“You’re sick.”
“Do you honestly believe that’s an insult to me?”
I clamp my lips in a line.
“Last chance. Take off your shirt.”
“No.”
We watch each other for one second.
Two.
Three —
He starts in my direction. All blood drains from my face and a tremor shoots down my spine.
It’s real.
That look. That determination.
This time he won’t stop.
“Fine!” I blurt, stepping back. “I’ll do it.”
He stops, but his poker face remains in place. He appears calm and casual, but if I take one step, I’ve no doubt that he’ll chase me like a starved wolf.
Think, Elsa, think!
A crazy idea explodes in my mind.
“Do it for me,” I say in a neutral, almost
uninterested tone.
Aiden’s left eye twitches.
I’m sure my suggestion has taken him by surprise. He thought I’d either cower to his threat or he’d do it by force. I’m sure the sick bastard hoped for the second option.
The fact that I’m offering him to do it without the whole violence factor ought to throw him off balance.
Those who give two options don’t expect a third. The third option rattles them, and that’s exactly what I’m betting on.
He narrows his eyes, “You’re trying to play a game again.”
“I’m just giving you what you want.”
“Are you now?” His tone turns stone cold.
“Yes.”
“You’ll regret that.” He approaches me and reaches for my ribbon.
I place both palms on his stupid broad shoulders and dig my fingers in his uniform’s jacket.
He pauses at my first button and searches my face.
Touching him was never a part of the deal, and he must be wondering why I’m doing it willingly.