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I scowl. “You can go to hell—”
“Woo me.”
“W-What?”
“Convince me that you staying here is a terrible decision, and I’ll—”
My right hand meets his jaw. Twice. Each resounding thwack reverberates through my palm, but it isn’t until I feel the resulting sting that it actually sinks in what I’ve done. I’ve slapped Graeme Bellamy, owner of the proverbial goddamn universe.
And it felt damn good.
“That’s not quite what I had in mind…” He rubs his jaw and then uses that same hand to seize my wrist. I’m prepared for anger. Maybe even a bit of manhandling from a man who doesn’t seem capable of hearing the word “no” from anyone. But not gentleness.
I could easily break his grip if I wanted to. Ishouldwant to. Instead, I only stare as he drags my arm above my head and pins it against the wall.
“Let’s try this again.” He’s closer. I hold my breath to keep my chest from brushing his. To keep from breathing him in. “If I were a man who pretended to subscribe to the philosophies of someone like Adrian Riley, how might I go about convincing you to stay?”
My poor heart gives up. It pounds like mad. It slows to a crawl. I should be blacking out at any moment. Any minute I’ll wake up, and this entire week will have been some crazy dream. Any minute…
“Or maybe this could never work,” he says, and the bastard almost sounds… disappointed. Frustrated, even? “Rip up the contract, Ms. King—”
“Listen,” I croak, and he stops in his tracks, still keeping his grip on my arm.
“I am,” he prompts when I don’t say anything else.
It’s a struggle to find the right words and remember how to convert them into verbal sounds. “You could trylistening, first,” I manage to rasp. “Actually hearing the words that come out of another person’s mouth. And then trying to find the right words to say in response.”
He frowns. “Such as?”
“I don’t want to stay here.”
Irritation flickers through his gaze as he processes those words, but to his credit, he blinks, and the emotion disappears. “Why?”
I flinch. He seems to be taking my advice. “Because… because it just isn’t…”
“Professional?” He toys with the word, dragging his tongue to stress each syllable.
I jerk my head just once. “Yes.”
“I’m listening,” he says. “But frankly, I don’t give a damn what you consider professional or not. How is that?”
I try to snatch my wrist away, but his grip tightens. Suddenly, it feels like he’s even closer. “You get an F,” I counter.
He drags his tongue along his lower lip. “An F for…”
Oh god. “Let me go—”
“It’s your turn to listen,” he says over me. “If your concern is because of the sex—”
I cringe, fighting back the memories that threaten to descend. Him. Me. The window. The bed. Parts of me have been exposed to areas of this penthouse that they were never in a million years ever meant to. “That’s not—”
“Don’t be,” he says. “To be honest, Evelyn, you are the last woman on earth I would want to fuck. Now. Tonight. Ever.”
“Ex… Excuse me?”
He has the nerve to smile once again. “I suggest you take your own advice, Evelyn. And listen.”
I fight to keep from rolling my eyes. “So, there’s nothing remotely sexual about you wanting me to stay here? For weeks on end?” Especially considering all that has happened within the past few days alone.
