You Don't Own Me(69)

Oh God!





TWO




Layla

Cold fear races down my spine. My pulse accelerates wildly while my mind jerks into overdrive. Maybe he didn’t see me lift his tiepin. Perhaps I could just slip past him. I could pretend I am lost and that I didn’t realize I was in his bedroom. Maybe. Just maybe. Very deliberately, I place my forefinger on the edge of the drawer, shunt it closed, and turn around to face him. Some men have looks, others have charm. BJ has presence. An edgy, almost menacing presence. The moment he appears in a room he owns it. He changes the atmosphere the way a grizzly coming into a room does.

He is wearing a silver hoop in his right ear, a black T-shirt, army surplus camouflage trousers, and combat boots. He is half-pirate, half-smuggler. He remains perfectly still. Danger and power ooze out of him. My heart starts to hammer inside my chest. I can do this, I think defiantly. I’m not scared of you. I’m an Eden. Edens eat Pilkingtons for breakfast. Straightening my back and keeping my expression cool, I begin to walk toward him. I pray he cannot see my legs wobbling.

When I am five feet away I see his eyes. They are pools of gleaming black tar. No light there. They are flat and utterly impenetrable. For a fraction of a second I have the strangest impression of sexual tension. But of course, that is a trick of my overwhelmed emotions. His mouth is set in a forbidding line. I have seen it stretched in laughter, but never full on. Always from afar, by accident, and only from the corners of my eyes.

A foot away from his looming form I stop. He really is so damn huge. The scar on the top of his left cheek appears alive in the firelight. I swear no man has ever looked more inhospitable, or made me feel more intimidated.

‘Sorry,’ I say tightly. ‘I got lost and wandered in here by mistake. I guess I better get back to the party.’

He does not step aside to let me through. He is so big, so meaty. He is like a predatory animal.

I clench my handbag tensely. ‘Will you please move?’

‘You want to pass? Squeeze past,’ he suggests mildly, his face devoid of any expression.

‘How dare you? I’ll call my brother,’ I threaten. Attack is always the best form of defense.

Something flashes in his eyes. I know then that I’ve made a mistake. I should have been more humble. It would have made my escape easier. He slips his large hand into his trouser pocket and produces a phone.

‘That’s a good idea.’ His voice is silky with warning. ‘Call him. Last time I looked he was with his pregnant wife. I believe your mother was sitting nearby, too. They can all rush up here to my bedroom and save their precious little princess.’

‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ I ask contemptuously.

His eyebrows rise. ‘What the hell is wrong with me? You’re a thief, Layla Eden.’

My cheeks flame, but I am not giving up so easily. ‘I’m not,’ I cry hotly.

‘Then you have nothing to fear. Call your brother,’ he invites.

I bite my lip. ‘Look. I’m sorry I was in your bedroom. I’ll just go downstairs and we won’t spoil anybody else’s night, OK?’

‘OK.’

My mouth drops open at my effortless victory. I close it shut. ‘Thank you,’ I say softly and add a smile of gratitude.

‘After you admit that you stole and … I’ve punished you.’

A bark of incredulity explodes out of my mouth. ‘What?’

‘It’s only fair. You make a mistake, you pay for it.’

My eyes narrow suspiciously. I knew it. I’ve always known it. He is no friend of our family. This is the proof I have been looking for—that he is just low, low, low. He has always been low and he will always be low. Enough even to blackmail me! Perhaps he wants me to reveal some of Jake’s business secrets. ‘What kind of punishment are you talking about?’

‘You should have what you’ve never had … a spanking.’ His tone is terrifyingly pleasant.

I stare at him in disbelief. The idea is too ridiculous to contemplate. I laugh.

He doesn’t. ‘I fail to see the comedy.’

The laugh dies in my throat. ‘You can’t seriously mean to spank me?’ I ask incredulously. I feel a chill invade my body.

He raises a challenging eyebrow.

‘You seriously mean to spank me.’ I repeat stupidly.

‘The problem with you, Layla Eden, is that you were spoiled when you were young. Your Da and Jake were much too much in love with you to exercise any kind of discipline over you. As a consequence, you’ve grown up an unruly weed,’ he explains patiently.

‘How dare you—?’ I begin.

But he interrupts me coldly. ‘This is getting boring. The choice is simple: you apologize and submit to a spanking or we call your brother—or, if you prefer, your mother.’