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“Too late. We signed a contract, and you know how I feel about contracts.”
Oh, yes, she knew why she chose the most arduous path possible. It was him. Hunter McLeod made her do crazy things from the first moment she saw him. After he had eavesdropped on her conversation about her lack of sex life, things had just gotten crazier from there.
“Besides, it wouldn’t have changed anything between us. I would still have found a way to get you here, naked, wearing my shirt, my handprints on your ass, pinned against my wall, wet against my fingers.” He ran his knuckle down the slit of her pussy, and she quivered, clenching her belly tight to stop herself from getting wetter.
The crazy stopped here and now.
“You,” she seethed, madder than she had ever been. Using a titanic amount of strength, she pushed into his chest. Lucky for her, he seemed congenial and moved.
She searched around for her marker and yet again stalked back to him.
Too mad to care about his colossal junk, she continued to add “control freak” to “bigheaded” and “cocksure” after pulling down his snow-white boxer briefs just a little. She ground her teeth at the scent of his soap and the size of his hard cock. Now she needed to find real estate elsewhere on his body to write her new word because she wasn't so far gone that she was going to pull his boxer brief even farther down.
His arm.
Going vertical, she started to write the word “charlatan.”
“Are you done?” he asked, clearly amused.
“Yes,” she said, ending her new addition with two exclamation points.
“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.
