12. Locke

"I know you did," I say after a minute. I still haven't started the car, but my mother isn't going to follow me, thank fuck.

"You lied to me," Maren says angrily.

She's cute when she's mad; eyebrows pinched deeply, and a scowl that could rival mine. And I think I've finally seen that part of her, a part I almost feel lucky to be experiencing because she's comfortable enough to show me.

I run my hands down my pants. "I did not lie to you. You assumed, and I never bothered to correct you."

"Whatever," she huffs. "You don't owe me any explanations. We're not friends. Can we go back and sign the papers now?"

I shake my head. "You're not living here."

Maren groans when I start the ignition. "What the hell do you mean? You said it was okay, and this was the last one I found in my price range. The alternatives are even shittier than this, and I'm sure your mega-mansion has warped your reality of other people's realities."

An idea pops into my brain, and I start to pull out of the parking space before she can sprint out of the car.

Her voice rises in confusion and irritation. "Your own mother lives here, Locke. It can't be that bad. "

"She doesn't live here," I tell her. "Considering I pay her mortgage, I know where she lives."

Maren sits back and crosses her arms like she's daring me. "What does that mean?"

I go still, drive through a green light, merge onto the interstate, and head back north. It's been at least five minutes since she asked me that question.

Nothing in me wants to elaborate, but I do, because over my dead body will Maren be living within a ten-mile radius of that.

"You're not living next door to my mother's drug dealer."

I've rendered her talkative little mouth speechless. Fuck, how badly I'd like to render it speechless because she's choking on my cock, but that ship has sailed. I pull my eyes off her lips.

In a split-second decision, without any further thought other than I need to protect her, I say, "You're coming home with me."

"What?" she splutters, recovering from her shock. "No, I'm not."

"You are," I insist. "I live in a ‘mega-mansion' and have a guest house that no one has ever lived in. You will never see me. It's separated from my house by a pool and a golf course."

She laughs. " You're the insane one."

"I am completely in my right mind when I say that I will not let you live in any of these places, and if you think I'll lose this argument, you'll quickly realize I'm not fucking around. My house doesn't have black mold. It isn't in a bad neighborhood. No one will try to grope you. And you won't be living next door to daily drug deals."

"Locke," she starts, twisting her waist to face me, "I'm not living with you."

"You'll be living by yourself," I clarify. "Technically next door, but I guess it's still further away than that really."

Maren sits back. "I cannot afford whatever your house looks like."

"That's cute you think there's a rental fee."

"I'm not living in your mega-mansion for free. I'm a big girl, and I don't need your help. "

"Name your terms," I say. "I don't give a fuck. You have thirty minutes to figure them out, and once we get there, I won't have to convince you."

I'm done talking. She can see for herself that I will not be jeopardizing her health or safety when I have an entire house that has sat empty for almost six years, and once she does see it, she'll be hard-pressed to say no.

Maren's trying her best not to look out the window when we pull up to my iron gate, but curiosity is getting the best of her.

She looks at her lap when it opens slowly, refusing to watch as we wind down the long, paved driveway lined with palm trees.

My white house, mostly reflective windows from floor to ceiling with a black roof, appears to our right, but she still doesn't look. She waits until I pull around to the back, past the pool, which she can have to herself, past my six-hole golf course on our left, which she could use but probably won't, and stop at my guest house, that looks like a miniature version of my house, at the edge of the water.

Maren steadies her breathing and peers out the window. "It's two stories," she says. Her eyes flicker out over the small waves. "And waterfront."

"And it's all yours," I reply.

It's perfect for her, really. One loft bedroom, one bath, triple the size of the apartments she was looking at. She'll agree if I could just get her inside.

"Nope. This is crazy," she says. "Take me home—to my sister's."

I smirk as I slide the key around the gold ring and place it on her thigh. "I'll do no such thing." She stares at it, still sitting on her hands, so I look up through the windshield. "It's furnished."

She sighs. "Even more of a reason to take me home, so I don't mess up your furniture."

My mind instantly turns dark at how much we could mess up the bed. I rub my lips in anticipation like I have a smile that isn't there that I'm trying to wipe off my stupid face. What I really want to say is something that will make her wet for me, but if she's going to be living here, I'm going to have to be on my best behavior.

I set a timer on my watch and challenge myself to get her inside the house in under five minutes.

"King bed. The sheets are comfy. Best espresso machine. There's a balcony that overlooks the water. There's a remote that controls everything. The shades, the television, which pops up from the end of your bed, the fans, the lights… I'll build you a darkroom."

That last one earns me an amused nose scrunch. She's going to have to stop drawing attention to her freckles if I'm expected to be a gentleman.

Four minutes and seventeen seconds. I wish I had an actual darkroom to entice her with. I try my real smile instead.

"This isn't fair," she says, eyeing my dimples.

"I don't really give a shit about fair." Not when it comes to her. I cock my head toward her window and pout. "Look at my pool I never use."

"No." She fails. Three minutes and forty-four seconds. Her eyes brighten a little, I assume imagining herself tanning in those chairs. She averts her gaze to the dock where my boat is docked with its cover over it. "What else do you not do?"

"Live here and find out."

Maren leans over to inspect my wrist. "Why do you keep looking at your watch?"

"I'm playing a game," I say coyly.

She studies the watch face, not picking up on what I'm doing, then rolls her eyes. " If I live here, I'm paying you rent and signing something."

"Fine. "

She picks up her chin, the sun hitting behind her in a halo. Two minutes and fifty-eight seconds. "I want it to say that you can kick me out any time. I need a contract that has all the stupid legal stuff I don't understand. I need your list of rules, like do I have to take off my shoes? Am I allowed anywhere in the yard? Can I use that pool? Can I touch that boat? Are my friends allowed over? Which I guess is just my sister lately. How much noise can I make? Can I take pictures?"

"Done," I chuckle. "And you can do whatever the fuck you want to do. You live here."

"Not yet. I need time to think of other demands, and I need to consult my sister," she retorts. Maren narrows her eyes. "Are we just going to sit in the car like children?"

" I'm not," I say, knowing full well she won't either. "I'm thirty." I'm halfway to the front door when I hear her car door open.

"Stop being a pain in the ass and just go inside," I say when she stops beside me and shifts back and forth on her feet.

She glances at the key in her hand before shoving it into the lock.

Thirty-seven seconds.

I can't help myself, and I'm already hard, thinking about her showering in my, well, her bathroom. I want her thinking about me when she sees that bed. When she's lying down tonight, drifting off. I won't touch her, but that doesn't mean I can't have fun.

"That's my good girl," I whisper over her shoulder.

Her head almost whips back, but she catches herself. I can still see the smile she's trying to hold back through her hair.