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“There’s at least twenty thousand in there. If I meant to steal, why would I only have taken part of it?”
Furrowing my brow, I try to recall when the last time was that I dug in the back of my closet for anything. It’s been a while. Long enough that she’s managed to save thousands of dollars of my pocket change and kept it in a piggy bank of sorts.
Part of me is impressed. However, it’s the same part of me that wants to fuck her, so I ignore it.
“How did you plan on paying me back?” I ask. “Were you going to steal from someone else?”
She rolls her eyes and blows out a breath. “I didn’t plan that far ahead.”
“Of course not. Thieves rarely do.”
Her brows pinch together once more as she glares at me, and I have to fight the urge to reach over and smooth the lines between them. She doesn’t like being called a thief.
“Either way,” she snaps back. “You actually caught me putting the money back. I took it earlier, but regretted it.”
Hard to believe, but I’ll go with it for now. “Was it your conscience that made you return it, or were you just afraid you’d get sent to jail again?”
Lifting her blue gaze, she admits, “Both.”
“I can’t help you with your conscience,” I tell her. Fuck, I can’t do anything about mine, much less anyone else’s. “Your freedom is another matter.”
Andie straightens her spine, as if she’s steeling herself for whatever I’m about to throw at her. “Fine. What deal do you want from me?”
“One week.” I grin. “I want you to be my housekeeper for a week.”
She tucks her chin to her chest and peers at me through her lashes with suspicion. “I’m already your housekeeper.”
My grin widens. “Not the way you are in my fantasies.”
There’s a slight twitch in her left eye. She crosses her arms, a move that forces her breasts upward, and huffs. “Am I wearing a maid costume in those fantasies?”
“No.” I glance at the fullness of her cleavage. “In my fantasies, when I fuck you you’re dressed how you are now. Does it surprise you to know I’ve fucked you a million different ways in my mind, Miss Burrows?”
Though the red in her cheeks deepens, she does a good job of maintaining her composure. “I’ve done many things in my mind, Mr. Alexander. It doesn’t make them real.”
“Many things, huh? Have any of them involved me?”
She swallows and clears her throat. “Please stop beating around the bush and tell me exactly what you want from me.”
“I want you to stay here for a week. You will continue to keep my house. You will cook for me. You will wash my clothes. And you will give me your body whenever, wherever and in any way I please.”
Shaking her head, she says, “I can’t do that.”
“One way or another” —I smile because the thought pleases me— “you will pay the price for stealing. It’s either with me, or in jail.”
“I have a kid, Mr. Alexander. I can’t just up and leave whenever I want.”
“Get a sitter.”
“I can’t afford someone to come watch her day and night for an entire week!” She throws her hands up in exasperation.
“Then a relative.”
The flush on her skin deepens. “If you know I’ve done time before, then you know I have no family.”
“Fine. I will hire someone. Surely there have to be a million babysitters in Vegas.”
She glares at me with disbelief in her expression, her gaze narrowed and her lips in a thin, straight line. “It’s so obvious you don’t have children.”
