and immediately realized his side of the bed was cold. In fact, he clearly hadn't returned. The second thing was that her backside was still too sore to sit on.
She edged off the bed, and that’s when she noticed it. The Polaroid. The man had the audacity to lay it on the bed beside her. Ugh. She made a mad grab for it and hid it behind her.
“Hello,” she said, offering the woman a small wave.
“Good morning, Ms. Reid. My name is Alice, and I'm here to do whatever you need me to do.” She placed the breakfast tray down on a table.
“Hi, good morning, Alice,” she said cheerfully, but not without a frown on her face. Why did it seem later than she thought?
“May I pour you some coffee?”
Oh, god, coffee.
“Thank you, Alice.” She took a life-awakening sip and then another.
“It’s my pleasure, Ms. Reid.”
“Oh, please. Kensley. Just call me Kensley,” she said, as she put the cup down and started to get her phone, slipping the damning Polaroid into her purse at the same time.
What the heck? She had never in all her life overslept. She rose like clockwork at 6 a.m. every morning and got to work before 8 a.m. It was already 8:30 a.m.
Marcy had sent her a bunch of messages, but her phone only had 6% battery life left and her charger was at work. She quickly texted Marcy to say she was on her way to the office and would talk to her then.
She had to get going, which meant wrestling herself back into Marcy’s dress, getting a cab, going home, showering, dressing, and going to work—and still being exponentially late.
But she couldn’t stop her gaze from roaming around the room. His bedroom was everything she expected. Obviously richly furnished, strong, and masculine, but the only evidence he occupied this room was left in the lingering scent of his cologne.
“Your things arrived this morning, but I didn’t want to wake you when I started unpacking them for you,” Alice said as she slipped out into the passageway, wheeled in a rack of clothes, then three more.
