Page 35 of Tamed

Of course, I was afraid for her. I was supposed to protect her. She was my responsibility and if anything happened to her on my watch….

I gritted my teeth, forcing down my temper that had somehow risen again. Then, making every movement measured and deliberate, I unlocked the study door and stepped back into the room. I shut the door behind me and locked it again for good measure.

It was a small room lined with bookcases, big enough for a fireplace and a couple of wing-backed armchairs upholstered in soft, worn brown leather. There were rugs on the dark blue carpet, expensive and hand-knotted silk, a few side tables here and there, but no other furniture.

A room for sitting in and discussing things.

A room for disciplining recalcitrant little girls.

Except the little girl standing in the middle of it with her arms folded, her jaw set, her mouth in a firm line, every inch of her posture rigid and defensive, was clearly not in the mood for either discussion or discipline.

Pity. Because tonight she was going to get both.

Her red hair fell all over her pale shoulders, and she wore a slip dress of gold silk, a little scrap of nothing that clung to her curves, making it very obvious she was not wearing a bra. Ten would have had fifty fucking fits if he’d seen her wearing that, and for some reason the damn dress scraped at my own temper like the point of a nail over cracked glass.

A thick, seething quiet settled over the room.

I stared at her, not bothering to hide my fury. Hoping it would cow her, or at the very least instill a little healthy fear, maybe force her into a confession as to just what the fuck she was doing without me having to browbeat her. But there was no fear in her glittering emerald eyes. If anything, her chin lifted, her jaw becoming even more set.

Jesus, if she’d had any sense the first thing she should have done as soon as she saw me was to apologize for ditching her security. Yet there was nothing apologetic about her. In fact, it was very clear she didn't intend to be the one to break first come hell or high water.

Sadly, for her, hell would be coming sooner than she thought.

I continued to say nothing, moving over to the cabinet where I kept a bottle of twenty-one-year-old Lagavulin, an Islay malt. It wasn’t as old or as expensive as the Glenfiddich, but it was one of my favorites.

Taking out the bottle and a tumbler from the cupboard, I poured myself a dram. I did not offer her one. I could sense her still seething at my back so I took my time; it would give us both a chance to calm down.

I sipped slowly, deliberately ignoring her, and to give her credit, she lasted the whole tumbler. It wasn’t until I’d poured myself a second nip, that she finally broke the silence and demanded, “So, what? You’re just going to stand there drinking whiskey?”

I didn’t answer immediately, taking another sip and letting the smoky, salty liquor sit warmly in my gut, taking the explosive edge off my temper.

“Well,” I said, at last. “I was considering turning you over my knee and giving you the spanking you so richly deserve.” I glanced at her. “But I thought I’d have a drink first.”

Her face was flushed, and it had the unfortunate effect of making her eyes seem even greener. The flush went down her neck and over her collarbones, creeping under the neckline of her pretty golden dress and it drew my attention.

I did not fucking want it to draw my attention.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she had the gall to demand, as if I was the one in the wrong place.

“Really? That’s the first thing you want to say to me?”

But she didn’t back down. “This is a sex club, Caleb. A high-end sex club. And they have a virginity auction going on downstairs. Did you know that?”

“Of course, I know that.” I took another calming sip of scotch. “I own it. Arcadia is my club.”

Shock rippled across her face, swiftly followed by yet more anger. “Yours? Fuck’s sake, Caleb. Why the hell are you running a virginity—”

“The real question,” I interrupted. “The question I’d very much like the answer to, is what the actual fuck areyoudoing here?” I aimed the word like a stone, hard and sharp, and I saw her gaze flicker as it hit.

She folded her arms and shifted on her high-heeled gold sandals, going into full-on defensive mode. “It’s Friday night. And I wanted to go out to a bar. Like any twenty-three-year-old would.”

That was not, of course, the whole of the truth and we both knew it.

“Don’t lie to me, Isabel.” I gave her the full force of my stare.

But there was no give in her. “I’m not lying. I wanted to have a night—”

“Be quiet,” I said, hard and cold, losing what little patience I had left. She’d never lied to me before. Never. So why she was now, I had no idea. But I knew one thing: I didn’t like it. I wasn’t going to have it.

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