Page 44 of Arrogant and Merciless

I’m cautious to the point of paranoia because I don’t plan on becoming a statistic. Every year, countless women disappear in the U.S., and the numbers are even higher for someone my age.

If anything happens to me, there isn’t really anyone who cares enough to come looking.

I’m almost home now, less than a minute from my building’s entrance, after nearly an hour on the subway, when I spot William’s car approaching. Despite all the crap that’s happened tonight, my heart leaps.

Normally, when chaos strikes—like the day my father died—I prefer being alone. Yet even though I’m sure the doctor is only temporary in my life, somehow I know he’s the one who can give me a little of the peace I need today.

Just three steps from my door, I stop and wait, but I’m startled by his expression as he gets out of the car. He seems angry. Well, from what little I know, being annoyed is his usual mode. If there’s one thing about the two of us, it’s that we’d both fail a “Best Temper” contest. It’s like we’re mirrors of each other—both combative. But tonight, he’s beyond that. He looks a bit unhinged.

“Invite me up.” He says this with a formality that doesn’t match what happened at his place over the weekend. He’s speaking like Mrs. Marshall’s grandson, not like William, the lover.

Without a word, I unlock the front entrance. After I go in, I see him type something on his phone, probably telling his driver he’s going upstairs with me.

“How’d you know I’d just gotten home?” I ask while sliding the key into the door of my tiny apartment—just two rooms.

His silence unnerves me. “I went to pick you up at the bar.”

He doesn’t say anything more, and I don’t pry further. Not that I get the chance, because the moment the door closes, he pins me against it and kisses me in a way that makes it clear he’s not here to talk.

I should push him away. The night’s been awful, starting with the injustice at the bar and ending with that bizarre visit from his father.

Yet the instant William’s arms come around me, nothing else matters.

We’re what’s real, and being with him is being home.

William

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“What you want isto be in charge of deciding when you’ve had your fill of me, but I’ll never let you be the only one to say it’s over. I don’t have much relationship experience, but I pay attention, William. At the first sign you can’t keep giving me what I want, I’ll leave.”

“And what do you want?”

“To keep feeling like this. See how my heart’s racing? You did that. The moment I’m able to be by your side without feeling this way, I’ll know we’ve reached the end.”

The words she spoke at my house—which, coming from any other partner, would have been a relief—felt more like a dark omen, an unwanted prediction that our time together would end sooner rather than later.

Rationally, there’s no reason for me to believe that, because although Taylor has already made it clear she’s nothing like the women I’ve been with—insisting she set some terms for our involvement too—compared to me, she’s still very young. Courageous, determined, but far too young.

Even so, the way she started guarding herself from me, barely after we’d finished coming down from our last high, raised a red flag in my mind that maybe this time I’d have to bend my rules if I wanted more of her.

I don’t accept ultimatums, and rather than finding a middle ground that would work for both of us, I worked on seducing her—body and soul—to make sure I’d have enough of her to satisfy all my desires for as long as I wanted.

For the rest of the weekend, there were no more deep talks—just immersion in each other’s bodies. With the same drive that got me to the top of my profession, I threw myself into figuring out everything she likes, what gives her the most pleasure, and which spots, when touched, make her melt for me.

After a little over forty-eight hours, it was like we’d known each other for years, physically speaking. But aside from a handful of stray comments about her past with her father, I have no clue what’s going on in her head.

Every second of my day today was consumed by thoughts of her. Memories of that gorgeous, naked redhead in my bed were enough to give me erections, but recalling the girl asleep in my arms, in my sheets, broke all my rules and made me hunt her down.

I didn’t call, didn’t text. We hadn’t made any plans for today or any other day. I just assumed that as long as I wanted her, she’d be mine.

I walked into the rundown bar where she works, certain I’d find her, sure the rest of the night would go as I pleased—Taylor, once again naked and moaning for me.

Then I asked one of the waiters where she was and found out she’d been fired but that someone had spotted her just minutes ago on the street, talking to some “big shot.” By way of proof, he showed me a photo of her in what looked like a rather intimate moment with my father, who was holding her hand.

I’ve always thought of myself as a cold man, never letting emotions take over. But that instant, I felt a homicidal urge flare up toward that miserable bastard who has no respect for women, regardless of whether they could practically be his granddaughters.

It’s not the first time my father’s gone after a woman so young, but it’s the first time he’s gone aftermywoman.

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