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“Stop touching my shit.”
Tossing the hair accessary back down, I turn away from the dresser. Moving deeper into the room, I inhale deeply, taking in more of that oh so familiar scent. “You’ve been a busy girl. It reeks of sex and rubbers in here.”
She scoffs then huffs, “Screw you!” Which is not exactly a denial.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell Daddy you’re not an innocent little virgin. Although, I do wonder what he’ll do when he catches whoever it is you’re screwing in here in secret. Killing them swiftly would be letting the poor bastard off easy.”
Her eyes widen, anger completely fading. “Please…please don’t tell him.” Again, the word please doesn’t come easy to the Salvato family, apparently. “I’ll…I’ll do anything.”
“Anything, huh?” I lift an eyebrow, even more confident that this girl is not wife material when she nods. Her eyes skim down the front of my body, lingering on the front of my pants. “You gonna get on your knees to keep me from sharing your secret?”
She lifts one shoulder. “If that’s what it takes…”
Jesus. I bet the little slut rubs her ass on every man she meets.
“Forget it. I won’t rat you out,” I assure her before she actually drops to the floor. Even if she did, well, I’ve grown bored of desperate whores. “I’ve seen all I need to see.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I haven’t changed my mind about you. I still prefer Snow White.”
“She’s a child!” the girl exclaims, then takes a deep breath to steel herself, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is that why you want her? You have some sort of sick pedo fetish?”
Ah, so Red is jealous of her little sister.
“She’s legal, and only a year younger than you, right?” I remind her on the way back to the door. “And, Red? Green isn’t a good color on you. It clashes with your hair.”
5
Sophie
When my bedroom door opens without a knock, I spin around in my computer chair to find…a man entering and closing the door behind him. He turns to face me, his gaze starting at my feet and working their way up my bare legs, over my skirt and top to my chest, then finally my face. And I can’t deny that I spend a few seconds of the extended silence studying the snug fit of his dark suit pants over his thick thighs and the tattoos wrapped around his neck and both of his arms. At least as much as I can see from the rolled-up sleeves of his white button-down.
He looks rich and dangerous like my father. Younger yet more intimidating though, since I know my father won’t ever hurt me. This man looks like he would, and he would enjoy it. I’m too scared to move, and I’ve never been happier.
The sight of his tongue wetting his lips has me repeating the move since my mouth is suddenly bone dry.
“Who—” I start but he interrupts me.
“You…you are a beauty, Snow White.” His voice is the deep, growly kind of a long-term smoker or someone who shouts at people a lot. Maybe both.
I was expecting something crass, not a compliment.
“Ah, thank you?” Maybe he’s being sarcastic. I’m a sweaty mess, cooling off in my tennis outfit before I grab a shower. Strands of my black hair are falling from my ponytail. I’m in desperate need of soap, water, and lots of deodorant, but his compliment, ironic or not, automatically makes me less self-conscious. My spine even straightens a little.
The stranger stalks toward me, and I debate whether or not to stand up. Before I manage to rise to my bare feet he’s there, towering above me. His much larger tattooed hands cover my own on the arm rests, and his touch is freezing cold on my overheated skin. I recoil, but there’s nowhere to go. His face is so close to mine that I can see the specks of gold in his green eyes and scent cherries and tobacco on his breath as he gawks at me. He isn’t unattractive, just sort of scary thanks to his angular face and the black Celtic knot tattoo beside his right eye.
“Tell me something, princess. Are you really a virgin or is that a pretty lie you tell Daddy, too?”
Ah, why is this intimidating man in my room asking me if I’m a virgin? There’s no way in hell my father would’ve let a random guy sneak up to the third floor, which means…this has to be him.
Lochlan Dunne.
The man my father wants me to marry.
I think he might be the type to throw me over the ledge, but it could be fun to find out.
“Answer my question,” he demands.
