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Fuck.
I lift my gaze to meet hers. The corner of my mouth quirks as I regard her glare. “Are you ready to listen?” I ask her, but I don’t make a move to enter the room. Instead, I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms in front of my chest.
“Are you ready to take me home?”
“No.”
“Then no, I’m not ready to listen to your made-up stories,” she pouts, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. How I walked away from her is beyond me. She turned into a beautiful young woman. I watch her squirm, and I can guess what she’s struggling with.
“Do you need the bathroom?” I ask, gesturing with my chin toward her.
I can tell she’s at war with herself. She wants to say yes, but she also wants to refuse my help. But this will only hurt her, not me. I shrug and take a step back before she shouts out.
“Wait!”
I do, stopping short, waiting for her to talk.
“Yes, please,” she tells me. Her submissiveness makes my blood heat. It’s been so long since I’ve spent so much time around a woman I can’t help but notice the smallest quirks about her.
“And you’re going to behave?” I challenge, knowing I’m going to piss her off. She may need me for certain things, but she’s also got a stubborn streak that could put her at a disadvantage. I don’t deal well with pouty little girls, and at the moment, she fits perfectly into that category.
I want her fire.
I want her to burn me from the inside out.
“I’ll try,” she bites out, pushing off the bed, her bare feet padding toward me. I grip her arm, tugging her along beside me. “I can walk on my own.”
“Yeah? Then you’ll be able to go to the toilet while I stand right here,” I tell her as I lead her into the smaller room and wait at the door.
“No way,” she grits through clenched teeth. Frustration etched on her pretty face, which only makes me smile. “I need privacy.”
“You don’t need shit. If you can’t listen to me, or obey me, then you’ll be under my surveillance twenty-four seven.”
Her glower turns ferocious, and a small growl vibrates in her chest, making her look like a feisty little kitten trying to claw its way out of a box. I love watching her like this.
“God, you’re such an entitled asshole.”
I laugh out loud. “Oh, Beauty, if you only knew.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You better freshen up, or you’ll be put back in your room until tonight without any relief.” I deflect the question because I don’t want to be talking about me and my shitty upbringing right now. She doesn’t need to know all that bullshit.
11
Vera
He’s such an asshole.
I tug at my shorts and panties and sit down quickly, so he doesn’t get a view of my ass. Embarrassment burns my cheeks, and the heat trails down to my chest. I must be bright red as I use the toilet while Logan stands only feet away. I’ve never been so degraded before, and it makes my stomach twist painfully.
Tears burn the back of my eyes, and I fight them back. I want to ask him why he’s being such a dickhead, but I don’t. Instead, I finish up, washing my hands and face and retying my ponytail.
“I’m done.”
He nods, but I can tell he’s still thinking about what I asked earlier. He deflected the question, instead attempting to distract me from what I asked, but I didn’t forget. His expression is reflective as he grips my arm once more and moves me toward the bedroom.
Once I’m inside, he leans against the doorframe again before asking, “What do you want to eat? I got some bread at the store so I can make a sandwich for you.”
I watch him for a moment, wondering if this is my future, being held captive and fed like a child. I’ve been independent for a while now. I haven’t had anyone look after me like this since I ran away from home, so this is difficult to accept.
“That will be nice, thank you. And . . . could I have some coffee or something, please?” I ask, my voice cracking at the thought of my freedom and dignity being stripped away in the blink of an eye.
“Sure.” He tugs on the door, but I stop him with my hand on his arm before he can shut it. “What?” The word is strained, and I wonder if I’m truly annoying him, or if he’s fighting the attraction. We did connect when we didn’t know who the other person was. I know we did.
“Could I . . .? I mean . . .”
“Out with it, Vera,” he sighs as if I’m frustrating him with my nervousness. How does he expect me to behave? Does he want me to just love him because he apparently saved my life? That’s not how this is going to work, and he has to get it through his brain.
