“Is that why you refuse to tell me? You think I’ll sell the story?” I grind my teeth. “You don’t trust me.”
Her hands slide through my hair, and her eyes travel over my face. “I trust you, and that’s the problem. Apart from Reese, every single person I’ve trusted has hurt me.” She smiles sadly. “You’d have better luck with me if I didn’t trust you.”
Jesus, fuck. What am I supposed to do with that? “You trusted the person who gave you that scar?”
She lowers her arms and slips from my grasp. Tugging down the back of her shirt, she exits the kitchen, as if the conversation is over.
I stalk after her, determination steeling my spine. I could rip off that shirt and sweep her to the floor in two seconds flat. An armlock would have her squealing answers to my questions in the two seconds that follow. She’s learned a few self-defense maneuvers over the past couple weeks, but she’s nowhere near my skill level. Physically overpowering her would certainly choke any trust she has in me.
But that’s not what I want. She needs some control in her life. I can give her all the control she wants within the limits I set for her, and one of those limits is the goddamn wall she’s erected around herself. I’m going to break through it, starting tonight.
CHAPTER 13
DECKER
My usual approach with women could be simplified with words such as chase and catch, hard and fast, in and out. But as I follow Laynee up the stairs and into the bedroom, the urge to grab her hair and drag her to the bed is overshadowed by the reason I’m chasing her.
For the first time in my life, I’m going to beguile a woman into removing her clothes to help her, rather than help myself. Though I’m not a fucking saint. I will most certainly enjoy the view.
“You have two options.” I prowl behind her, eying her luscious ass.
She stops in the center of the bedroom but doesn’t turn around.
“Option one. Keep your shirt on and tell me about the scar.” I pace a circle around her, my posture relaxed and casual. “Option two. Remove the shirt and keep your secrets tonight.”
Her eyes leap to mine, and I can’t read anything in her expression beyond the deer-in-headlights look.
“If you choose to go to bed without explaining the scar…” I ghost my fingertips along her jawline. “You’ll sleep without a shirt. Every night. In my arms.”
She turns her head away from my touch. “I get that what happened with those kids made you overly concerned and paranoid. I’m sorry for that. I really am.” With a deep breath, she steps back. “But you can take your controlling, high-handed ultimatums and shove them up your ass.” She stands taller, eyes blazing. “Let me remind you that you accepted this job for money. You’re getting paid to look pretty on my arm and keep your mouth shut. That does not include prying into my business. Whatever your incentive is—”
“You.” I shove my face in hers. “Your smile. Your body. Rigorous, mutually-pleasurable, savage sex. You are my incentive.” I prowl around her, gliding a knuckle along the curves of her shoulders and raising goosebumps on her arms. “I think Infidelity knew exactly what they were doing when they paired us together. You don’t need a submissive man who will conform to your orders and enable your misery. You need a man who will erase your insecurities, protect you from the shit that haunts you, and fight for and with you every time you push him away.”
Her chest heaves. Her chin juts out, and her fingers curl at her sides.
“You want to treat me like a hired escort?” I stop in front of her and hold my hands loosely behind my back. “Remove your clothes and get your ass on the bed. I’ll make you come for hours with my fingers, my mouth, and my cock. You won’t even have to talk to me. You’ll get what you paid for, and I’ll get my money. Because that’s all I am to you.”
Her nostrils flare, and her eyes turn to slits.
“You don’t like that?” Frustration vibrates through my voice. “Too fucking bad. Unlike the last two men you let into your body, I’m not going anywhere. When I fuck you, you’ll beg me to stay. You’ll beg every fucking night. If all I am is a whore for you to prance around in front of the cameras, I’m going to be a whore in every sense of the word.”
“You’re not a whore.” A sheen of wetness glazes her eyes. “You don’t understand how difficult this is for me.”
“Then help me understand.”
She stares at my chest, and her entire body begins to shake. I’m tempted to back down, because goddammit, I want to shelter and comfort her, not tear her apart. But she needs to push past this paralyzing apprehension, an effort that may unleash some painful emotions. I can’t protect her from that, but I’ll help her through it.