Page 15 of Cruel Alpha Bully

“Of course,” I reply, grinning. Now I’m thinking of her standing under cold water, slowly lathering up her gorgeous breasts with silky white soap—

“I didn’t really get that hot,” she says casually. She blinks her gorgeous long lashes and gives me a sly side-eye. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one needing treatment.”

“Does that mean you’ll stand in and watch? For… research purposes?” I’d love to put on a show for her.

Let’s see you keep your cool while I slowly lather myself up right in front of you.

“I think I’ve done enough research on the subject,” she says firmly. I can see that playful side of her shutting down, and I don’t want to let it go.

I get up and slide my chair over to her so our bodies are close. She wants me. I can feel it.

“Really?” I whisper it in her ear, letting my breath tickle her cheek.

She turns and glares at me, her eyes glinting like steel. “Really.”

She says it with such finality, I just get up and go to work, leaving my untouched coffee on the table. I mutter a goodbye as I open the door, but she doesn’t answer me.

I can’t stop analyzing everything that happened last night. It really seems like she wants me, but if that was true, would she be able to hide it? My need for her is too strong for me to let her go, but I can’t stand the sight of her misery, either.

My day unfolds as normal in spite of my distracted thoughts. As I break for lunch, I look across the street at the line of stores, and for the first time, I realize that one of them is a music store.

Gina loves music!

I feel like a prime idiot to have overlooked such a thing. She played piano at all the school recitals and at most events. I loved listening to her play.

I hurry home at the end of the day, eager to tell her I might have found her a job. When I come into the kitchen, I’m surprised to find her cooking dinner. She seems very comfortable in the kitchen, and I feel a surge of hope for us. If she can make a gesture like this, surely she wants to stay with me.

“Cooking dinner?” I ask hopefully.

She nods, glancing up at me. Her expression is guarded, and I can’t read it.

“I needed to do something. I was restless just sitting around.”

“Speaking of that,” I say, sitting down, “I think there might be a good job opportunity in town, if you’re interested.”

Gina looks up at me, and I’m struck again by her wide blue eyes. They seem to shine like crystals in the right light.

“Oh?” she replies, sitting down. “There didn’t seem to be when I was in town.”

“There’s a music store across from the gym,” I say, looking for a reaction. “I thought you would like something like that.”

I see a flicker in her eyes, and after a few seconds, she actually smiles. I feel pleasure crackling through me. Not just relief, but a fierce sense of accomplishment that I made her happy.

“Sure,” she says, still grinning. “I’ll take a look tomorrow.”

Over dinner, I get her talking about her life in Denver. I’m amazed by how independent and strong she became once she left our small town.

“The first night I played, I was so nervous, I couldn’t breathe,” she laughs. “It’s such a tiny little club. Like, seriously, you’d be lucky to fit a hundred people in there. But to me, it felt like I was playing at The New York Philharmonic.”

I nod to urge her on, not wanting to cut her off. I keep my mouth busy digging into the stew she made, which is incredibly good.

I didn’t know she could cook. What else about her do I not know?

“Well, my friends practically dragged me onto the tiny stage,” she continued. “I’d had a few glasses of wine, so I couldn’t protest too much. I was so nervous! Then someone called out ‘Camptown Ladies!’ and since I actually know how to play it, I just went for it.”

She pauses for a moment, and I can see she’s caught in the memory. Her cheeks color with a slight blush, and her eyes stare dreamily into the distance.

“After that, I just kept playing. I finished with something I composed myself. I was up there for almost two hours, and no one even noticed! They kept screaming for more.”

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