by Paige North
Well, look at that—there’s a reference about my having to agree to keep all of my personal affairs to myself and to refrain from speaking about anything of a personal nature to, or in front of, Owen.
Anger spreads over my skin.
“Any questions, Miss Hope?” Nat asks, turning to me and neatly tucking the cloth back into her pocket. I can tell she’s eager to bring the regular maid in here to arrange my bed, keeping everything in tip-top shape for the ogre.
“No, no questions.” I flash her an unconcerned smile. “Everything seems in order except for one item of business.”
“What would that be?”
“I’d like you to call me Juliet.”
She smiles. “Can I tell you how happy I was when Dr. Gregory informed me that you’d be returning for a month? Welcome back, Juliet.”
There’s a twinkle in her eye, but I’m not feeling it. Not after the tiff I had with Owen last night.
But I sign the contract anyhow since I need the money, even if I’m well on my way to hating the man.
After breakfast and a leisurely bath, I spend my day getting more acquainted with my ostentatious surroundings. Nat also brings me a new laptop computer and tells me that Owen has granted me the use of it.
Isn’t he just a peach for giving me this little treat? It’s as if he’s expecting sex or something when he gets home.
He’ll get it, all right, but I’ll be keeping an emotional wall up between him and me the entire time. And being the freshly initiated addict that I am, I’m sure I’ll enjoy every bit of his attentions, even as I’m despising him.
As the hours go by, I use the computer to gather information about contractors who can repair the damage to my family’s house as well as whom I should contact at the bank about acquiring loans, now that I’m getting some cash to my name.
When Owen comes home from work much earlier than he did the other night, I’ve just finished eating a dinner of seared scallops, parmesan risotto, and asparagus. Now I’m outside on the tiled patio, sitting at a stainless steel-and-glass table, surrounded by lamp heaters, foliage, and the falling dusk. Custom ironwork lights give me enough illumination so that I can see the computer screen clearly.
I feel Owen’s presence before he actually comes outside—all I have to do is look up to see him behind the French doors. His hands are folded behind his back as he watches me through the glass panes.
My heart jumps, but I force myself to coolly look away as if I haven’t seen him at all. Even so, the sight of him in his expensive suit and his dark-eyed, passionate gaze stays burned in my mind. I shiver as I hear the doors opening then shutting.
He saunters over to me, and my blood jerks through my veins. Still, I ignore him. Then I feel his fingertips brush over my arm, which is exposed by the Oscar de la Renta sleeveless silk-blend dress I’ve chosen to wear on this mild night. The fabric is gray, just like my mood.
“Did you stay busy?” he asks.
“Very.”
He waits, and I almost think he’s expecting me to tell him more.
I keep navigating around the computer screen with the touchpad, not looking at him. “I would elaborate, but I know how much that would offend you.”
“It’s been a long day. Don’t test me with an attitude.”
I grit my jaw, and he must get turned on by my sass because his voice lowers to that irresistible velvet tone that never fails to sway me.
“Red,” he says, whisking a finger under my chin.
My skin tingles as he tilts my face up to him then bends down to draw me into one of his hot kisses. But I turn my face away before he can capture my lips with his.
He doesn’t move as I lean away from him and cross my arms over my chest. It doesn’t quite push down the hurt and anger that I still feel, but it’s better than the alternative—letting myself loose to show him just how bitterly disappointed I am that he can’t act like a human being.
“Do you not remember last night on the jet?” I ask.
“I do.”
“Do you not know what that contract said when I read it this morning?”
“I certainly remember, and I know you still signed it easily enough.”
I exhale, then shake my head.
He begins to stalk away, then turns back around to me. “Your bad behavior isn’t in the spirit of the deal we made.”
“’Spirit of the deal.’ Would that include having you fuck me against my will?”
“Jesus,” he whispers. “Of course I’d never do that.”
I never thought I’d see Owen Gregory look staggered, but there he is, utterly taken aback.
The sound of the trees rustling around us takes the place of any more words we might say. I’ve gone too far, and I don’t feel good about it. I was angry. I felt marginalized, insulted, wounded.
I face him in the chair, cocking my head when I see how confused he is. This towering man who lives behind such neat, tidy, defensive walls. More than anything, I hate to see him like this, and my heart thuds with a sad, empty beat.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s just that I’m not one of those robots your company makes to wash away the harmful bacteria you’re always fighting against. I’ve got human emotions, not artificial intelligence, and I can’t constantly have sex on command—especially not after the way you treated me.”
He frowns. “I treat you very well.”
A laugh cuts out of me, and he seems even more puzzled. He really doesn’t understand, does he?
I have no idea how to communicate with him. He seems to be half robot himself, half beast. Is there any humanity in there? What even happened to him to make him this way?
It seems as if tension has grown between us during these past few minutes. It sprouts like weeds from the cracks in the expensive patio tile, winding through the air, blocking whatever understanding we ever did have between us.
His own jaw is stiff, as if I make his blood boil, and I sense that he’s about to walk away from me for good.
