The question surprises me. I look at him. The light of the dashboard illuminates the strong lines of his face. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
About me? I’m not sure what to make of that. Then again, I’m not sure of anything that happened tonight.
“Did she choose the name because of the color of your eyes?” he asks when I don’t reply.
“All babies are born with dark blue eyes.”
He shoots me a glance. “It’s the flower then.”
Rubbing my arms, I stare at the office buildings that whiz past my window. “African Violet. My mom says it’s the hardiest flower in the world.”
“I didn’t know that,” he muses, switching on the heater.
“They flower all year round, even in the coldest month of winter, and they live up to fifty years.”
He crosses the intersection, checking his side and rearview mirrors before placing a hand on my knee. “Because of your leg?”
The touch jars me. I tense. Strangely, it feels more out of place than when he spanked me. “I was diagnosed with LLD at birth.”
Nodding, he squeezes my knee before gripping the wheel again.
I don’t know why I told him that. I’ve never talked about my disability with anyone. Perhaps because he’s the first person to mention it so openly. Most people pretend there’s nothing wrong with me.
He’s silent for the rest of the drive, not bringing up what happened in the parking lot or how he made me come.
When we approach Gus’s house, I take my keys from my bag and press on the remote to open the gates.
“What about my car?” I ask again as he parks in front of the main entrance.
“I’ll have it delivered tomorrow.” He cuts the engine. “I told you not to worry about it.”
Suddenly uncomfortable, I get out of the car. My stomach tightens when he follows suit. I hope he’s not going to kiss me goodnight. My fight may have burned out—for now—but I’m still angry with him. Whatever Gus promised him, I have no intention of marrying Leon. I’ll find a way out. I have to. I can’t be tied to a man worse than my stepfather, a man who’s able to commit violence and sins.
“Violet.”
Catching up with me, he grabs my wrist.
I turn to face him. “What?”
“Tonight was the second time you walked out on me. I won’t let it happen again.”
I grit my teeth. “More ultimatums? Why, aren’t you demanding?”
Unfazed by my hostility, he interlaces our fingers and leads me up the steps to the door. Letting me go, he unbuttons his jacket, takes it off, and folds it neatly over the wall.
When he reaches for the top button of his shirt, I ask with alarm, “What are you doing?”
He pulls the shirttails from his pants and unbuttons the shirt all the way before peeling off the stained garment. His arms are huge and cut to perfection. Chiseled muscles define his torso and abdomen. A dark dusting of manly hair covers his chest. With a body like that, he must work out regularly.
Fumbling the shirt into a ball, he hands it to me.
Dumbfounded, I take it on autopilot.
“You can bring it to the office on Monday.” He adds with a diabolical smile, “Washed and ironed.”
My mouth drops open. His lips quirk as he pulls on his jacket over his naked chest.
At a loss for words, I can only stare at him as he bends down, kisses my cheek, and walks to his car.
He opens his door but doesn’t get inside. “Go in. I want to see you get safely into the house.”
Just like that, I go up in flames. This time, it’s not lust. It’s anger.
Fuming, I unlock the door. True to his word, he doesn’t move until I’ve shut it behind me. The engine of his car only starts up when I’ve turned the key in the lock. I press the button on the intercom to open the gates. Unable to help myself, I walk to the window. The headlights of his car throw two strong beams on the road. He drives through the gates, turns, and disappears from sight.
Arrogant son of a bitch.
My phone pings.
I take it out of my bag as I walk to the scullery. It’s a text message from Leon.
Eat something.
I type a quick reply. Still giving orders?
An answer comes back a second later. You owe me dinner. Tomorrow night. Your treat.
After dumping the shirt in the washing machine, I type, I’m busy.
The three dots that dance over my screen indicate he’s typing a reply. A moment later, his answer appears. Change your plans. I’ll pick you up at seven.
Bristling, I reply, What if I have another date?
His answer takes longer to come. He better not exist. If he does, he’s dead.
I read the message twice before I switch off my phone. The fact that I don’t doubt his threat shows how fucked-up we are. Leon taught me a lesson tonight. He didn’t spank me to make me come. That happened spontaneously. He spanked me to prove that no matter what, he’ll make good on his word.