If anything, I think I read a hint of amusement in his eyes, but then again, I could be wrong. My ability to read people accurately these days doesn’t seem to be working.
I didn’t look at him in the surf shop and understand the danger I was in.
“Soap,” he says, pointing past me, and although I’m hesitant to take my eyes off him, I look down.
My brows crease in confusion once again at the sight of the various bottles lined up on the wall.
He’s not using a 3-in-1 like I’d expect. There are five different bottles here, each one a high-end name.
He said he bought this house, but it could still be a lie. It’s very possible that my first assumption, that he broke in, could still be true.
I look back at him, making sure he hasn’t inched closer as I reach for the bodywash.
Chapter 7
Liam
Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t hide the erection forming in my sweats at the sight of her in the shower.
She doesn’t look at it as she runs soapy hands over her bare arms. Maybe she thinks not acknowledging it will make it disappear?
I’m hoping for just that because I shouldn’t be turned on right now.
She’s fully dressed, and historically, it takes much more than the sight of damp skin to get a rise out of me.
The list of mistakes I’m making continues to grow where she’s concerned because I assumed she was just another snooty fucking brat used to getting her way, but she’s not. I can’t pinpoint exactly why she’s different but refusing to admit she is would be more detrimental to this already fucked-up situation.
A fucking senator’s daughter?
I can’t remember another time when I fucked up so royally.
When I left the room earlier, I tried to run every fucking scenario through my head. I tried to reason and convince myself it isn’t as bad as it seems.
When I thought of calling Angel, I knew I was completely fucked.
I don’t ask for help.
There isn’t a soul on this earth that could do anything for me that I can’t do for myself.
I don’t follow the fucking news. That shit is depressing, just one negative thing after the other. I don’t have to watch CNN to know how fucked up people are. I live a life and work a job that brings me face-to-face with the shit on damn near a daily basis. I don’t want more of that shit in my head when I’m trying to relax.
The breaks I’ve taken from the world around me aren’t helping me on any level right now.
The fucking soon-to-be president’s daughter?
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.
I wipe my hand over my face in frustration, only to look up and see her staring at me. Her hand has frozen on her right arm with my words.
And then I see it. I see the way her eyes drop to the front of my sweats, and despite the warm water rushing over her, she starts to tremble again.
I wish that her fear excited me. I wish that scaring her is what turns me on, but it isn’t. It’s the limited amount of push-back that appeals to me. The obeying turns me on.
But it also pisses me off. She isn’t doing it because she wants to. She thinks that giving me what I want will endear me to her. She thinks it will make me happy, easy to manipulate. I saw it in her eyes when she asked for a blanket. I’d be a fool to read any of her actions at face value. She’s a politician’s daughter for fuck’s sake. She’s like a snake in the grass as far as I’m concerned.
I want to step into her, rip her clothes from her body in an effort to force those real emotions to bubble to the surface.
She knows she’s been abducted, yet, she hasn’t once asked me to let her go. She hasn’t opened that pretty little mouth of hers to beg for mercy. It’s what makes her different, what separates her from every other captive woman I’ve encountered. Of course, nearly everyone eventually complies either through pain or torture, or threats to their family.