He intended to keep her safe. Which for a man of his wealth and influence shouldn’t have been difficult, but the biggest threat came from him. The things he wanted to do to her, the moans he wanted to suck from her. But first things first. Time to wind up his hardball.
“You can no longer work at that club. End of story.”
Stepping back, she crossed her arms over those beautiful breasts and cocked a pissy eyebrow. “I have tonight off, but tomorrow I’ll be going back in and you can’t tell me differently.”
Wanna bet? “You won’t be going in, Emma, because I have bought you. You belong to me.”
Chapter Ten
You belong to me.
Shock gripped Emma, not so much at the words, but at how much she enjoyed their effect on her body. The inherent power and dominance in them. But then she wised up and remembered that she belonged to no one, not even Ray.
There was also the other thing Brody said, equally as disturbing. I have bought you.
“What the hell does that mean? Bought me?”
“I suspected you would be resistant to my efforts to help you.”
She opened her mouth to protest, and he raised the hand of shut-up.
“I researched the going rate for a stripper in Chicago, and armed with that information, I entered a negotiation with your other employer.”
“What? You talked to Ray?”
His look pronounced that to be idiocy. “I sent my lawyer as proxy. Grigson was happy to hire you out.”
That goddamn pimp! “You mean, he sold you to me?”
His expression was all sexy affront. “Hired, Emma. My lawyer tried to find out how much you owe, but Grigson was coy. I’m sure he’s hoping you’re so damn good that I’ll pay anything to keep you. A game of wits has begun.”
So damn good at what? “What did you tell him you wanted me for?” A ridiculous question, perhaps. Why else would a man buy—hire—a woman he’d supposedly met for the first time in a strip club? Ray was truly selling her services as a…hooker. “And how much am I worth to him?”
“It’s not what you’re worth to him. It’s what you are worth to me. But your other employer can only spare you for a week. He seems very attached to you.”
Those last words were grated out. He appeared to be having trouble getting a tether on his emotions.
“The average earnings for a good stripper in that club are approximately one thousand a night. But you’re not a good stripper, Emma. You’re not even a so-so stripper. Grigson was happy to take three for the week.”
“Three dollars?” she choked out, horrified at her low value in the stripper economy.
“Three thousand.”
“You paid three thousand dollars.” The words clotted in her throat. “You paid three thousand dollars to keep me from working there.”
“I managed to get him down from five.” He cupped her jaw, his thumb drawing a sensuous line along the bone. “I’d have paid ten times that to ensure no one ever paws at you again. Understand that you are safe here.”
Safe. Uttered by Brody Kane in that inarguable tone, it sounded like the answer to every dream she’d ever had. Warmth, shelter, quality cat food for Kevin.
But wasn’t she just swapping out one hazard for another? Brody Kane, her boss, the man who conjured mini orgasms with his tantalizing man scent and dweeb glasses, was more of a threat to her physical and mental well-being than ever. And then there was the little matter of going over her head and “hiring” her services. Even Pretty Woman streetwalker Julia Roberts was allowed to negotiate her week in luxury with Richard Gere.
“Maybe this is how you solve problems in Texas, Brody, but you can’t just hire me without discussion. And after you already pulled that stunt last night when you paid to keep me from working the rest of my shift. I’m not your property.”
His hand still shaped her jaw. “If I’d talked to you about it first, what would you have said?”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
She jerked out of his grasp. Infuriating man. “This was—is—my decision to make.”
Those eyes heated to molten silver. “I won’t apologize for using my resources to keep you safe. Trust that I did it with your best interests at heart.”
Bought her, hired her, whatever. Any reservations she had about not sharing her sister’s problems with Brody vanished in that moment. Fessing up now would toggle Mr. I’m-the-Decider’s control switch to on. He’d go against her wishes, crush her agency. This was Emma’s mess; she would fix it.
“This penthouse is very big,” he said, sensing her discomfort, though he likely thought it was because of the seedy way this had come about, rather than his high-handed behavior. He had bought her time. Her services. To the casual observer, that looked like a pay-for-play arrangement. There was no such thing as a free lunch—or a tin of cat food.
