Page 53 of Resisting Royal

I nearly choked. Never in my life had I owned a four hundred dollar dress. “What? Where do you shop? Forty dollars is my max.”

“You shouldn’t have a max. I said you have no limit.” He took the bags from Ernesto, thanked him, and then dismissed him.

I removed my heels, a habit that his plush carpet encouraged, then turned. “I thought four hundred dollars was outrageous.”

He laughed. “Four hundred dollars is pocket change.”

Well, damn. Just how loaded was he? I bent over and picked up my heels, Royal’s hand already taking them from me as he used his head to gesture me up the stairs. I did as he suggested, and he followed behind me, not even seeming winded by all the weight and bags he carried up.

When we got to the room, he set the bags down and began taking everything out, laying the hung items on the bed and untangling the accessories as he unloaded them. “What are you doing?”

“Checking out my purchases,” he informed me.

I stared. “Why?”

He made a gesture of indifference. “Curiosity.”

“Why are you so curious about what clothes I wear? You know I’m not going to dress head to toe in the world’s skimpiest jumpsuit to your business meeting,” I pointed out. Sure, we didn’t know each other well, but he had been around me enough to know no boobs would hang out, my ass would be covered, and a pair of heels would be worn. I was a simple girl with simple likes.

“You sure have a lot of whys in you tonight.” He pulled out a navel length necklace, then eyed me questioningly.

“It goes with a dress.” I paused, reading his face, and knowing his thoughts. “No, that’s not a metaphor for naked. It goes with the black one.”

He grinned. “I’m that translucent?”

“Crystal clear.” He reached for the other bag, and my hand shot out and snagged it from him. “This is not for you.”

The fact that I was protective of a bag raised some curiosity. “What’s in there?”

“Personal items.”

He snatched the bag back from me. “Please, your tampons are next to my shaving supplies, is there anything more personal than that?”

He had a point; I still didn’t want him to know what I purchased. . . just in case. I wasn’t planning on caving, but I’d be the first person to admit that he made me weak. I hated it. I despised him for his allure and the addiction he caused. But he made me vulnerable. At a distance, I could hate him. I could deny I wanted him and resist his calling, but once he touched me . . . I was gone. I forgot all logical thought, and I fell into him, ready to rub against his leg like a bitch in heat.

He took my real choice away. He pushed me to be his. He forced me to leave my home. And when I looked at him as he’s bent over my stuff, his long lashes dusting his cheeks as his fingers gently rub the lace of my dress, the unopened bag still in his hand, I felt anything but the hate I knew I should have toward him. Lust. He detonated lust from my very core, and I didn’t want to be weak and give in. Not when he took everything he ever wanted from me, but I feared at some point, the resistance I was clinging to would snap.

“I don’t feel comfortable with you touching my garments.” It was a lame excuse, but I wasn’t really sure what to say.

His grip on the bag tightened, and he made a humming sound in his throat before swallowing. “Are the contents of this bag to wear under dresses such as these?” I nodded, the sound of plastic rustling intensifying as it crumpled in his fingers. “Are any of these made out of lace or satin?”

“Possibly.” I was actually enjoying the look on his face.

He dropped the bag like it was formed out of scorching coal and stalked toward me. “I won’t open the bag, Bianca. I like surprises, but I will see it this weekend. Do you understand me?” He was so close I was almost drunk with the smell of his cologne, the spicy musk surrounding us both. I nodded, and his eyes softened. “Good. I have work tonight. We leave early Saturday morning.”

He pulled away and stalked out without looking back.

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