Page 43 of Bitter Arrangement

I sputter, laughing at the audacity. “Isn’t it dangerous out here?”

“You’re safe with me.”

“Yeah, right, I’m sure I’ll be safe with your dick between my legs.” I shiver at the thought.

He licks his lips. “That’s the safest place in the world for you: sweating and writhing in my lap.”

I roll my eyes and look out the window while inwardly my core’s throbbing with every massive beat of my heart.

This man’s got a dirty mouth and way too much confidence, and the worst part is, I think I like it.

Which is bad. The second this overprotective asshole realizes his whole dominant dickhead routine kind of works on me, he’s going to be absolutelyinsufferable.

Better keep these feelings to myself.

Chapter16

Alexan

Iget down on my knees in the closet and shift the massive safe into position. I keep thinking about Riley touching my leg yesterday, the little cocky smirk on her lips, the way it completely faded away when I called her bluff, and how she pretended like I didn’t exist for the rest of the night.

The woman’s going to kill me.

And not just because she got me involved with the Mantis.

I sit back on my haunches when I’m done and admire my handiwork. It’s not quite done—I need to bolt it to the floor—but for now, it’s fine. I stand and stretch, cracking my back, and saunter off to find my wife.

Riley’s in the kitchen cleaning her dishes from the last few nights. It takes all my willpower not to wash them myself, since she lets the stuff pile up in the sink until there’s basically no room left and she’s got no other choice. I wash my own and it wouldn’t be a huge deal, but to hell with that.

I already pick up after the girl. Random half-filled glasses, trash from deliveries, occasionally actual food caught between the couch cushions, her makeup left sprawled all over the bathroom sink. If I’m a little bit too obsessed with neatness, she’s a little too fascinated with her own dirty sprawl.

“Nothing I love more than a beautiful woman cleaning up after herself,” I purr as I breeze into the kitchen.

She shoots me a dirty look. “Don’t be sexist.”

“How’s that sexist?”

“You just want women to cook and clean. You know, barefoot and pregnant and in the kitchen where they belong.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Is that what I said?”

“It’s what you implied.”

I lean in closer and put a hand on the small of her back. When she tries to jerk away, I pin her against the counter with my body. “You’re so fucking wrong,” I say softly, glaring at her, annoyed that she thinks I’m just some idiot caveman that wants to shackle her up like some domestic sex slave.

“Sorry, but no part of me believes you.” She leans in close, pushing her hips into mine. “For example, you’re doing it right now.”

My jaw tightens and I force myself to step back. “I have something for you,” I say, already feeling like my surprise has been ruined.

“Yeah? What’s that? A mop and an apron?”

“You’d look fucking good in nothing but an apron,” I say sharply. “But this isn’t for me. Come on, it’s upstairs.”

I march off without waiting. If she follows, great. If not, I’ll take a shower and be done with this frustrating woman.

The curiosity must’ve been too much because her footsteps shadow me. I lead her to the closet and gesture inside.

She hesitates, her eyes straying down to the safe sitting beneath her clothes. “What’s that?”

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