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The idea of torturing him right now felt oh so sweet.
My pulse quickened at the thought. My heart had been pounding, all over again, from the moment I glimpsed him outside.
Was he seriously mad at me?
If he was, hopefully that little strip show he just witnessed through the window gave him a massive, aching hard-on and blue balls to go with it.
I finished my shower and towel dried my hair, brushed my teeth and dressed in the panties and cami. My heart was still hammering. I was halfway terrified of making him mad, for some reason, and halfway excited as hell that I’d defied him.
I’d run away when he called to me from the car, and he went around under my window to phone me. He knew I saw him through the window. But I’d ignored his call.
And now he’d probably gone home, pissed off.
When I stepped back into the bedroom, a shiver ran down my back again like I expected him to be sitting on the bed, waiting for me. He wasn’t there.
He’s not Batman, I tried to tell myself.He’s just a regular man and you’re letting him get all up in your head.
He doesn’t own you.
He’d tried to stake a claim tonight—with violence, no less—that he really hadn’t earned, hadn’t even asked me for.
I couldn’t talk to other people at that club? Couldn’t flirt? We were nothing to each other but a few weeks of hot sex, but God forbid another man flirts with me while multiple women drool all over him.
It was bullshit.
Maybe I was “submissive” but I wasn’t a fucking pushover.
I picked up my phone and found I’d missed three calls from him. No reply from Alyssa yet, though.
I was trying to decide if I should text Alyssa again when a knock on the window made me jump out of my skin.
Fear quickly dissolved into a broiling excitement. Shane was standing on the balcony, staring me down through the window.
I dropped the phone. How the hell did he get up here? And damn him for sneaking up on me. I really should’ve whackedhimwith that crop.
He stared me down through the glass, like he could read my thoughts.
I strode to the window. How long had he been standing there? I slid open the glass door, but not the screen door. “What?” Suddenly self-conscious, I crossed my arms over my chest.
He glared at me through the screen. “Open it.”
Every hair on my body pricked to attention at his command, as did my nipples. “No.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you through a screen.”
“What conversation?”
“Don’t test me, Jolie. I’ve respected your boundaries, but I don’t have a lot of patience for little girls who play games.”
“I’m not playing games.” My voice, even to me, sounded unsure, and my shoulders tightened. “This is Jacob and Margot’s property and you’re trespassing on it.” My fingers dug into my arms as I braced myself for his anger.
But he surprised me by smiling. A slow, devastating smile that spread across his face and made his eyes glimmer. “I know you don’t want me to leave, little dove.” His gaze roamed to my clawed fingers, my shoulders. “If I left, what would you do with all that lovely tension?”
I didn’t answer, just stared at him stubbornly as my traitorous body warmed.
“Lower your arms.”
My arms dropped against my will. He glanced over the thin cami, the lace stretched over my hard nipples. Only the bathroom light was still on, but it was pretty dark out there. I wondered how much he could see in the dimly lit room, hyperaware of just how little stood between my aching center and his touch: the screen door and my thin panties.
