Page 10 of Wrangled By the Minotaur
“You mean like an assistant?” she asks carefully. “Help with your business affairs?”
“No.” I lean back in my chair, forcing myself to continue, to not seem as unconfident as I feel. “I mean you’ll belong to me. For three months.”
The color drains from her face, then rushes back in a deep flush. “I… I don’t understand.”
“You’ll live in my house. Manage my domestic life. Accompany me to town events as my woman.” I keep my voice level, matter-of-fact, though my heart is racing. “Help me transform from ‘terrifying outsider’ to ‘Frankie Baker’s man.’”
She’s staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”
“I want you to be mine,” I correct, and there’s nothing pretend about the possessiveness in my voice. “The town will finally accept me if they thinkyou’vechosen me. And they’ll know it’s real because you’ll be living here. Sharing my space.”
“Sharing your space,” she repeats slowly.
“Completely.” I let that word carry all its implications. “Including my bedroom. Because in a small town like Sunnybrook, people will know if we’re faking it.”
The silence stretches between us, and I can see her mind racing, trying to process what I’m suggesting. It’s outrageous and possessive and probably slightly unhinged. The kind of arrangement that should send her running.
But I can smell her arousal, sharp and sweet beneath the nervousness. I can see the way she’s gripping her napkin, the rapid flutter of her pulse in her throat.
She’s not running.
“Three months,” she says finally.
“Three months.”
“And then?”
“Well, that should be enough time to have warmed the town up to me. Then we can split amicably, make a big production about how there are no hard feelings between us. The town can go on trusting me now that they finally gave me a chance, and you can go back to your life, debt-free and with enough money to expand your operation however you want.” I lean forward, letting her feel the full weight of my attention. “Or, after these three months, you can choose to stay. It’ll be your decision entirely.”
She’s quiet for so long I start to wonder if I’ve pushed her too far.
Has the monster in me shown through too clearly?
“This is crazy,” she whispers.
“Yes.”
“People will be scandalized. Sweet little Frankie Baker, living in sin with the town monster.”
“Let them be scandalized. Once they get the shock out of their system, they’ll remember why they adore you, and they’ll assume there must be a good reason you trust me.”
She looks up at me then, and I see something shift in her expression. Something that looks almost like hunger.
“What if I say no?”
“Then you go home tonight, and we pretend this conversation never happened.” The words cost me more than I expected. “I’ll find another way to help you with the foreclosure. I have contacts who might be able to assist, though that’s less of a sure bet.”
“And if I say yes?”
I set my utensils aside and stand. “Then you pack a bag tomorrow and move into my home.”
She pushes back from the table slightly, and I catch the way her throat works as she swallows hard, weighing her options.
The smart choice against the dangerous one. Security against scandal. Safety against whatever this dangerous energy is that’s crackling between us.
“I need to think about it,” she says finally.
“Of course.” I move around the table to pull out her chair, noting how she shivers when I lean close. “But don’t think too long. The foreclosure won’t wait.”