“You’re standing in the middle of ten thousand square feet. We could go years without finding each other,” he continued into the taut silence, like a weird negotiation where he was ceding primacy in the power exchange to her. He may have bought her. She may belong to him in some figurative sense, but that wouldn’t obligate her to pay for her safety on her knees or her back. Her heart bounced hard enough to make her rethink this.
Kevin had curled up in a ball under one of the kitchen island’s high stools, already cementing his place in the new world order. Her cat needed this haven more than she did.
Do it for Kevin.
She’d take the death-row reprieve Brody offered. A week to get her head together and figure out the next move, time to get Daisy out and run.
“So what kind of roommate do you make?”
Triumph conquered Brody’s face. “I would make a very demanding roommate, but as a penthousemate, I can guarantee you’ll hardly ever see me.”
That should have made her happy, but her heart twinged. “You mean I won’t come across you dancing to Taylor Swift in your tighty-whities?”
“God, no,” he said with great gravity. “I wear boxer briefs.”
She laughed, the sound strange on her lips. It had been so long since she had wanted to laugh. Hard to have a sense of humor when your life was circling the drain.
“No one at work can know I’m here. That I’m mooching.”
“Emma, you’re hardly mooching.”
“You haven’t seen how much I eat.”
His lips moved imperceptibly. “I won’t compromise your pristine reputation at work.”
She thumped him. Not such a good idea to touch his amazingly resistant chest muscles. Desire shivered through her. “I know you think that’s funny coming from the failed stripper—”
“‘Failed’ being the operative word.”
“But it’s just another line I don’t want to blur.”
“Right. We seem to excel at blurring the lines. Or blasting through them and leaving the rubble in the rearview mirror.”
She smirked. “Bye-bye, line.”
“While you and Kevin are my secret guests, I’ll be a gentleman.” The way he said “gentleman” sounded like he meant the exact opposite. Along with everything else she had to worry about, she might have seriously underestimated Brody Kane. “And you’ll stay here. No more arguments.”
Ceding control should have been difficult, so why did it seem like the easiest thing in the world to say, “One week”?
It emerged from her lips, not as surrender but a challenge. One week to gather her wits, work up a plan, and resist the sensory onslaught of the man before her.
…
One week.
Wondering if he was mad, Brody stepped into the shower the morning after he had set Emma up in the bedroom the farthest away from his. As if thousands of square feet could minimize the temptation she presented. Sure, the penthouse was large, and her imprint was tiny, but that meant squat when the woman you had fantasized about and brought to blistering orgasm—who happened to work for you—was now living under your roof.
Wearing his clothes.
He had sent the suit and underwear she’d worn into his penthouse out to be dry-cleaned, which left them with a clothing problem. While she made phone calls and scanned apartment listings, she wore his Texas A&M tee (no bra) and a pair of his black silk pajama bottoms, held up on her shapely hips by one of his ties.
Pretty damn sexy.
She would have to buy new clothes soon, but having seen Emma’s taste in suits, he was tempted to leave the status at quo a little longer. Torture himself for a little longer.
Should have set her up in a hotel, idiot. God knew that would have been the sane option, and he could have afforded it, but he imagined a lot of hotels had rules about cats, or cats with demon, clothes-destroying tendencies.
Right, and you could have paid a hefty deposit to hedge against any damage, Kane.
He could have, but he chose not to. He wanted her here, where he could keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t return to that club. Where other men would ogle and slaver and touch her. Not on his watch. She was safe here—and to ensure he didn’t get any ideas of the kinky variety, he would take care of business with his right hand.
There was something about the steamy spray, not to mention the fact that she was under his roof and protection, that instantly turned him hard. The guys had noticed his attraction, or that he made every effort humanly possible not to notice her. They ragged him about his “crush,” especially when he insisted she become his PA as they expanded and took on more staff. She was his, and sometimes, his brain took that to its illogical conclusion.