Page 13 of Laila Manning
She was defying me.
She’d never defied me before, or anyone for that matter.
The sound of my approaching footsteps caused Laila to glance back, her dark brown hair streaming behind her, fear widening her eyes.
But she turned around and faced forward, quickening her step. As we walked along, my smile grew wider and more intense with every nervous peek she took over her shoulder. The quick pace she kept made her jeans hug her ass in a way that called to the animal in me, but I pushed it down, silencing the desire.
Finally, she paused and turned on me. “What are you doing?”
“Following you,” I replied honestly.
Her eyes squinted a fraction, “Why?”
“Because you lied to me. Then you rebelled against me.” I tilted my head to the side, and the pulse in her neck beat rapidly as she watched me. “And you’ve never done that before.”
“I didn’t realize you were my babysitter.” She snapped, “Or my boss.”
Fire brewed in her eyes for the first time in months, and pride grew in mine.
“Do you need a babysitter?” I challenged. “Or a boss?”
The innuendo in that statement burned in my gut, but it missed her innocence by a mile, and she never caught on.
Which was good. Because she was the last woman on earth I needed to dominate.
Even if I’d never wanted to see a woman beg more than her before.
“I need to be left alone.” She huffed.
“Why?”
“Because.” She fired back.
“You’re cheeky today.”
“And you’re bossy.”
“Always.” I raised an eyebrow at her, and she sucked her teeth. “So, I’ll ask you again. Where are you going?”
“To therapy.” She snapped.
“You go to therapy across the city.” I scowled. “Do you plan to get there on foot?”
“How do you—?” She closed her mouth. “Never mind, I’m not even surprised you know that.”
“Good,” I replied. “One less thing to cover. So, where are you really going?”
“I just told you. I’m doing therapy.”
The way she said doing therapy instead of going to therapy alerted me to what she meant, even if she didn’t intend it to.
“Walking around East Valley is part of your therapy?”
She clenched her jaw, looked around at the deserted streets around us, and sighed. “Walking on a sidewalk is.”
I raised my eyebrows at her but kept the quick-cutting retort I had ready to myself. “Why?”
She rolled her eyes. “How is this any of your business?”
