Page 38 of Little Deaths

“What? How?”

“Remember what I told you—it’s not that difficult to get movie props from movies that weren’t very popular.” He had to hide a smile when she glared at him. “Maybe you have a fan.”

“You think one of my fans is sending me blood and nasty letters?”

“Maybe a depraved one. Hell hath no fury like a fan that’s been spurned.”

She watched as he chopped up the bell pepper, scattering in the green ribbons before shredding the cheese into crumbles with his bare hands. “Speaking from experience?”

He clicked his tongue at her. “How could I have taken these photographs?”

“You could have hired someone. Or blackmailed them.”

Rafe laughed in spite of himself. “Did you say anything controversial on social media lately?”

“No. I barely use it. My agent made me create most of my accounts. She said I needed a presence. Did you go through my medicine cabinet last night?” she asked abruptly. “And my fridge?”

Rafe cut the omelet in half with the spatula and turned off the stove. Her question hovered in the air, unanswered, but he saw her grow tense again as he opened up the correct cabinet and got out the expensive French melamine that she used for normal meals.

“God, I can’t fucking deal with this,” she muttered, rubbing at her temples. “I’m never drinking again.”

“You’re just hungover.” He set one of the frosted green bottles of mineral water down on the table with the plate before selecting another one of his father’s craft beers. “It happens to every twenty-year-old.”

She drifted to the table, staring at the steaming plate a long time before slowly sinking down. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly twenty anymore.”

“I’ve noticed,” he said, and she looked at him, clearly thinking it was an insult. But whatever she saw on his face seemed to make her uneasy because she pushed her hair back and looked away, poking at her omelet absently and watching the juices and the oil bubble out.

“How long are you going to stay in town?”

“That depends on you—and how long you’ll be requiring my services.”

She glanced up. “You still haven’t actuallydoneanything to help me.”

“We never had sex,” he said lightly.

“What do you call what happened in the car then?”

He took another leisurely swallow, letting his eyes drift over her. “A good time?”

“I know what this is.” She stood again and took several angry steps towards him, before halting just out of reach. “You’re punishing me for letting your father kick you out because you never forgave me for—”

“Lying to my father?” He set the bottle down. “No. I didn’t really like that. You didn’t need to tell him I was a drug user to get rid of me. If you’d told him I tried to fuck you, that would have been more than enough. But then he would have been thinking about me every time he fingered your pussy or played with your tits, and you really couldn’t have that, could you?”

“Don’t you dare fucking talk to me like that,” she said.

“I won’t lie,” he said ruthlessly. “It does give me pleasure to see you squirm. And knowing you have to come to me, again and again—that gets me hard. But I actually don’t care about the house. To me, it’s just a place to get what I want. And right now, what I want is you.”

“You’re sick,” she whispered.

He kicked his feet up on the chair she’d vacated. “Why’d you marry him?”

She eyed his legs with obvious annoyance. “He asked me and I said yes.”

“So if I asked you right now, you’d say yes?” Her jaw tightened and he allowed himself a grim smile. “It must have been more than that. Did he get you off?”

“Stop it, Rafe.”

“You were sleeping in separate rooms. It’s a reasonable question. It doesn’t sound like you loved him, so either the sex was good or you were after his money. If you weren’t sleeping in the same bed, well—” He lifted his shoulder. “The money must have been especially disappointing.”

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