Page 21 of Wicked Sinner
"It's not like that." Now he sounds defensive, much like I did earlier.
“Then whatisit like?” A warm, humid breeze blows past us, and I can smell his cologne. My entire body tightens with the memory of him above me, below me, against me, and I do my best to shake it off.
He's quiet for a long moment, and I can see him weighing his words, trying to figure out how to say whatever it is he came here to say.
“I want you,” he says finally. “I want you for more than a night, Bridget. And I can make your life easier.”
I tense at the implied judgment I hear in his words, even if he doesn’t mean for it to be there. Arrogant as he is, I assume that he does. "My life is fine."
"Is it?" He glances around the garage, taking in the old equipment, the worn tools, the overall aged look of the garage. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're struggling. Like you're working yourself to death just to keep your head above water. There’s probably a stack of unpaid bills in that office, am I right?"
"That's none of your business."
Caesar crosses his arms. "It could be my business. If you let it be."
"What the hell does that mean?"
He takes another step closer. If I moved forward, we’d be close enough to touch. I can see the flutter of his pulse in his throat, and I get the sense that this conversation isn’t going exactly as he thought it would.
Good. I didn’t want to have it at all.
"It means I can help you," he says quietly. "I can make things easier for you. I can give you security, comfort, anything you want."
“I didn’t ask you for anything.” I glare at him. “You presumptuous asshole. What makes you think I want what you can give me? I can guess what you’d want in return.”
Something flares in his eyes. “I’d want you to be mine.”
I laugh. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend? That’s a dramatic way to go about it.”
“No, I—” Caesar runs his hand through his hair. “There are expectations that come with my family name, Bridget. It’s archaic, but it’s how it is. I have to marry someone that matches those expectations, but I don’t have to love them. I’m notgoingto love them. And I don’t have to be faithful.”
The words hit me like a slap. I stare at him, trying to process what he's saying, what he's asking for. “Wait—” I draw a breath. “Are you engaged?”
“Not yet?—”
“And you want to give me… what?”
“Anything you want.” Caesar spreads his hands. “Money for the shop. An apartment in the city. That’s preferable, actually, so we’re closer to each other. A credit card for you to use as you like. If there’s more?—”
"You want me to be your mistress," I interrupt him, my voice deadly quiet. Of all the ways that I thought this conversation would go, it wasn’t this. I hadn’t even begun to imagine this, and now I’m so insulted that anger floods me, making me want to slap him.
Caesar just looks frustrated. "I want you to be with me."
"While you're married to someone else."
"It's complicated."
"It's not complicated at all," I snap. "I’m not a whore, Caesar. You can’t pay me for sex while you go home to your wife."
"Don't say that?—"
"Why not? That's what you're asking for, isn't it? You want to set me up in some apartment somewhere, keep me like a pet, visit me whenever you need a break from your real life?" I stare at him, aghast. “I knew you were a selfish, rich asshole, but I didn’t think it wasthisbad?—”
"It's not like that,” he protests again, and I feel my cheeks flush with anger.
"Then what is it like?" I'm shouting now, all of my control finally snapping. "Explain it to me, Caesar. Explain how this arrangement is supposed to work. Explain how I'm supposed to feel when you go home to your wife. Explain how I'm supposed to be okay with being your dirty little secret."
“You don’t want the kind of people I know to know you, Bridget,” he says, his voice taking on an edge now, as if he’s growing too frustrated as well. “You’re better off?—”
