Page 45 of Ruthless Mr. Ricco
She turns and pauses when she sees the extra clothes waiting for her to try on.My skin tingles when she crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me.
“I’m leaving after six outfits,” she declares.
I lean forward and prop my elbows on my knees, ensuring I have her full attention before I speak.
“They sell bikinis here.”
Her pupils shrink and breath hitches.
“Fine, we’ll add a few more articles of clothing, but no swimwear, lingerie, or intimate apparel of any kind,” she says.
I enjoy the sway of her hips as she retreats behind the partition.
I won a skirmish against my vicious little rabbit again.I’ve lost track of who has more points because it doesn’t matter.
She took pieces of me I wasn’t aware existed.I’ll never get them back.I don’t want them back.
I’m hers.She’s mine.
This past week was busier than normal.We launched several vital and innovative projects, so I haven’t had the time to devote a proper investigation into what happened our senior year of high school.The unanswered questions burn in my veins.
I can’t earn Brook’s trust if I don’t understand what went wrong.
The reminder helps me keep my lust in check as my little rabbit continues working her way through the clothes.
When I nix the second and third dresses, she sighs and checks her watch but moves on to the next one.
By the time I’m satisfied with the number of approved selections, impatience wafts from her.
“We missed lunch,” I say.“Come with me for dinner.”
“No.It’s Saturday.I’m off work at five,” she says.
My fingers itch to grab her, pin her against the mirror, and wrap her long legs around my waist, but I cross my arms over my chest as I rise and bite my tongue.
We signed a contract, and as much as I hate limiting my time with her, the agreement keeps her by my side for the foreseeable future, so I don’t argue.
I pay, have her fill out the address for the clothes delivery, usher her to the car, and drop her off at the office building near my penthouse.An ache forms in my chest as I watch her stride away.
I blank my mind and absently drive until I pull into my reserved parking spot.With a sigh, I exit my car and take the private elevator up to my penthouse.As I step into the quiet, pristine solitude of my home, I console myself with the knowledge that I’m one step closer to having Brook Simons in my home.The glass wall overlooking the cityscape holds new appeal.I’ll have my little rabbit pinned between my body and the clear panes soon.
With no immediate work on the schedule, I grab my laptop and a drink and plop down on the couch.As unanswered questions tumble in my mind, I open the information Mr.Brunswick sent me and scroll to Carol’s photos of our class reunion.
When the suspect list for who could have spiked Brook’s drink neither shrinks nor grows, I growl, toss my laptop onto the couch beside me, and run my hands through my hair.
It’s been a full week, and I still don’t have answers.My frustration grows.
I rise, stomp to the fridge, and swing the doors wide.
The cold air hits my face and clears my muddled mind.
In the addenda, I relented and gave Brook a few hours off work, but nowhere in our contract does it state I must refrain from contacting her for non-work-related matters during her down time.
I slam the fridge closed, grab my keys on my way out the door, and access employee records for her address on my phone as I ride the elevator.
I pay for a day pass and park in the deck underneath her complex.After confirming her apartment number, I visit the front desk and bribe my way into the security room.
A few minutes before her required time off ends, she walks through the lobby and takes the stairs to the third floor before riding the elevator up to her level.