Don’t, I think. Because in spite of how he constantly stings me, all I want to do is rush out of this chair and throw myself at him, having him catch me before I fall apart.
But I still sit there as he stares at me, his gaze more fathomless than ever.
Just as it feels as if the air is about to split apart, his broad shoulders lose a little bit of their heft, and he says, “What is it you want from me then?”
I don’t know what to say.
He continues in a gruff tone. “I’m paying you top dollar specifically because I realize that all of my rules and regulations and requirements are a lot to ask of any woman. But you agreed to work with them, so you should either accept all of that or cancel the contract and go home.”
I rise from the chair. “I don’t want to cancel that contract,” I say. “I really don’t.”
For the first time, I see an emerging warmth in his gaze—not sexual heat, not guarded coolness. I think something has just changed between us.
But what?
Far be it from the good doctor to relent too much though, because his shoulders stiffen again. “Fine.” He gestures with his hand. “Then we should have a change of pace, get out of here, go out, do something…”
Is he actually searching for a word?
He finally comes out with it. “Fun.”
Do something fun. With Dr. Icicles. I’m not sure he actually knows what fun means, but I’ll take what I’m getting from him.
Even if I have no idea what he has in store.
Chapter 11
My spirits are high and hopeful as I change into something a little less gray and a lot more optimistic—a yellow Diane von Furstenberg long-sleeved wool knit dress that clings to my curves. I match it with a pair of smart two-tone pumps and some gold-studded pearl earrings from a drawer in my vanity table that Owen has stocked with what must be hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of jewelry. I brush out my hair so that it rains down my shoulders and back.
When the el
evator doors open onto the first floor, Owen is waiting. He’s got his wide back to me, his attention on his phone, and as he slowly turns around, I notice that he’s wearing a navy blue blazer with a button down and trousers. No formal tie tonight, no fussy full suit, but he’s still as precise as he always is.
He looks up, and when he sees me, he doesn’t move. Only his gaze changes, growing more intense, as he lifts his hand and gestures toward the front door.
He likes what he sees, I think, and I feel a little bit of power in that.
We take a limo to an unknown destination—he won’t tell me where we’re going—but when we ultimately drive underground beneath a residential glass skyscraper, I’m intrigued.
I’m even more so when we arrive at an old-school movie theater, the air laced by the aroma of popcorn. Only a few other patrons mill around the lobby. The marquee announces that the venue is playing a vintage eighties movie I’ve never seen, Caddyshack.
After Owen buys me popcorn, soda, and Junior Mints then brings me to the cushiony velvet seats, I look at him and smile. He’s so massive that he barely fits into his chair, his long legs taking up the space between his seat and the ones in front of him.
He notices that I’m surveying him, and he raises his dark eyebrows.
I laugh. “We could’ve gone someplace more comfortable.”
His expression tells me that I’ve said the wrong thing. Does he think I’m talking about my bedroom? Is he confused that I was harping on him for using me as a sex robot earlier and now that’s what I want?
I try again. “What I mean is that you don’t seem to belong here—a billionaire in a run-down cinema playing a movie we could see in the theater at your place.”
The clouded questions fade from his gaze. He smiles, and—
God, his smile is devastating. It almost knocks me over with its power. It makes him into a different man, and a rush of breath-stealing warmth makes me go weak for him.
“I use my home theater for the business guests I entertain,” he says. “I rarely screen anything there by myself. I’ve always wanted to visit someplace like this because it seems like…” His words trail off as he looks around. “A hideaway. A place where the lights go down and you can be with only the few other people who’re also enjoying what’s on the screen. No one ever knows who you are in a spot like this. A person could lose himself in here for two hours.”
And you don’t care if there’s popcorn on the floor if or thousands of other people have sat in these seats? I think. It isn’t too dirty?
Then again, it seems that he can be that way around me.
As if to brush off what he just said, he casually gives me the tub of popcorn, and I get the feeling Owen has just told me more about himself than maybe he’s ever told anyone.
I look around at the gilded molding, the empty balcony. Outside this theater, the city seems sleek and modern, but inside these walls, there’s a lot of warmth and characteristic details. I imagine the same possibilities for Owen, who has such a seemingly cold exterior. By bringing me here, is he trying to tell me that he’s entirely different than anyone would ever guess, where no one else can see it?
Maybe I’m reading too much into this, and I take my cola out of the box he’s holding and transfer it to the seat’s cup holder.
“I can see what you’re saying,” I tell him. “I usually go to cineplexes, which can be impersonal. But this theater isn’t like that.”
“No, it’s not,” he says.
I open my mouth to ask if he has been giving me more personal information than he ever intended, but then the lights go down. In back of us, the projector’s beam eases through the air, illuminating the screen with a trailer for an upcoming showing.
I watch Owen out of the corner of my eye. His body is so big that he needs to spread out onto the armrest between us, but I don’t mind. That means he’s close to me, and I have an excuse to lean against the hardness of his arm. The innocent sensation is like nothing I’ve experienced with him before—it’s not sexual. It’s not foreplay. It’s…
It’s just nice.
