My fiancé was here to check on his prisoner bride.
“You have your first dress fitting tomorrow. Go to bed.”
From my peripheral, I could see he was not wearing a suit. A white V-neck shirt that highlighted his tan, lean but muscled body and dark denim that clung low on his narrow hips. He looked nothing like a senator, acted nothing like a politician, and the fact I couldn’t box him this way or the other unsettled me.
“I’m filling out my application to Northwestern,” I replied, feeling heat coating my face and neck again. Why did it feel like he dipped me in liquid fire every time his eyes were on me? And how could I make it stop?
“You’re wasting your time.”
My head snapped up, and I granted him the eye contact he’d been looking for.
“You promised,” I growled.
“And I shall deliver.” He pushed off my doorframe and stepped into my room, sauntering toward me. “You don’t need to fill out an application. My people have already taken care of that. You’re about to become a Keaton.”
“Are Keatons too precious to fill out their own college applications?” I could barely keep myself from snapping at him.
He plucked the documents from my desk, balled and slam-dunked them in the trash can by my desk. “It means you could’ve drawn dicks in all shapes and sizes on the document, and you’d still get in.”
I shot up from my chair, putting some much-needed distance between us. I couldn’t risk another kiss. My lips still stung every time I thought of his rejection.
“How dare you!” I thundered.
“You seem to be asking this question a lot. Care to change your tune a little?” He shoved one hand into the front pocket of his jeans and picked up my cell phone on my desk, scrolling through it with his thumb with easy monotony. My parents forbade me from having a passcode. When my mom gave me back my phone, protecting my privacy was low on my to-do list, seeing as the majority of it had already been taken anyway.
“What are you doing?” My voice turned eerily calm and shocked at the same time.
His eyes were still on my phone. “Go ahead. Ask again. How dare I, right?”
I was too stunned to form words. The man was a savage in a suit. He taunted and aggravated me at every turn. My father was a stubborn jerk, but this guy…this guy was the devil who returned to my nightmares every night. He was hell wrapped in a heavenly rugged mask. He was fire. Gorgeous to the eye, lethal to the touch.
“Give me my phone right now.” I threw my open palm in his direction. He waved a dismissive hand my way, still reading my text messages. Angelo’s text messages.
“You can’t do that.” I launched at him, raising my arms to reach the phone. He raised his arm, grabbed me by the waist with his other hand, capturing both my wrists and plastering my hands to his lower stomach over his shirt.
“Move, and you’ll see what your anger does to me. A friendly hint: it thrills me and in more ways than you’d like to know.”
A part of me wanted to defy him so he would push my hands down. I’d never touched a man down there before, and the idea of it excited me. My life was already in shambles. My morals were the last things I’d clung to, and frankly, my fingers were tired from holding them.
I moved on principal, and he smirked, scrolling down my texts and tightening his hold on my wrists. He didn’t make good on his promise to put my hands on his manhood.
“Are you going to answer lover-boy?” he asked conversationally.
“None of your business.”
“You’re about to become my wife. Everything about you is my business. Especially boys with blue eyes and smiles I don’t trust.”
He dropped my hands, pocketed my phone, and cocked his head, scanning me through his scorn. I wanted to cry. After yesterday’s humiliation, not only did he not apologize, but he also taunted me twice today—both by throwing my application in the trash and by reading through my messages.
He confiscated my phone as though I was his daughter.
“My phone, Wolfe. Give it.” I took a step back. I wanted to hurt him so bad, it hurt to breathe. He stared me down, calm and quiet.
“Only if you delete Bandini from your contacts.”
“He’s a childhood friend.”
“Out of curiosity, do you fuck all your childhood friends?”
I flashed him a sugary smile, “Afraid I’ll run off and have sex with Angelo again?”
The tip of his tongue darted out to lick his lower lip sinisterly, “Me? No. But he should be. Unless, of course, he wants his dick cut off.”
“You sound like a mobster, not a future president.” I jutted my chin out.
“Both are positions of extreme power executed differently. You’d be surprised how many things they have in common.”