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“You arenotbuying my clothes,” she splutters is revulsion.
“I fucking am,” I snap back.
“No, you’re not.”
I show the roof my eyes. “Ava, this is not up for discussion.” I nod to myself. She will let me have this. “End of.”
“No, you’re right, it’s not. I buy my own clothes.”
“Why do—”
She reaches for the stereo and turns up the volume, sitting calmly back in her seat, refusing to look at me.Difficult. Clinging to her free will like she actually wants to keep it firmly intact. For fuck’s sake, she drives me insane. She can let me buy her some clothes and retain her independence. She can indulge my desires and retain her freedom. It’s completely beside the point that I want her to wholly depend on me. I know it’ll never happen because, like it or not, and I don’t like it most of the time, given the circumstances—AKA my history—Ava will never surrender to me completely. Fact. I accept it.
Problem is, Ava’s under the incorrect illusion that by creating obstacles such as protesting gifts, she’s independent. She’s not. She’s simply missing out and pissing me off in the process.
I return my attention to the road. She’ll relent. I’m not sure how yet, but she will. I start drumming the wheel, thinking, planning, plotting, but by the time we’ve pulled up outside Harrods and I’ve parked, I have nothing. Well, I have something, but it’s a long shot. Worth a try, though. “I have a proposition for you,” I say, facing her as she collects her bag from the footwell.
“I’m not bargaining with you, and there is no scope for a sense fuck here, is there?” She exits the car, and I curse at her back as I climb out.
“Mouth,” I growl. “You already owe me a retribution fuck.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, another for your little performance at breakfast.”
She sniffs, indignant, despite knowing she wasn’t going to get off with that scot-free. “I don’t care what you propose.” She reaches down to her dress and tugs at the hem, a clue that she thinks it’s too short too.
She doesn’t care? Hmmm. What does Ava want? My secrets? Nope. My age? She got it. Or—
“You’renotbuying my clothes.”
My god, she’s stubborn. Immature at times too. So I’ll lead by example. I roll my eyes to myself. Like a grown-up. Like a mentor. An older someone for her to look up to. Give me strength. “You’ve not even heard me out.” I soften my voice, hoping to appeal to her reasonable side. I’m beginning to wonder if she has one. “You’ll like what I’m going to propose.”
I’ve got her. The curiosity splashed across her face tells me so. “What?” she asks, her chin lifting.
“You let me spoil you—”
“I—”
I shush her, giving her a warning look. “And I will tell you how old I am.” I just catch her outrage before I lose her face, closing my eyes and kissing her to death, leaning her back in my arms. It’s all I’ve got, an old card, but one I’m pulling from the pack to play again.
“I know how old you are.”
I release her lips “Do you?”
“You lied?” Her mouth hangs open. “Tell me.”
“Oh, no,” I say over a laugh. “Spoil first, age confession later. You might turn me over. I know my beautiful girl can play dirty.”
“I won’t,” she huffs as I stand her back up, checking her dress hasn’t ridden up. “I can’t believe you lied to me.”
“I can’t believe you handcuffed me to the bed.” I don’t hang around to let the voices in my head call me out. I push into the doors and get us into the store.
29
I headthe long way to the elevators to avoid the jewelry rooms and bundle Ava in, hitting the button for the first floor. I see her eyes on the wall, reading the store information guide.
“Hey, I want the fourth floor,” she says. I keep my attention forward. “Jesse?”
