“You need to check your prejudices at the door. Hell, we’re rich again now too.”
“So what? We were never like Dad and Charlotte. Never will be.”
“Exactly, but that’s what I’m saying. You can’t paint every rich person with the same brush—especially not if you’re using the girl as a dick warmer.”
“
I’m not fucking her.”
“Yet.”
“I don’t plan to.”
Grant laughed as if Will was full of shit, and wandered off, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
It was true. He wasn’t planning to have sex with her—at least, not anymore. Unless she offered. She tried to be so proper, but when she was horny she got wild. As he made himself coffee, he got hard again just remembering the sounds of helpless desperation she made when he had her tied up. She’d looked so good bound and at his mercy, her long blonde hair spread out on the mattress on the floor. She’d turned into a perfect little submissive, willing to submit to almost anything from the moment he’d taken control of her. All of her reactions were so raw and unstudied. When a girl got the fake porn face or made weird noises because she was trying to be hot, it turned him off. Every gasp and whine he’d earned from Juliet had been the real deal—the lust, the apprehension.
Annoyed, he stared down at the steam tendrils curling up from his mug. He didn’t need coffee. He needed to rub one out.
Again.
Damn that girl.
When he’d had her backed against the wall of her apartment, every signal she’d given him was hinting she wanted him to yank up that little tease of a dress so he could fuck her up against the wall. He hadn’t wanted to rush her, though—not again.
It was just the stiff, disapproving country-club demeanor he couldn’t get past.
He supposed he needed to chill out. It wasn’t her fault she was hot and yet sometimes irritating. It was hard to understand though. She’d go from being pretty fantastic to suddenly deciding she wasn’t a regular person, and then that haughty “Mr. Ellis” crap would start coming out of her mouth.
He gave his head a shake. The woman wasn’t put on this earth just for him, so if he had a problem with her personality, he needed to keep things professional and walk away when the club was finished.
As for judging her for being rich, she lived in a pleasant but hardly upscale condo—he was the one living in a goddamned mansion again. Maybe his messed-up family stuff was leaching over into how he felt about her. Maybe it was just a business persona she pasted on to work with fancy people, and that part wasn’t the real her.
Either way—he’d just met her. He had actual work to do. The last thing he should be making time for was chasing after some woman who was too fucking sheltered to know what she wanted. If she wanted him, she’d figure it out and let him know. He sure as hell didn’t need her.
Chapter Seven
The next morning, a cacophony of sound woke William from a heavy sleep that he had to fight his way out of. What the hell?
It was light out, but barely.
He staggered to the phone—his landline which no one ever called—and grabbed it before the answering machine picked up. If it was a telemarketer at this time of day they’d be getting a fucking earful. Dial tone. As he hung up, the gate buzzer went off—probably for the second time.
Shit.
Who was buzzing at the gate at seven in the morning?
As quickly as he could, he tugged on his jeans and a T-shirt and jogged down the stairs. The security cam showed an aging blue sedan at the gate. Someone was lost, obviously.
He pushed the button at the bottom of the screen. “Can I help you?”
“Mr. William Ellis?” The woman leaned out the sedan window to make herself heard. Midforties, pretty. She didn’t look familiar.
“Yes.”
“You’re a friend of Bethany St. Germaine?”
Jeez. Think of the devil.