A Million Dirty Secrets (Million Dollar Duet 1)

I sat back on my heels and crossed my arms over my chest, completely mortified with embarrassment because, yeah, I guess that was what I’d just said, technically. But I wasn’t about to admit it for a second time.

“Do you have any sexual experience at all?”

Again I shook my head.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair once more. He looked like he was a thousand miles away, probably contemplating whether or not he was going to keep me. And then he finally tucked himself back into his pants and stood up, towering over me.

“Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” I was ready to beg him not to sell me to Jabba the Hutt.

“We’re going home,” was his short reply.

“You’re not mad?” I scrambled to my feet and ran to catch up with his long strides as he stormed out the door.

“Oh, I am extremely pissed, but I’m trying really hard not to be.” He continued down the hallway without so much as a glance over his shoulder at me. “I suppose if I look on the bright side of things, this means that I can train you to do things the way I like them. But right now, I have a hard-on the size of Texas and I’m not exactly thrilled about it. Where are your things?”

“In some room off the hallway.”

We didn’t speak another word to each other as we maneuvered our way back to the room where I had changed my clothes and left my things, including my cell phone. He stood outside the door while I changed out of the bandages that were supposed to pass as attire and back into my tank top and skirt. Once I was dressed and feeling less exposed, he led me out the back entrance to Foreplay, one that I assumed was meant for these types of guests only. When we made it to the parking lot, Mystery Man walked over to a limousine where a short, blond-haired man in a black suit and driver’s hat stood by the door.

“Mr. Crawford,” the man greeted him with a nod and an expressionless face as he opened the back door.

“Samuel,” he greeted him in turn as he put his hand on the small of my back and ushered me inside. “We’re headed home for the evening.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver said as Mr. Crawford, aka Mystery Man, slid into the oversized backseat of the limousine next to me. Not that there wasn’t plenty of room. Personal space probably wasn’t a luxury I’d have much of over the next couple of years, though.

The car was moving through the streets of Chicago within seconds. Mr. Crawford exhaled a long breath and shifted in the seat as he tugged at his pants. Note to self: Don’t mess with Texas. I smirked a little to myself.

“Do you live in Chicago?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“No. Hillsboro,” was my short response.

I looked out the window, watching the city lights go by. The streets were littered with happy-go-lucky people who seemed to have not a care in the world. I supposed that under different circumstances, and had the world not hated me and my family, I might have been just like any one of them. But as things were, that wasn’t the case.

“Why are you doing this, Delaine?”

I wasn’t prepared to divulge that information, and it certainly wasn’t part of my contract. I preferred not to get too personal with the man who had just purchased me.

“Why are you?” I shot back. Apparently my brain filter still wasn’t working.

The scowl was back on his face again, and part of me regretted getting sassy with him when I considered all the ways he could punish me. But only a small part of me.

“You do realize that I own you now, right? You’d do well to remember your place. I’m not a cruel person by nature, but your smart mouth and snarky attitude are testing my restraint,” he warned with a stern look.

I was sure I probably looked like a scared kitten right about then, because that was how I felt, but I looked him in the eye anyway, my pride not allowing me to turn away. Or maybe it was fear that made me keep him in my sights and watch for any sudden movements. More likely it was the fact that the man really was a beautiful specimen, and I cursed the needy woman in me for being so weak.

“Look, I know this isn’t an ideal situation for you, and you probably have your reasons, just like I have mine,” he started. “But the fact of the matter remains that we’re bound together for the next two years, so it will be a lot easier on the both of us if we can at least try to get along. I don’t want to fight you every step of the way. I won’t fight you. You will do as I say, and that’s that. If you don’t want to tell me anything about your personal life before this, fine. I won’t ask. But you belong to me and I won’t tolerate insubordination, Delaine. Are we clear?”

I narrowed my eyes and clenched my teeth. “Perfectly. I’ll do what you say, but don’t expect me to enjoy it.”

He got a wicked grin on his face then and put his hand on my bare thigh. Slowly he began to caress my skin as his fingertips moved higher, under my skirt. He leaned in toward me until I could feel his hot breath wash over my neck and my skin pebbled from the sensation.

“Oh, I think you will thoroughly enjoy it, Delaine.” His raspy voice made me feel things I should’ve been too disgusted to feel, and then he pressed his lips to the spot just below my ear in an openmouthed kiss while his long fingers barely pressed against my center. My stupid, traitorous body responded and I became putty in his more than capable hands. I think a slight whine may have escaped my lips when he pulled away abruptly.

“Aw, home sweet home,” he said when the car came to a stop.

I was shaken from my Mystery Man–induced haze and looked out the tinted windows. The house wasn’t even a house. It was huge. A mansion. I swear he could have fit a whole city inside. If I hadn’t already known better, I would’ve said he was trying to overcompensate, but that obviously wasn’t it at all.

Mr. Crawford—God, I hated referring to him by that name—stepped from the limo and held his hand out to help me. I declined his offer and got out on my own. The driveway itself was laid in brick, huge and circular with a stone water fountain in the center that was lit up with soft white lights. Pillars of water shot up into the air and rained back down into the pool of glass. As I turned to look at the rest of my surroundings, I could see nothing but perfectly cut grass and ornate shrubbery that had been sculpted into stags.

Jeez, did Edward Scissorhands live here, or what?

“Right this way, miss,” Samuel said, taking my bag from my hands and drawing my attention back toward the house.