Fighter in Lingerie (Lingerie 14)

“Fine. If that’s what you want, you can have it. But I’m disappointed you think this is necessary.”

I gripped the glass in my hand, about to shatter it. “You threatened to kill my father if I didn’t become your personal slave.”

“I never said you were a slave. I just said you were mine—big difference.”

“I see no difference,” I said coldly.

“You’ll be treated like a queen—that’s the difference.”

“Doesn’t change anything,” I said. “You gave me an ultimatum.”

“And then you brought my mother into this.” It didn’t matter how quick the pace of the conversation was, he could keep up easily. He always fired back with an answer, his brain working at an impressive speed.

“It was the only option I had.”

“But then you compromised. We reached three months—together.”

“What else could I have done?”

He grabbed the glass from my hand and set it on the counter, keeping his eyes on me the entire time. He moved in closer to me, close enough that his breath fell on my skin. He made me rise on my toes because the tension settled over both of us like a cloud. He suffocated me with his presence, with his overbearing masculinity. “You could have pressed for your freedom. You used my mother against me, and you could have squeezed more out of me. We both know it. But you didn’t. You settled for a compromise—because you wanted a compromise.”

I turned to face him head on, shocked by the allegation. “So, you think I want this?”

“I know you do,” he said confidently. “A woman like you only does something if she wants to. You want this. You want me—just not forever. You want to enjoy me, knowing there’s a way out. You know I’m not the right man for you, but this alleviates your guilt. It’s fine if you don’t want to say it out loud. I can’t blame you. But we both know that’s the case.” He pulled away abruptly, ending the conversation with the cold shoulder. “Let’s go.” He walked into the hallway without waiting for me.

I stayed at the counter and stared at the bottle of wine I didn’t get to finish. A dread descended into my stomach because his analysis was right. A part of me wanted to be his woman, to keep this level of invincibility I’d become addicted to. I wanted good sex without having to find it. I wanted a man so powerful no other man could match him. But I also wanted to walk away…without taking any responsibility for the time I’d wasted. Would I say that to him? Never.

I’d take it to the grave.

Bosco pulled his shirt over his head the second he was inside the bedroom. He tossed it on the back of the chair that faced the desk and moved about the room in just his jeans and belt. His muscles shifted and worked together, rippling under the tanned skin as he walked to the large closet against one of the walls. He pulled it open, revealing empty hangers on the bar where I could hang my clothes. “Help yourself.” He walked into the bathroom, pretending all of this was normal, and shut the door to brush his teeth and wash his face.

I opened the first suitcase and started to hang my tops and jeans, but that’s when I noticed the short cocktail dresses, pumps, and other clothing toward the right side of the closet. I stared at a black strapless dress and a pair of red pumps. There was also a piece of black lingerie hanging next to it.

None of that stuff was mine.

Did it belong to an old lover? Did he lie when he said he didn’t have a relationship? Had someone else ever lived here? Or did they simply leave their clothes behind and went home in his t-shirt?

I kept hanging up my clothes, doing my best not to give a damn what the story was. Whoever shared his bed before me was irrelevant. I didn’t care, and I never would care. I set my shoes on the shelves then closed the doors, hiding the other dresses from view.

It was late, so I opened one of his drawers and pulled on one of his shirts he wore around the house. The material was something I’d never felt before, such soft cotton it was like wearing a cloud. Even though it was clean, it smelled like him, his cologne and whatever soap he used in the shower. If someone could capture that smell and put it in a bottle, they could slap the word masculine on it and have a new fragrance line.

I got into his large bed and set the alarm on my phone so I would be on time for work in the morning. Sometimes I had to get there early because I had shipments come in. At this time of year, it was too cold for the more exotic flowers to bloom, so they had to be imported.