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Fuck, she’s exquisite.
My pulse races and sweat trickles down my spine. I force any expression from my face and lean back like I’m unbothered by her presence. We’re on either side of the room with Clint and his lawyer talking between us and the tension is so thick I can almost see it.
I stay silent as they go over the contract of sale. I wrote it and I know what I want from it. They have to come up with a counteroffer while I’m waiting.
“Keira,” Clint says, glancing up. “Get Jay whatever he needs.”
Jay waves a hand. “I’m good, too late for coffee, too early for whiskey.”
Clint nods and goes back to the paperwork while his wife stands awkwardly by the door. He’s an evil cunt—he always has been—but I didn’t realize how good he is at subtle humiliation until now. His intention is clear.
She’s his property. If he wants her to stand there all night, she will.
I stand abruptly. “I’m going to use the restroom. Could you show me where it is?”
I’m looking at Clint. He glances up, beckoning to Keira.
“Take Mr. Sovereign downstairs,” he says.
She gives me a look. It’s subtle, but it lets me know she’s onto me. Amused, I follow her out the door and down the hall. My eyes fall as she descends the stairs. Watching her ass jiggle beneath her tight skirt.
“It’s down the hall,” she says.
We’re in the doorway to the kitchen. I glance down the dim hall, to the open door of the bathroom at the end.
“I’m not sure I can find it,” I say.
Her brows crease. “It’s right there.”
“Where?”
She walks halfway down the hall and points. Before she can turn back around, I plant my hand against the wall to block her path back. Her entire body freezes and her tongue darts out to wet her mouth. From this angle, I can see the faint suggestion of her cleavage.
Her breath hitches. Her lips part.
“You weren’t looking for the bathroom,” she whispers.
I shake my head. My hand comes up and tucks one strand of hair behind her ear. She smells like a woman, like shampoo and perfume and lotion. I’ll bet her skin is so fucking soft.
I’ll bet it marks easily.
“You need to leave,” she says, her voice catching.
I pull back. She darts into the kitchen, putting the island counter between us like a blockade. Her body is drawn up tight and she’s got her hands tucked behind her back. I can tell she’s used to being submissive.
That’s interesting.
But not altogether surprising. Clint is a bully, among other things, so it doesn’t surprise me that his wife shrinks at the sight of men. I study her face, wondering if he hits her.
It’s not really the Garrison's style. They’re better at emotional torture.
I would fucking know after what they did to me.
“Do you drink, Mrs. Garrison?”
She licks her lips, catching the bottom one on her teeth. “I do a shot of whiskey now and then.”
“Pour me a shot,” I tell her.
