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“Go wherever you’d like,” he repeats. “I should warn you, there are cameras in the entire home, except for the bedrooms. But none of the doors are locked. You may leave the house. Charles will not stop you. Though I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Nodding, I get out of bed and get my dress from the bathroom. As I tug it over my head, he stops me. “What, you want me naked all day?”
“As much as the idea of coming home to you in nothing but this collar pleases me”—he touches the diamond chain around my neck—“I’d hate for any of my men to see you through the windows.”
“Why? Are you the jealous type?” It’s a question meant to tease, but the sudden intensity in his gaze has me swallowing hard.
He comes to me, pressing himself against my body. To my horror, I sink into him as he brings his lips to my ear. “I am, Skye. I don’t share what’s mine in any way. And you are that. Even if I haven’t fucked you yet, you’re mine.”
I want to bristle over the possessive tone in his voice, but I don’t. Instead, the part of me that doesn’t care about female empowerment seems to delight in his words. And it’s that part of me that’s in control when I place the palm of my hand on his chest and gaze up at him through my lashes. “What would you do if someone saw me naked?”
Without hesitation, he replies, “I’d carve their eyes out.”
9
SKYE
After Arran leaves, and with his permission, I dig through his closet in search of anything that will fit. I slip into a T-shirt and pair of sweatpants. At five foot seven, I’m considered tall for a woman. But even with my height, I have to roll up the bottoms.
While I’m in the closet, I take advantage. He said there are no cameras in here, and I hope it wasn’t a lie, because I really dig. I open drawers and snoop through pockets and on the shelves. I’m not sure what I hope to find, mainly because I’ve never spied on anyone. I’ll take anything that can give me a clue as to where Arran could be keeping his father.
Half an hour later, I’m standing empty-handed in the middle of his suite. Nothing. Not a fucking clue.
Arran said there’s nothing hidden but warned me there are cameras throughout the house. Could he have said that just to keep me from looking in the first place? I mean, who doesn’t keep personal and private things in their homes? Secret things?
For a moment, I wonder if perhaps Clive is being kept here. But just as quickly as the thought enters my mind, I dismiss it. There’s no way Arran would have me freely strolling around his house if I could discover his father.
Either way, I have no choice but to give myself a tour of his lavish home.
First, I explore all six of the bedrooms and the sitting area on the second floor. Although I don’t find anything of interest, it’s easy to tell he doesn’t have company often. Everything seems untouched and unlived-in. No indentions in the perfectly fluffed pillows or anyone’s lingering scent.
The first floor isn’t much different—with a dining room I doubt has been used in months and a formal living room with sofas that seem as inviting as sitting on a cactus.
I go into the kitchen, not because I’m hungry, but because I need to appear to be doing something other than searching. There is food in the pantry, though not much. I sit for a while at the long island counter, taking my time with an almond butter sandwich.
When I’m done, I continue my “tour.” I enter Arran’s study, which is where I’ve been dying to go from the start. If there’s anything at all, it will be here.
I don’t see the cameras, which doesn’t mean they can’t seeme. So I piddle around, slowly making my way around the perimeter, eyeing everything on the bookshelves. Just in case there are any hidden panels, I touch everything, running my palms over books, knickknacks, and the decorative carvings on the moldings.
My heart pounds in my chest when I sit behind his desk, my fingers twitching as I stare at the handles on the drawers. Do I dare open them? Shit, where the hell are the cameras in this place?
Sweat begins to form on my upper lip and nose from the stress. I’m not cut out to be a spy. I’m a fucking law student in distress!
I hook my finger through one of the handles and pull and nearly vomit from the anxiety. When I peer into the drawer and find it empty, I want to scream.
Why did Gideon send me here? What made him think I was the right person for this? Yes, I’m smart. Book smart. This job requires a completely different sort of smarts.
He didn’t send you because of your brains.
I pull open another drawer. It has plain white paper and a stapler.
Gideon didn’t send me here for my brain, I know that now. He sent me here because of my name. Because I’m a Cameron. Did he assume Arran would want my body? Or was that just a bonus?
Opening another drawer, I consider that question. It would have been impossible for Gideon to know with certainty that Arran would be attracted to me. He wouldn’t have bet on that.
I lift my gaze from the desk and look to the spot on the floor where I sat for hours yesterday. Arran watched me from here, wondering what the hell to do with me. Throw me out to meet my doom, keep me. Kill me himself.
Something tells me he hasn’t quite decided on that last one yet.
