On His Terms(32)
She nodded even though his back was to her, and then licked her lips. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep.”
He looked at her over his shoulder. “Can’t sleep without me, huh?” he said with a straight face.
She crossed her arms over her chest and breathed out. “You’re conceited.” Although he was right.
He smiled widely, ran the towel one last time over his face, and then tossed it aside.
“Yeah, I can be, but I think deep down you’re into it.”
Sorcha didn’t even give him a response to that.
“You hungry?”
She shrugged. “Kind of, but I’m not really a morning person, even when you request my presence at the office at the ass crack of dawn.”
He chuckled deeply. “How about I take you to get some breakfast at a little bakery, and then take you shopping for a gown for the party in a couple of days?”
She was a bit taken back by what he just said. “You want to take me shopping?”
“Is it hard to believe that I want to make you look nice for when I take you out?” He lifted an eyebrow.
She would have been a little girly at the prospect that he wanted her to look nice, but she knew under that saccharine intent that he didn’t want her wearing her “rags” to his high-class and rich and elegant events. “I brought some dresses that I can wear. No need for you to spend unnecessarily on me.”
He was silent for a second and then moved closer to her. The scent of his clean sweat filled her nose when he was just a few feet from her. He reached out and grabbed her around the nape, pulled her forward so she stumbled right into his chest, and claimed her mouth. For several seconds he kissed her, stroking her with his tongue, and making her taste the saltiness of his perspiration. She grabbed his biceps, loved the heat and wetness that covered his skin, and couldn’t stop herself from moaning. She moved her hands over his chest, felt the bumps and ridges of his muscles under her palm, and continued her downward path. But before she could let her need and strength at the moment take control he was pulling away from her.
“I want to dress you up, Sorcha.” He stared at her. “I’m sure what you have is fine, perfect for the evening, too, but I want to do this.” There was this flesh of something that moved across his face, covered his eyes, and made her feel … special to this man. How could being with him for such a short time make her blind to who he really was? “I want to make you look stunning, want to have everyone else know you’re mine—”
“You want to dress me like your doll, make me look like I have just as much money as you do.” She stated it without question. She saw the way he clenched his jaw, but Sorcha wasn’t about to bite her tongue with him, or take back what she had just said. It was the truth.
He was silent for a moment, and she knew she’d struck a nerve with him. “You don’t have a choice, Sorcha. I’m already getting tired of you not realizing or understanding that.”
“Oh, I remember just fine. I signed the contract, right? But then again you like my mouthy little attitude.”
He turned from her, and she felt that euphoric feeling she had inside of her leave. “I’ll be ready to go in thirty minutes.” He looked at her again over her shoulder. “You can watch television upstairs and wait for me.”
And just like that he dismissed her.
The asshole.
Chapter Twelve
Sorcha looked at herself in the mirror of the department store and cringed. Rian had taken her to this little bakery and coffee shop on the outskirts of town, one that was quaint and not a place she’d think he would frequent. And she meant that in the best way, because it resembled a mom and pop establishment, and one that she would have gone to alone. The Dutch style pastries had been fresh and homemade and the coffee bursting with flavor. They had sat at this little wooden table with an uneven leg, and it had wobbled anytime they had leaned on it. It had been nice though, and she had liked watching Rian interact with Ingrid and her elderly husband, Petre. He had even greeted them in Dutch, and she wondered if he spoke the language fluently, or if he had picked up the language from coming here a lot. She hadn’t asked though, because the silence that had been between them had been comfortable, and … nice.
But now she was at the small boutique that had closed up for Rian’s appearance strictly. It was weird being in this ritzy part of the city, going into a shop and seeing clothing more than her bi-weekly paycheck, and weirder yet that she was trying them on. The dress she had on in specific was this deep green one that was cut low, showed off her breasts, which looked huge by the way, and was short enough that she knew that if she bent over she’d give everyone a crotch shot.