He grabs my left hand. “Take it off.”
My engagement ring.
I nod. It’s always been a bit tight. At times, I would have sworn the diamond-encrusted band wrapped around my finger was somehow strangling me.
“What will you do with it?”
“Keep it with your clothing for the next seven days. At the end of that time, if you want to return to him, slip it back on.” He shrugs. “I won’t stop you.”
I don’t entirely believe he’ll let me off that easily. Or is that wishful thinking? “Then why not let me wear it? Wouldn’t the reminder that you’re temporarily screwing my fiancé out of his bride-to-be give you a thrill?”
“No.” His black eyes flash as he snatches my clothes from the table and into his grip. “I said naked. I meant naked. That means everything goes.”
I’ve asked myself a hundred times why Jett wants me for the next week. Certainly, if he was going to bail Vance out, the arrangement could have been done through lawyers, brokers, and bankers. Instead, he came to me with this indecent proposal. From the moment I read his note, I could only think of two possible reasons why he would contact me directly. First, he could be eager to humiliate me. I’ve known all along that he’d likely want to repay me for the ignominy he suffered that summer. I’m sure he’s even thought a time or two that I’m partially to blame. The second—and much slimmer—possibility is that he’s never forgotten me and he now wants all the pleasure stolen from him that summer.
Still, I don’t hesitate another moment. I simply slide the rock off my finger. “Does that please you”—I hold it out to him—“Sir?”
In the middle of pocketing the jewelry with a scowl, Jett freezes. “Yes. You’ve heard the gossip, I take it.”
“I have.” I want to ask if it’s true, but I don’t.
He rests his palm on my crown and threads his fingers through my hair before closing them under the elastic band holding my loose bun in place, tugging until I meet his gaze. “Everything goes, Whitney.”
“It’s just a ponytail holder,” I argue.
“It’s in my way.”
As if his words settle the matter, he plucks the round elastic band from my hair deftly but inexorably. The skeins come tumbling down past my shoulders, clinging to my back, and curling in at my waist.
As he pockets my elastic band, heat flares in his inky eyes. “Wait here. Don’t move.”
Command rings in his voice. I don’t dare cross him, even when he pivots around, turning his back on me utterly, and stalks back inside the house once more.
My knees ache, and the wind grazes my damp nipples again. Still, I don’t move, partly because I fear he’ll leave if I do…and partly because I’m desperate to know what he’ll do if I don’t.
So I’m alone with the night and my thoughts. With my regrets and worries.
He’s going to realize the truth quickly. Then what will you say? What defense can you possibly muster?
The voice in my head is right, but I don’t have any answers except the obvious. Jett Dean will know very quickly that I never got over him.
On the one hand, I want the truth between us because I’m dying to know if the knowledge will make a difference. On the other hand, once he realizes…I’ll be so vulnerable it’s terrifying.
It only takes him a minute to reappear. My clothes are gone, but he’s slung a fluffy white robe over one thick arm.
His eyes are full of approval. “Excellent. I half expected to find you’d disobeyed me and retreated to some other corner of the house.”
“No.”
He holds out his hand to me. I hate the way I tremble as I take it and he helps me to my feet. “Smart. Hold your arms out at your sides.”
I do, and he slides the robe around me, then belts it at my waist. “Until nine o’clock next Saturday night, you will not wear anything I don’t provide. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
Jett sends me a quelling stare. “You know what I am. Respond properly.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He pockets my elastic band, then tucks my hand in his. “Come with me.”
I don’t say a word as I trail behind him and into the house. He locks the French doors behind us and leads me through the interior, all the way back to the grand foyer. The hamper and the clear shoebox are still sitting, open and waiting. I see he’s tossed the garments I came in on the hall table. My engagement ring sparkles in the shadows beside the heap of my clothes. Then he releases my hand, gestures to the receptacles, and steps back.
I have to be the one to tuck my clothes away. It’s symbolic. I’m shedding all my outward skin for him and coming to him naked, both literally and figuratively. That’s doubly true of my engagement ring.