Page 16 of Moonlit Thorns

Was I that obvious? Oh, god. Even if I was, why is he saying that to me?

But I already know why. He does it to make me uncomfortable and embarrassed. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

Raising my chin a touch, I hold the tray farther out from me, offering it to him. “I can assure you, that’s the last thing I’d want to happen.”

If only because I wouldn’t be satisfied by only his mouth. No, I’d want his hips grinding into me.

I manage to keep my face blank at my errant thought.

His eyes flash with anger, but he says nothing as he grabs the glass off the tray. I let my hand fall to my side, still holding the tray, and my muscles thank me for the relief.

He brings the glass to his lips as he turns to walk away from me, and I get my first look at his ass in his tight black Speedo. I didn’t dare look below his waist when he was facing me. Never in my life did I think I would find a Speedo attractive on a man, but I now see the error of my ways. Because the fabric stretches perfectly over the tight globes of his ass.

There’s no time for the inappropriateness of that thought because he spins back around, scowling. “This tastes like shit. Make it again.” He shoves the glass toward me, and I take it from him. Then he walks over to a lounger, picks up the black towel, and dries himself. “I’ll wait here. Don’t take long. I need to start my day.”

Asher Voss sits and stretches his long legs out in front of him and leans back, eyes closed as though he hasn’t a care in the world.

I frown and make my way back to the house, biting back my irritation. Mrs. Potter oversaw everything I put in, and I made it exactly how she told me to. Did I do something wrong? Did she forget an ingredient?

Thankfully, I remember my way back to the kitchen, and I explain to Mrs. Potter what happened. She doesn’t look pleased, but she doesn’t say anything untoward against Mr. Voss, just sets about showing me how to make it again.

When it’s ready, I head back through the house to the doors that lead to the pool, shoving the tray under one arm and holding the glass in my hand so I can use my free hand to swing the door open.

Setting the drink back on the tray, I walk over to where Mr. Voss sits on the lounger in the same position as I left him. When he doesn’t react at all to my presence, I clear my throat. He opens his eyes, and his gaze finds mine. I refuse to wither under his intense stare.

“I remade it like you asked. Mrs. Potter once again oversaw everything, so you should find it meets your standards.” I give him a saccharine smile.

He doesn’t say a word as he pulls the glass off the tray, bringing it to his lips. After one swallow, he cringes and sets it back down on the tray with more force than necessary. So much so that I almost drop the tray.

“Do it again. Something is wrong.”

My jaw clenches, but I manage to keep myself in check as I turn and go back toward the house.

What an asshole. He’s doing this to get under my skin. And the worst part is that it’s working.

I stomp through the manor back to the kitchen and don’t bother to enlist the help of Mrs. Potter this time. She has better things to do than to be involved in this power play. Every ingredient is added methodically until I’m certain it’s exactly how it’s supposed to be, then I head back out to the pool.

Asher is exactly where he was when I left, reclined on the lounger, eyes closed, the picture of relaxed sophistication. Jerk.

“Here you go, Goldilocks,” I mutter under my breath, not bothering with pleasantries this time. I stand beside him and shove the tray toward him.

His eyes open and narrow at my insolence. But screw him. The contract never said anything about having to be pleasant while I did his bidding. I’ve already lost the battle of pretending he’s not getting to me.

Rather than reaching for the glass, he nods at it as if I’m supposed to pass it to him. With a huff, I clench my teeth and do as he requests.

He eyes me up and down in a way that makes me feel as though he’s sizing me up somehow, and he brings the glass to his lips once more. I wish watching him swallow wasn’t so sexy. Since when is swallowing sexy?

I’m still pissed, but my nipples pebble at the same time. I bite my bottom lip until it hurts to distract myself. I don’t want to be attracted to this man. He’s a total asshole, and he’s way too old for me.

When he pulls the glass away from his lips, he licks them, gaze still on me. “If you keep looking at me like that, you won’t like the consequences.” His voice is clipped and restrained.

Irritation rises to the surface. “The contract didn’t stipulate that I had to perform all my duties with a smile on my face.”

“You’re not looking at me like you’re irritated, Miss Boudreaux.”

My forehead wrinkles. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re looking at me like you want me to fuck you.” He motions to his lap.

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