Foxy In Lingerie (Lingerie 10)

There was another sink on my side of the counter, so I got to work. “You were saying…?”

“Don’t try to run. Don’t try to kill me. Don’t be a pain in the ass.” He looked at me head on, his gaze turning serious. “And you could be very comfortable here. Don’t give me a reason to hurt you, and I won’t. Don’t give me a reason to fuck you, and I won’t.”

What kind of reason was he talking about? He was the one who’d forced me to shower in front of him. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“It’s not. I don’t want to chain you up in a bedroom any more than you want me to. I don’t want to have to come to you every time you call out my name. I don’t want the work that comes with managing a rambunctious prisoner.”

“Then why did you buy me in the first place?” This man seemed to have everything. He was obviously rich, and he was obviously good-looking. He didn’t need to buy a woman when he could pick one up on his own.

“Doesn’t matter.” He got to work on the sauce for the meat, pouring different spices and flavors into the bowl. “That can be our arrangement if you’re willing to accept it. What do you think?”

I still didn’t understand the offer, and without understanding what I was agreeing to, I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. “I need to know why you bought me, Carter. Because, in my experience, men don’t buy women to be nice to them. So what’s the deal with you?”

He held my gaze, his temper starting to flare. “We aren’t friends. I don’t owe you an explanation. I can do whatever I want with my money—no questions asked. Don’t forget that you’re still a commodity—and I still own that commodity.”

I may have to settle for never knowing the truth. “What are your terms?”

“I already said them.”

“Can I leave the house?”

He chuckled. “No. You can’t leave the perimeter of the property—and I will know if you do.”

“Okay.”

He dropped what he was doing to look at me again. “If you cross me, I will hurt you. That’s not an empty threat. It’s a very potent one.” He gripped the counter edge again. “I will have to punish you, to make you think those scars on your back were just a massage in comparison. Don’t mistake my niceness for weakness. Do we have an understanding?”

The only reason I took his threat seriously was because I didn’t know him at all. He was an enigma that made no sense. He bought me for a fortune but had no plans for me. He didn’t outright hurt me, but he didn’t respect me either. There was nothing more terrifying than being with someone with unknown intentions. When you didn’t understand what a person wanted, they became unpredictable.

Carter was completely unpredictable.

If I the possibility arose, I might take it. But if I learned more about Carter, perhaps I could persuade him to let me go. He understood compassion, so it wasn’t impossible. I would take the time to learn more about him before I made my decision.

I had plenty of time.

Thirteen

Carter

I sat across from my prisoner at the dinner table. We shared a bottle of wine while we ate, and I had my phone out most of the time. I was exchanging emails with my assistant and going over my schedule for the upcoming week. After all the stuff that happened with Conway, my business had been put on hold.

She looked at me as she ate, and then she launched a smartass comment my way. “You’re being awfully rude right now.”

I looked up from the screen, my left eyebrow raised in shock. “What did we just talk about?”

“You told me to behave. And you defined good behavior as me not trying to kill you.” She took a long drink of her wine, savoring it like it was the best thing that had ever touched her lips. “That’s what I’m doing right now—not killing you.” She took another bite of her food, eating quicker than me as if she was starving.

“I also told you not to be a pain in the ass.”

“Well, you’re being rude.”

I locked the screen of my phone and set it down. “I can be rude all I want.”

“And I can call you out for it.” She grabbed the bottle from the table and refilled her glass.

Despite her annoyance, I was impressed by her quick wit. She couldn’t fire off those comebacks without an impressive level of intelligence. That was the way my sister was. She was argumentative, but she was so clever that she usually won her arguments—even if she was wrong.

I placed my phone on the table. “There. You have my attention.”

“I didn’t ask for your attention. I just don’t want you to bring your phone to the table. Even an eight-year-old knows better.”