Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
A search of the bathroom cabinets turned up a pair of trimming scissors, and I went to work cutting the clothes into bits. It pleased me more than it should have as I thought about the possibilities. How many pairs of these clothes could he have? And how many ways could I find to destroy them?
Knowing he’d be back to retrieve me when the ten minutes were up, I brushed my hair and sat on the counter, wrapped in a towel while I waited. Every second felt like a minute, and when he finally came back, my nerves were coiled so tight I worried how I might react when he inevitably exploded. But he didn’t. He walked into the bathroom as cool as ever, eyeing the discarded shreds on the floor.
“I take it you don’t like the clothes.”
“You get a gold star for that,” I chirped.
It really wasn’t smart to provoke him, but there was an innate need within me to know the limits with him. How far could I push him before he reacted? What would he do when he got really mad? These things were important. These things defined the boundaries of my life with him for the next two years.
Lucian stooped down to pick up the discarded clothes. I’d only ever seen him in a suit, but today, he was wearing jeans and a tee shirt. It was a different look for him. A casual look. I couldn’t make sense of this guy. He was completely loaded, yet he acted like none of it mattered to him.
“If you didn’t like the clothes, all you had to do was say so.” He discarded them into the trash bin.
I was pretty sure it was a trick, but I played along anyway. “Well, I don’t like them. I want my clothes back.”
“I told you that you have to earn them,” he answered. “And one thing you should know about me, Gypsy, is that I never go back on my word.”
I looked up at his dark eyes, trying to figure out what my next move should be. But truthfully, I didn’t have one. I refused to degrade myself by cleaning his house, yet I knew there was no reasoning with him.
“Hand me your towel,” he ordered.
I squeezed my arms down around it, prepared to fight. “No.”
He cocked his head to the side, examining me. “No?”
“No,” I repeated, but this time I sounded less sure.
All I had on beneath was a pair of underwear. Last night, I made it through unscathed, but it was apparent he had no intentions of allowing that to continue. This was what I’d feared all along. He would take me against my will.
I couldn’t let it happen. I wouldn’t. But when he stepped into my space and pried my fingers off the cotton, there was little I could do but yelp as we struggled for dominance over the towel. Ultimately, as he had with most of our disputes so far, he won.
I slapped my hands over my breasts and took a step back, glaring at him. “You aren’t touching me.”
His eyes didn’t leave my face. “Did I say that I was?”
My lips slammed shut, and something in his voice made me shiver. The hammering pulse in his neck alerted me to the fact that my remark set him on edge. I was finally tiptoeing a boundary with him, and I desperately wanted to retreat. He had never looked so foreboding, and I didn’t know what would happen next.
“You should think very carefully before you make snap judgments about someone,” he said.
I stared past him to avoid the intensity in his eyes. “Usually, my judgments are pretty accurate.”
“I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.” He folded the towel in his hands and wedged it beneath his arm, and the ritual seemed to bleed away some of the tension in his body. “I gave you my word. But I did promise that I would punish you, and I intend to do so now.”
I couldn’t prepare myself for either fight or flight because he walked out of the bathroom without another word. I stood there dumbly, trying to determine what course of action to take before I trailed after him. But I stopped short at the sight of him emerging from the closet with a pair of my Jimmy Choos.
I gulped in a breath, my fingers trembling as I moved toward him. “What are you doing?”
“I told you not to use foul language,” he said. “You’re more intelligent than that.”
Desperation left me to chase after him as he carried my favorite pair of shoes down the hall and into the kitchen.
“I didn’t!”
“You called me a bastard in the shower,” he said calmly. “I warned you about speaking that way. Maybe next time you will remember it.”
Horror froze me to the spot as he tossed the shoes into the sink and then unceremoniously dumped bleach all over them.