Five million dollars.
I quickly clear the browser history when I hear the shower turn off, then slide the computer back where it was.
A minute after the shower turns off, the door opens. His gaze immediately swings to me. “You behaving yourself?”
I don’t want to lie anymore, and don’t figure there’s much that would get me in any worse trouble than I’m already in.
“Have you…” the words are hard to say. I draw in a breath then release it. “You haven’t restricted my Internet use.”
“I haven’t. I knew you could access that laptop if you really wanted to.”
I only nod. “That said, I… I looked up this necklace you gave me.”
He turns away from me, as if the memory’s too painful for him.
“It’s too much, Orlando.” I claw at the necklace, reaching for the clasp. “Even if things were good between us—”
“Don’t say it. Don’t you fucking say it.” As he stalks my way, I can’t help but let my gaze roam over his naked chest, the ink, his large biceps and defined abs. I turn away. I’ve never been attracted to anyone more in my entire life, and it pains me to think of what I’ve lost—not just the physical attraction but so much more.
So much more.
My hand rests on my abdomen, and I imagine what the next few months will be like. I swallow hard.
“You were worth it,” he says, just before he reaches me. “You were fucking worth it.”
Were.
I don’t respond. A dull ache makes me feel listless. Even the bright sun outside the window seems dimmer.
I hate that he’s talking as if it’s in the past. I reach for the clasp and undo it, let it slither into my hand, and show it to him. “Here. I don’t deserve this anymore.” It doesn’t feel right to keep it.
He only folds my fingers down over it. My body electrifies at the feel of his skin on mine, his large fingers with skulls encapsulating mine. He’s barely touched me since this all went down. My throat burns from the pain of holding myself back from crying when he shakes his head. “It was a gift. I don’t take back gifts.”
“Orlando, a five million dollar—”
“Gift,” he snaps, and his eyes flare with anger. The hurt in his voice makes tears spring to my own eyes. “I can’t change any of this. If I could, I fucking would. Will you rob me of the one thing I can do? The only thing I can fucking give you?”
I wince. I didn’t think of it that way.
“Thank you,” I whisper. He doesn’t respond at first. Finally, he stalks back over to the dresser and starts opening drawers.
“You look like you’re feeling better.” He drops the towel to the floor and stands there naked, picking through his clothes as if he doesn’t have a care in the world, as if he doesn’t even notice he’s naked. He just doesn’t care.
“Yeah, a little.” The actual physical feeling of nausea and fever have passed, but I don’t want to eat a thing. I stare listlessly out the window and finally push myself to standing.
Bad idea. My head spins and the room swirls around me. He catches me before I fall.
“What the hell happened?” I mutter. “What…?”
“Just get in bed,” he says, supporting me with surprising gentleness. “You’ve hardly eaten a thing. Get some food in you.”
“I don’t want to eat.”
He swings his hand and smacks my ass, hard. It’s the first time he’s spanked me since I told him I was pregnant, and it shocks me. I blink at him in surprise.
“Did I ask if you want to eat?” he snaps. I bite my lip and sit on the bed, then crawl to the pillows. It feels so good to rest again.
“Women have been doing this for millennia. How?”
He shrugs. “I think you were sick on top of everything.”
When he turns back to his clothes, I rub my hand across my ass. It still stings. I bite my lip.
He’s also turned me on.
I watch him dress in a sort of detached state of mind, like I’m out of my body and am not really here. When he’s dressed, he pulls his phone out and goes to make a call.
“What do you want to eat?”
“I don’t want to eat.” The bed feels so comfortable. Dammit, I thought I was getting better but now my stomach feels hollow and achy.
“You’re going to fucking eat.”
“Of all the things to force me to—” I didn’t realize he was right next to me, so close to me he could roll me over and silence me with his mouth on mine.
It isn’t a kiss. A kiss is a word too gentle, too romantic for the way his lips abuse mine, like he brandishes his own body as a weapon of assault against me. I’m gasping for air when his tongue lashes mine. Fear and arousal spike my pulse. I knife up, flailing, but he only pins me beneath him and plunders my mouth.