Page 11 of Bought
This coat needs to go.
The steel in her gaze loses its edge as I close the gap between us. Her collarbone peeks out from the collar of the coat, and I run my fingertip along the exposed flesh just below it.
I tilt my head closer. “Where were we?” Before she can answer, I tug the belt loose and push the coat over her shoulders, letting it slide to the floor.
“My turn.” She steps back just enough to reach behind her, unclasp her bra, and slide it down her arms. No hesitation. No shame. Her eyes stay fixed on mine. She stands before me—bare from the waist up, chin tilted, gaze locked. Not an invitation.
A dare.
I don’t move. I don’t touch. I watch, and in this moment, I’m certain this is not a woman I can buy or tame.
Already, I don’t think I’ll be able to forget her.
Her head tips to the side. “Am I the only one undressing?” An invitation.
Or a command?
Spend an hour with me, and she’ll be begging.
A few more buttons and I begin to slide my shirt sleeves down my arms. Her eyes stay on the bare skin of my chest, as if she wants to reach out and mimic the motion with her hands. She doesn’t.
There is so much tension in the air between us, hot and pulsing. I can’t bear it. I close the gap in a single step. My hands slide up her arms, feeling, memorizing, until my thumbs rest just below her collarbones, wondering why I’m so attracted to this part of her.
Is it the pulse that races beneath her skin?
Her skin is warm under my palms.
Running a finger over her peaked nipple, I watch her body respond. “You’re trouble.”
She counters, “You paid for trouble.”
“No. I didn’t. I paid for an innocent virgin.” My mouth curves in something not quite a smile. “I paid for compliance.”
“Then you hired the wrong woman.”
My hands move lower, over her ribs and down to her hips. I feel the faint ridge of an old scar on her lower back, realizing I’m not the only one here scarred. I wonder who left their mark, and if they’re still breathing. If she were mine, they wouldn’t be.
That’s a dangerous thought. I push it away.
“One night,” I remind us both. I brush my knuckles over her cheekbone. “You’re not scared of me.”
“You don’t know what I’ve seen,” she says.
A rough laugh escapes me. It’s been years since anyone could look me in the eye and say that without trembling. It's addictive.
She’s addictive.
“Take off your shoes,” I say, aiming to make her as vulnerable as possible.
Eyes on mine, she slides them off, kicking them away, one by one. I look down at her. She’s much smaller than she seemed when she first walked into this room.
I raise one hand to grip her jaw, tilting her head back. “I could do anything I want to you, and you couldn’t stop me.”
Her lips part as she looks up at me, and for a moment, I expect her to be afraid.
“Try me.” Defiance sparks in her eyes.
The words hit me like a shot of adrenaline, and I know I’ll wake up thinking about her.
