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He saunters further inside, placing a black card on the nightstand. “This is for you. You can buy anything you want.”
Anger sizzles inside of me, and I pick it up, throwing it at his chest. His eyebrows draw together.
“I don’t need your money.”
“Pride won’t help you in this situation.”
I pin him with a stare and approach him. “I meant it when I said I don’t need your money.”
Cameron pushes his hands in his pockets and leans into me. His nearness and that self-assurance do strange things to me that I can’t pinpoint. It’s as if he loves to torment me.
“Did Daddy send you prepared?”
“I make my own money.”
“Do you, now?”
“And here I thought you would know everything about me.”
With an arched brow, he peruses my face and says flatly, “If you interested me in the slightest...”
He leaves me to seethe. Good for me; the more he is away, the better.
Since I have the entire right wing to myself, I open the door and slip inside the next room. Large windows offer the same spectacular view over the landscape as from my bedroom. I’ll have to place my equipment on the parallel wall so I won’t get distracted.
Silence, focus, and time alone—that’s what I need. If our current relationship is any indication, I will have plenty of those.
After I plan out where to put everything, I begin to unpack. My steps echo through the hall as I carry boxes from my room to this one. I’m bent over a box when I catch sight of him through my legs, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“Already moving?”
I ignore him until I have to pass him by the door.
“Step aside.”
He remains in place. Why does he always have to make every encounter with me a challenge? He needs to think again if he believes I will beg or move past him and touch him. I should recoil at the thought, but no reaction comes, which is disturbing and surprising.
“I asked you a question.”
“Who do you think you are?”
Those perfectly shaped Cupid’s bow lips arch up in an arrogant smile. “Hmm, I know who you are, and that is mine, wife.”
“We both know this marriage is not real.”
“And yet I have a signed document saying that it is.”
“It’s not like I had a choice.”
“We all have a choice. You chose this one.”
He steps aside, but not before he leans in a bit. His breath hits my ear, causing goose bumps to spread all over my skin. “I own you.”
With a tremble rocking my body, I return to my task, and he leaves. Two men stalk in my direction, and panic and fear hit me from all sides, paralyzing me until my lungs constrict.
“Mrs. McNamara, are you all right?” one of them asks me.
Terror knots my vocal cords.
