Page 58 of His to Possess
I remember the way his lips had twisted with scorn when he’d said I’d take the money to sell my body. The look in his eyes when he threw that accusation caused shame to build deep in my gut. But I couldn’t deny the truth of it—selling my virginity was better than blindly trusting a man to take care of me.
I had learned one lesson very clearly over the last few years—there’s no such thing as a free gift when it comes to relationships between men and women. God knows that there have been times over the last few days where I allowed myself to indulge in the fantasy that Philip Matthews might be the white knight who could come and rescue me from all my problems. I hadn’t realized how much I was longing for someone to take care of me until I saw him at the auction.
But that was a silly and childish fantasy. Philip might say he’d be willing to help me with no strings attached. He might even believe it. But eventually things would change. And without the contract to protect me, I’d be the one screwed over. Again.
My own father couldn’t be trusted to care for me without conditions. Why would Philip be any different?
* * *
I expectPhilip to be back by the time I get out of the shower, but he’s not. Nor has he returned when I dry my hair and try to wrangle it into submission by pulling it into a high bun. When I’m ready for the rest of the day, I debate calling him to see where he is. Did he maybe decide to go back to the office after all? Does he want to return to Charlotte?
I set my phone aside, deciding I would rather not know if he canceled all our plans. I’d prefer to pretend my dream New York getaway isn’t over already. Instead I grab the book I’d been too excited to read on the flight yesterday and take it out to the living room.
A half hour passes, then another, and no word from Philip. I finally give in and send him a brief text, just to check that he’s okay. No response. I try again twenty minutes later. Still nothing.
“I guess that answers my question,” I mutter, rising from the couch. Philip has clearly written off the rest of the trip if he won’t even answer my texts. I walk to the guest room and stand in the middle of the closet, staring at all the fancy things Philip bought for me yesterday. It had all seemed like such a dream then—the shopping spree, the gifts. I should have known better.
I debate packing them. He said they were mine but would he feel the same way now that I denied him? Annoyance grows in my belly. He’s acting like a child. Who just leaves a person alone at their apartment without even checking in?
I’m torn between shoving all these fine clothes into a bag or leaving them for the next submissive he has staying here. They probably line up around the block at Club Wyld for the precious opportunity to be used and tossed aside by Philip Matthews.
“What are you doing?” a low voice asks from outside the closet and I jump a foot into the air.
“Philip,” I gasp, spinning around. “What are you doing?”
His eyebrow goes up in a perfect arch. “I believe I asked you that question first.”
I scowl, my annoyance growing ever larger. First he disappears for two hours and now he comes sneaking into my closet acting as bossy as ever. “I was getting ready to pack,” I say tightly.
His eyebrows lower as he narrows his eyes at me. “You’re not packing.”
God, if I was a violent person I could slap him right now. I really could. “I’m so tired of you dictating to me, Philip.”
He looks every bit as angry as I feel. “I’m taking you to the opera tonight,” he says. “Why on earth would you be packing right now?”
I throw my hands up. “You just disappeared! I had no idea where you were or when you were even coming back.”
His face softens and he steps into the closet, reaching out to a brush a loose curl from my cheek. I want to melt into his touch. Even as annoyed and frustrated as I am, the feel of him still does something to me. I want those big hands cradling my face, pulling me close. Making me feel safe. Making me feel good.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I didn’t take my phone.”
“You mean you didn’t take your phone when you went storming out of here like a three-year-old having a tantrum?”
His mouth twitches. “I suppose you could put it that way, yes.” Some of the tension between us seems to ease. “I am sorry I lost my temper, love.”
“I’m sorry too,” I say but he’s shaking his head before the words are fully out of my mouth.
“You never have to apologize for saying no, Lilah.”
A lump fills my throat, my eyes stinging, and I have to swallow several times before I can speak. That one little sentence hit me hard. It’s so different from what I’ve been hearing for the past few years. And I hadn’t realized how much I needed those words, from Philip in particular.
“Thank you.”
He studies me for a long moment and I know he didn’t miss my reaction. Philip doesn’t seem to miss anything when it comes to me. I can practically see him debating whether or not to push, to try and find out what I’m feeling.
In the end, he keeps his mouth shut and takes a step back. “I would very much like to continue with our plans this evening, if that’s agreeable to you?”
“Yes,” I say, stifling a smile at his formality. “I’d like that, too.”
