I don’t.
I watch her. I memorize every line, every dimple, every pale curve. I run a finger down her spine, tracing the freckles she doesn’t know she has.
I think about all the ways I’ve failed her already.
I think about how much worse it will get when she finds out who she is. Who I am.
But I can’t stop. I won’t. I’ve touched her intimately, and I don’t plan to stop.
She’s mine, now.
And I’m never letting her go.
10
CHAPTER 10 – A SHOPPING EXPEDITION
Daisy
Iwake to light—so much light that I’m momentarily blinded. For a second, I believe that I’m back on stage, nude and lush, exposed to a sea of male eyes, but it’s just the sunrise, slanting through the penthouse’s fifteen-foot windows, painting the white sheets with streaks of gold. I’m alone in Hunter’s king bed, the silk comforter half off, my bare skin tingling from the chill. No, not chill, exactly; the sheets are still warm with his scent, and there’s a trace of last night’s sex on my thighs, sticky and sweet. I curl up, letting myself enjoy the memory because it was so wrong. Hunter inserted his fingers into my asshole, and then had me suck on them afterwards. I could taste my own musk, sour and sweet at once, and it turned me on. Is that wrong? I try to ignore the tiny voice in my head whispering about dirty girls, about what this means.
I stay like that, wrapped up, until I hear a faint clink from the kitchen. It takes me forever to untangle myself from the sheets, and even longer to find something to put on because none of theclothes in the closet feel right at the moment. I end up in one of Hunter’s dress shirts, white and crisp, buttoned just enough to be legal.
I wander barefoot through the penthouse, amazed at how quickly it’s become familiar, like I’ve always belonged here. There’s a view of the city from every room—snow on the rooftops, the sunlight ribboning through the towers, all of it so clean and shiny it almost looks fake.
Hunter’s at the kitchen island, reading something on his tablet. He’s already showered and dressed: black tee, navy joggers, hair still damp, and impossibly handsome. He looks up, sees me, and gives the world’s most knowing smile.
“Morning, Daisy.”
“Morning.” I feel shy, almost like I’m meeting him for the first time. “Is this real coffee, or the kind from the machine in my suite?”
He grins. “Here? Only the real thing.”
He pours me a mug, and I savor the smell, rich and bitter, even as I clutch it like a lifeline.
“You sleep okay?” he asks.
I nod, and then remember the way I’d fallen asleep: curled in his arms, exhausted, ruined, and for the first time in forever, not even a little scared.
“Yes,” I say. “I think I could get used to it.”
He lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. Instead, he pushes a bowl of berries my way, along with a gold spoon that weighsmore than a cell phone. “You eat, then get dressed,” he instructs. “We’ve got a day planned.”
I dig into the berries, and watch him over the rim of my mug. “What kind of day?”
“A fun one. You’re going shopping.”
I nearly drop the mug. “What?”
He grins, like he’s just dropped a kitten into my lap. “Clothes, Daisy. You need more than just what’s in the closet. I have meetings, but I’ll take you myself.”
The idea makes me nervous and giddy at once. “Are you sure that’s a good use of your time?”
He gives me the look—the one that says, Are you really going to argue with me on this? “You’re mine for the month,” he says with a shrug of those broad shoulders. “You need to look the part.”
I don’t argue. I just finish the berries and say, “I guess I should try on something besides your shirt.”
Hunter’s smile deepens. “Don’t, actually. I like you in my shirt.”