Page 32 of The Boss
I stalk to my headboard.
“What are you—” she stops asking when she sees me slam the headboard against the wall in a steady rhythm. Hard. Her mouth drops open and my eyes can’t help but stare…such a perfect little O shape. She quickly shuts it up into a hard line and rolls her eyes. But I pick up the pace of the thumping, as I would if I were really giving it to someone—to her—right before I blow.
The air in the room changes and I watch her reaction.
She maintains her irritated expression but her cheeks are darkening by the second. I glance down to see if her chest is starting to get tell-tale splotches of arousal. It is. I look quickly back into her eyes, holding them as the thump, thump, thump grows louder, faster. She doesn’t balk. She holds my stare.
Damn.
I give the bed a few last jerky shoves and stop before she’ll begin to see evidence of my own reaction in my pants.
“That’ll do it,” I say, my voice lower than I intended. I walk past her but stop and talk down into her ear. “You’re my wife now, try not to flinch if I touch you. Follow my lead and play along in front of my family when necessary. But to be clear, I don’t hurt women or children, or torture animals, despite what crazy stories you may have heard.” I lean closer. “And I definitely don’t fuck unwilling participants.” I take a few steps toward the door, then I remember the signal Mac gave me outside. I turn and open my palm. “Phone.”
Her voice is noticeably breathy when she says, “I, uh, I already gave it to you on the plane.”
I snap twice and push my hand forward. Her anger becomes palpable around her as she sets her jaw and inhales through her nose. She pulls her second iPhone from where it was tucked the waist of her skirt at her back.
She offers it, then pulls back, and pleads, “Wait, listen. I need to be able to text my friends, my family. I need FaceTime and shared photos. Surely there’s some way I can keep it? You can have complete access, no password protection or anything.” I just shake my head. “Come on, Quinn, I’m not a spy! I am just your everyday, ordinary human being living in, you know,the twenty-first century!”
“No,” I reach to grab it and she lets me. “You can make calls on the phone I gave you. There’s no wifi, so you wouldn’t be able to do any of those things anyway. You can check emails from one of my offices in the city every so often.” I can see panic in her eyes for a flash as the last connection to her old life is suddenly severed. But it’s just a breath and then her resilience is back in place like a lock.
Even under her emotional guards and scary-ass clown make up, she’s beautiful. Fiery. Strong. Which is why it slips out as I leave, “And you are not ordinary,Lasairéan.”
CHAPTER 19
Luna
No.
Just no. That’s the first thought that rings out in my brain like a bell when I wake up. No to this lumpy old couch, no to this dusty old room in this giant horror house in the middle of what are probably haunted woods. I start to groan but stop myself, not wanting to risk waking Quinn.
I peek an eye open.
Even with the garish furniture I sent, there’s just…wood. So much heavy, dark wood everywhere, wood stairs, wood beams, wood paneling half way up the walls, massive furniture of the same worn, dark cherry or mahogany or something. I feel like I slept in an old-timey gentleman’s club. I have to open my other eye and lean up a bit to get a good view of the bed across the room.
Empty.
Huh, I wonder what time it is? Oh yeah, I can look at the big ass grandfather clock with itstick tick tickthat kept waking me up all night. Or, some of the night, I guess, since I slept through Quinn coming in late and leaving this morning.
Almost nine. Damn, guess having all one’s hopes and dreams crushed over the span of a single day will wear a girl out. I sit up, take a good look around, and throw myself back down.
Because…what the hell am I going to do now?
I knew he’d have information on me, I just didn’t expect him to know my secrets. Only my father knew the truth, so I thought Quinn would only get the surface level stuff, the stuff I wanted the outside world to see. The shopping, the manicures, the glam aesthetic on Instagram. All of that worked nicely with my fake persona.
Which is all shit now.
He knows the truth.
Or some of it anyway.
I sigh and throw off the fluffy down comforter I stole from Quinn’s bed. I guess he was fine with just a sheet. I smirk, imagining him cold and uncomfortable in his custom-made bed the size of a small country. Except he’s so big, he probably runs hot. He probably liked just the sheet. He probably sleeps naked, anyway, his whole massive torso exposed, with the sheet only covering his huge…
Wait, what?!
I sit up and throw my legs over the side of the couch. I rub my face, willing those crazy-ass thoughts away. I will not think about Quinn naked. He’s not remotely cute or handsome!
He’s just thrown me off my game, that’s all. Not just with the bizarre headboard show and the low voice in my ear about willing participants. It’s also how direct he is. His eyes, his tone, his whole vibe, they make me feel like he sees all, knows all. And like he shows all, too. Like what I see is what I get with him.
