Page 40 of Reluctantly His

And I didn’t give a shit.

This wasn’t just about being cockblocked by her last night, although I was hardly accustomed to such occurrences from a woman.

She had been right to stop me.

What the fuck had I been thinking?

She wasn’t some bar-fly whore to be fucked against a bathroom wall.

Although the green room sofa wasn’t quite that bad, it was far below how a woman of Charlotte’s caliber should be treated.

She wasn’t just any woman.

Not Charlotte. She didn’t just fall at my feet. She demanded my attention, my infatuation. Then she decided how far we went. No other woman had ever had that power over me, and I couldn’t say I liked it, but I did respect it.

And this had nothing to do with blue blood versus blue collar or her being an heiress.

This was about her. And her only.

And the deference I should have shown her sweet demeanor, intelligence, and talent.

At least, that was what I had been contemplating earlier while drinking my morning coffee, waiting for Charlotte to emerge from her bedroom.

Things had changed.

The anger I’d experienced last night was nothing compared to the pure rage coursing through my blood now.

I should have been relieved. I knew that was what I had initially asked for. That I was never cut out to be her babysitter, regardless of whether the threat was real or not.

But I didn’t want to see her marry some privileged prick, either.

I stared at my phone in disbelief.

It didn’t make sense.

Why wouldn’t she tell me? Why would she have kissed me the way she did if she was supposed to marry someone else? Why would she let my hands explore her body if she was meant to belong to someone else?

Was this the real reason she’d stopped me last night? Her dalliance with the help had gone too far for the bride-to-be.

This was the brutal reminder I needed about who exactly Charlotte Manwarring was.

She wasn’t a sweet, simple girl. She wasn’t even just a talented musician. She was a member of an elite class, a born and bred frigid bitch that used the people around her without any regard to who or what they wanted or needed.

My fingers curled into a fist.

As with any man with a military background, I wasn’t suited for introspection, mulling over questions with no answers.

Action brought answers.

I marched upstairs, looking for her.

CHAPTER 16

REID

It didn’t take me long to figure out where she was.

I just had to follow the angelic, sorrowful sounds of her cello.

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