The temptation of my work taunts like the devil, using my misery against me. Just a simple surrender, granting Miles permission to touch me, and he’ll allow me back into my studio—allow me blessed time spent clothed and away from him.
But I don’t want to give in, and I’m far from ready to make this decision. Before he comes out of the bathroom, I begin breakfast, deciding on pancakes, since it’s one of the few things I know how to make, and it seems like an appropriate breakfast for a birthday.
I’m flipping the last cake as he enters the kitchen, his hair damp and uncombed from his shower. After sharing space with him for a week, I thought I’d be used to his constant nudity, but every time his presence catches me off-guard, a part of me jolts as if I’m seeing him sans-clothing for the first time.
“Perfect timing,” he says, brushing past me, his warm arm grazing mine. “I’ll take breakfast in the study.”
“You’re working on your birthday?” I tamp down the hope that he’ll be too busy to pay attention to me.
“I don’t require fanfare for my birthday. The only thing I want, Novalee, is the answer to my question.” His gaze darts over my perky nipples before landing on the golden pancakes. “And some of those. They smell delicious.”
He exits the kitchen before I can reply. Rather than prolong the inevitable, I top the hotcakes with sliced strawberries and whipped cream before serving him in the study.
“Thank you,” he says.
“You’re welcome. Happy Birthday, Mr. Sinclair.”
He raises a brow. “There’s no need to be so formal.”
Sometimes, I address him that way to highlight the fact that despite my forced nudity and sleeping arrangements, we’re still strangers.
“Do you have any plans for today?” I ask, bypassing the subject of formality.
“Only one.” He takes a bite of his hotcakes and takes his time chewing, eyes on me as he lets his answer dangle between us.
A hanging threat.
And I realize I fell right into his trap.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me then, I should freshen up for the day.” I turn and head for the open door, nervousness fluttering in my chest.
“Not so fast, my queen.”
I stall two feet from my escape, but I don’t turn around. “I really do need to shower.”
“You can shower as soon as you give me your answer.”
“The answer to what?”
“Don’t be obtuse, Novalee. Do I have permission to touch you?”
Folding my arms, I turn to face him. “You’re a smart man, Mr. Sinclair. You know what’s at stake. If I’m unable to work in my studio, I won’t meet my deadline for the fashion show.”
“I’m aware of the stakes,” he says, licking his lips, “which is the reason I chose your studio time as leverage.”
“Your blackmail makes my answer obsolete. Either way, I lose something.”
“Then which do you choose to sacrifice? Your work, or your virtue?”
I think of the number of men who have touched me in various ways. Sadly, adding one more in exchange for the freedom to do what I love seems inconsequential in the big picture. At least, that’s how I justify the answer I’m about to unleash in the air between us—six words strung together in treasonous surrender.
“Take what you want from me.”
I arm myself against his triumph, but it doesn’t come. Instead, his mouth takes on the form of a displeased line as he rises from the chair, breakfast forgotten on his desk. “The choice was a test.”
“What are you talking about?”
“As much as I want to touch you, I wanted you to value your virtue more.”
“This game of yours is ridiculous,” I hiss. “I have no virtue left!”
“Of course you do, Novalee. Virtue can’t be stolen.”
“Then you tricked me into giving it away.”
“It wasn’t a trick. I tested your willingness to sacrifice in the name of it, and you failed.”
“So what does that mean?” I glare at him, scorn dripping from each word. “Are you going to punish me for my decision?”
“Of course not. The test was designed to give me insight into your character. I’m not going to punish you for doing what I asked.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to take what you’ve given me, when the time is right.” He gestures to the hall at my back. “And you’re free to take what I’ve given you in return.”
A standoff ensues, his iridescent eyes clashing with the ire in my own. Before he changes his mind, I flee the room.
10
Waiting for Miles to make his move sits on my shoulders like cement blocks of dread. The feeling is reminiscent of the time Sebastian held his expectation over me during my month in the House of Gemini—except my burden then had more to do with a potential audience than the idea of going down on him. There’d been a factor of anticipation in the mix that isn’t present this time. Now there’s just dreadful certainty that Miles will cash in on my debt to him.