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“Can you tell me why that is?”
Mr. Rochester snaps me back to the present, and I’m aghast to realize that I had been so lost in a haze of lust I didn’t hear a single word he’s said. Clearing my throat, I ask, “Err, what’s that again?” Forced to look at him as I speak, I’m once again confronted by his near-naked form and I blurt out, “Don’t you want to change into something?”
“Not really,” Mr. Rochester answers, “since I sleep in the nude.”
Oh. Okay. Did he really have to tell me that?
I bite my lip hard.
And how the hell am I going to forget that now?
“Ms. Reed?”
“Uhh yeah?” Nude. He sleeps in the nude. Nude!
“Did my chauffeur tell you I wanted you here as soon as possible?”
Oh. So that’s what he wants to talk about. “He did tell me,” I confirm quickly, “but I told him I couldn’t be rushed.”
He raises a brow. “Is that so?”
I shrug. “I was hungry.”
“As expected,” Mr. Rochester murmurs, “which was why I had Consuelo prepare dinner for us here.”
Oh.
“I waited a good hour for you, Ms. Reed.”
I blinked in surprise, thinking that was awfully nice of him...until I remember how Sam seemed afraid of him and how he made Consuelo wear that awful uniform all year round—-
Don’t let yourself fall under his spell, Reed. He’s evil! Evil!
Lifting my chin, I said deridingly, “No one asked you to do so.”
His eyes narrowed. “Somehow, I have a feeling this isn’t you just acting out.”
I clapped my hands, saying sarcastically, “Bravo. You guessed it right!”
Sapphire eyes glinted as he warned softly, “Careful, Ms. Reed.”
“Or what?” I demand even as my heart suffers a curious little twinge of sadness. “You’re going to make some petty threat—-”
“If I were truly as petty as you seem to think I am,” Mr. Rochester counters, “you wouldn’t even have a job to go back to—-”
“Don’t worry,” I snapped. “I won’t be surprised if you do fire me, just like you did with that poor guy at the hotel lobby—-” I manage my mouth shut before I can say more, but it’s too late.
Mr. Rochester’s gaze narrows. “So that’s what this is about.”
“I—-”
“And I’m guessing someone’s been telling tales,” Mr. Rochester murmurs silkily. “Sam perhaps?”
“No!” But as soon as I cry the word out, I realize belatedly that I’m just giving myself away.
Shit.
“Maybe it’s time to fire him,” Mr. Rochester says pensively.
I gasp. “You wouldn’t dare!” Or would he?
“Since he can’t keep his mouth shut, it’s worth considering.”
My teeth gnash at the musing tone of his voice. Doesn’t he realize that he’s talking about an old man’s livelihood here?
“And then there’s the fact he’s explicitly gone against my wishes, allowing you to delay your arrival—-”
“You know that’s not his fault,” I hiss.
“All I know is that I asked him to do something,” he counters simply, “and he didn’t do it.”
Aaaargh. I can feel my entire body shaking with rage at how cold and unreasonable he’s acting, and I have to clench my fists tightly so I won’t accidentally slap his face. But even so I can’t help whispering furiously, “You’re unbelievable.”
Mr. Rochester only responds with a low laugh, and I grit my teeth, hating the way the taunting sound ripples down my spine like a caress.
And of course the bastard knows it.
It’s all in those sapphire eyes of his—-
“Bastard.” I just need to say it.
Instead of answering, Mr. Rochester only turns his back to me.
I watch him walk towards the bed, and when he takes a seat on the edge, the tiny towel dips lower and starts to part.
I quickly force my gaze up, not wanting to see what it can further reveal.
“Come here, Ms. Reed.” All at once the mood in the room changes, and the fury coursing through my blood turns into something else. Equally hot, equally passionate, but one of a different flavor—-
Lust.
“Why?” I hear myself ask.
“Why else, Ms. Reed?” Mr. Rochester’s voice is a dark, tempting purr. “You’ve been a naughty little thing, don’t you think?” Sapphire eyes glitter at me, and I dig my nails into my palms as I feel my body responding to his look. “And with naughty little things, something must be done.”
His gaze devours my body, promising me all sorts of wicked things, and I bite back an involuntary moan.
Oh. OH. Oooooooooooh.
“Tell me,” Mr. Rochester invites softly, “what I must do to a naughty little girl like you.”
I shake my head.
“Tell me.”
“I c-can’t.”
“Tell me, Ms. Reed. Tell me or I won’t do it.”
Ah. God.
My breasts ache hard at the threat, nipples poking against the cups of my bra, and my pussy isn’t faring any better. It’s throbbing so madly, and it’s so damn wet my panties are completely drenched—-
And I know there can only be one way – one person – to make this torture stop.