And when the movie starts, it’s the first time Owen and I have laughed together.
Occasionally, I even snatch a peek at him, with the glow of the movie lighting up his usually stoic face. He’s way more relaxed tonight, and my chest tightens as I realize that he’s actually brought me here because he’s trying his best to make things up to me for the fight we had. And maybe he is even trying to show me that he’s not all that bad.
I lean into him more, thankful for this grand gesture that must’ve been so very hard for him to make. I rest my cheek against his arm.
He doesn’t do anything for the longest time, but eventually, he slips his arm in back of me, bringing me closer to him, in spite of the armrest between us that doesn’t move. As he gently strokes my other arm with his fingertips, an addictive feeling of lightness flows through me, and I could stay like this forever with him.
I feel every laugh vibrate through him as we watch together. I feel that everything is bound to change when we get back to his home.
Is something real happening between us?
When Caddyshack finishes, I’m nearly giddy, and not just because I’ve laughed so much at the funny movie. I’m hoping Owen will kiss me, much in a way that a hero from other eighties movies would kiss his girl after the prom or the big football game.
But he merely stands from his seat, extending a hand to help me up.
I take it, anticipation breathing through me. Maybe he’ll kiss me in the limo, and then…
I don’t know what to expect anymore.
On the way out of the theater, he keeps his hand on my back, leaving behind a burning imprint that spreads its heat over my skin, under it.
“Did you like the film?” he asks.
There’s almost a boyish quality to his question as we walk through the lobby. I can tell he wants me to like the movie as much as he did.
“Loved it,” I say. “My parents used to watch old movies like this, and I’d tune in every once in a while, but I never thought to do it on my own.”
“That’s because you young people have no appreciation for old things.”
“Hey, you’re not much older than I am!”
I tweak his belly—my god, he’s rocked up—and he latches his fingers around my wrist.
We stop walking, pausing right there in the middle of the empty lobby with its framed movie posters and concession stand. As he looks down at me, I see that certain something in his gaze again, and it sends a quiver through me.
He likes me, I think. He doesn’t only want my body. He actually had as much fun with me on a real date as I did with him.
Then, as if he remembers the fuss I put up earlier about not being his sex robot, he lets go of me, and we start walking again.
Me and my big mouth, talking about sex robots and everything. But doesn’t he realize there’s a difference between sex and what’s going on now? Is he truly that removed from normal human emotions?
As we ride home in the limo, he makes more conversation, asking about what sorts of movies I like, but all I can think about is his lips on mine.
If he’s purposely sitting next to me like such a gentleman and keeping his hands to himself in the hopes that it’ll get me hot for him, it’s working. I want to feel him inside me, pumping, fucking me until I’m his wet, screaming dirty little girl.
But I’m too bashful to make a move, so it’s a long ride home.
When we arrive at his mansion, the night air has cooled significantly, and as I rub my arms on the way to the stoop of his brownstone, he stops me.
“Here,” he says, taking off his blazer and wrapping it around me.
This time I don’t get goose bumps from the weather—it’s because of his thoughtfulness. There are hundreds of adoring, lustful prickles sweeping down my arms, even if I’m enclosed in the warm, heady, clean-smelling comfort of his blazer.
I can’t wait to get up to
a bedroom.
After he ushers me into his home, we slowly head toward the elevator. We stop in front of it. I’m wracked with trembles, which line my belly like tiny earthquakes, and I cling to his blazer around me, fending off the yearning I’m feeling for him.
I’m damp, hopeful, needful.
“Thank you for a really nice night,” I say.
Something flares in his gaze, and my body responds with a brutal tug at my clit. As he leans toward me, I close my eyes, holding my breath.
It’s happening, I think. He’s going to give it to me until we’re both a dirty, wonderful mess…
Then I feel his lips tenderly press against mine. Soft, slow, filling me up with a pulse of warmth.
As he retreats, I open my eyes, bewildered. He must see how much I want him to fuck me, but now he’s doing everything he can to give me space.
Great.
“Aren’t you going to…?” I start to ask. Then nerves take me over and stop me from saying another word.
“Goodnight, Juliet,” he simply says. “Get some sleep.”
He’s really not pushing for more, and I don’t know whether to be frustrated by this or happy that he listened to what I had to say earlier.
He presses the elevator button for me, and I can only wait in perplexed silence as the door opens. Owen is the most baffling, mysterious person I’ve ever met, and I have no idea how to handle him.
I go into the elevator, and he stays outside. We face each other, neither of us saying a word as the door slides closed.
This time, though, I think I see the hint of a satisfied smile on his gorgeous lips before he disappears altogether.
Chapter 12
By the time I wake up the next morning, it’s no surprise that Owen has already gone into work.
After he sent me up to my room without sex, I didn’t dare follow through with my own desires. While I fought the urge to take the elevator up to his bedroom, I stayed in my own, waiting for him to come to me.