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She may still be a worthy prize. No, I’m going to make sure she is.
“What is your name?” I ask her.
“Leah,” she answers without meeting my gaze. “Leah Adams.”
“How old?”
“Twenty-two.”
“And how far along are you?”
“Two months.” She directs those gray eyes at me. “I’m sure my file said so.”
I frown at her first show of defiance. I’m going to have to trim those claws.
“I’m sure,” I say. “But I wanted to see if you could talk. It seems you can.”
Leah looks away. “I’m sorry.”
Ah. She might not be hard to discipline after all.
“Why are you here?” I ask her.
“I want a good life for my child and a better one for me,” she answers. “We both deserve that.”
I nod. Good answer. But I don’t feel like applauding. On the contrary, I have an urge to taunt her.
I touch her chin. “So you’ve come to trade your body for a fortune? What do you think your family would say about that?”
“I have no family,” she says with an edge of annoyance.
“Ah. So that’s why you think you can do whatever you wish? Sell your body to the highest bidder, sell your soul to the devil?”
“Asks the devil who just spent five million dollars on me.” She looks at me with hard eyes.
I chuckle.
“And I said spent money on. I didn’t say bought. I’m not trading my body or selling it. I’m letting you borrow it for a price, with interest.”
I give an amused laugh as I move behind her. My fingers run through her hair.
“Whatever makes you feel better, sweetheart,” I whisper in her ear.
Leah glares over her shoulder. “Don’t call me sweetheart. And don’t talk as if you know me. You know nothing about me or about what it feels like to be treated unfairly and to lose so much that you’ll do whatever it takes to survive. How would you know? You’ve spent your whole life surrounded by people who exist to please you, with parents who- ”
I cut her off with a fierce kiss because she’s starting to become annoying. Afterwards, she turns and looks at me with wide eyes, bewildered and breathless and blushing.
That’s better.
“You talk too much,” I tell her as I trace her lower lip with my thumb. “It’s a good thing I can think of other ways to keep your mouth busy.”
I hold her gaze as I slip my thumb between her lips, resting the pad on her tongue.
“Make no mistake, Leah. You belong to me now. And I can be the devil. I can make your life hell.”
Fear flickers in her eyes.
“Or I can be a god and make it heaven.”
I place my hand between her legs. Through her thin white dress and the black lace underwear that can be seen through it, I find the folds of her skin and press the tips of my fingers down between them. She gasps.
I grin. “Wonderful reaction.”
I withdraw my fingers. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and looks away.
“I think we’re off to a good start, don’t you, Leah?”
She says nothing. Ah. I’ve made her angry by making her realize how powerless she is. I have to say I don’t mind that expression, though.
I offer her my hand. “Shall we go home?”
Chapter Five
Leah
When Gavin said “home”, I thought of a mansion just like the one where the masquerade party was held. Instead, I find myself in a penthouse apartment.
I suppose that’s to be expected of a bachelor.
I try to keep up with him as he goes from one room to the next- I never realized how long his strides were. I try to listen to him, too, as he explains the rules, but my mind keeps wandering, distracted by all the things I’m seeing.
Damn, this place is huge. And clean. I don’t detect a speck of dust anywhere or a single object out of place. A bit too cold for my liking, though- and I don’t mean the temperature. I prefer cozy- woolly rugs instead of stiff carpets, cotton upholstery instead of leather, wood instead of metal. But that’s a personal preference, I suppose. In fact, this apartment seems just like its owner- cold, calm, no-nonsense, a bit rigid and just a tad intimidating. I’m eyeing that loveseat over there against the wall of the library, which looks like I might end up covering it with wrinkles if I sit on it, and that shiny black urn in the corner. That doesn’t have a person inside it, does it? There’s a lot of glass, too, that I fear I might end up breaking.
I draw a deep breath. This is one apartment that’s not to be messed with.
Finally, we reach my room. I was afraid it would be as formal as the rest of the apartment, but it’s strangely- and fortunately- more inviting. The four poster bed is covered in a quilt with violet and pink squares, the pillows in maroon cases. A vase with fresh flowers sits near the window next to an armchair and a footstool that’s just shouting at me to prop my feet up. There’s also a beanbag at the foot of the bed between two large floor pillows, the perfect place to sit while watching TV. What I probably like the most, though, is the fact that instead of a table by the bed, there’s this quaint wicker basket for me to just toss stuff in. Genius.
