Chapter 16

Sixteen

"What the hell?" I skirt around him, only to stumble over my own feet and tumble onto the bed. What happened to the tender man who'd comforted me only minutes ago? The man who'd been starting to earn my trust, but has now shattered it, leaving hundreds of dangerous shards between us. "You can't possibly mean?—"

"Let me be perfectly clear," he says. "You can have your three million, but it comes at a price. You ."

I scramble over the bed until my back is against the headboard. Then I grab one of the pillows and clutch it to my chest. I want to flay him with a hard look. I want to cut his legs out from under him with the power of my disgust.

I want to hurt him.

Or rather, I want to want that.

But I don't.

Because what I really want is what he's offering.

And that scares me to death.

"You're a fucking bastard," I say with as much vitriol as I can conjure.

"I like to think of myself as an astute businessman negotiating the terms of a deal, which, frankly, I'm going to find very, very satisfying."

His mouth curves into a cocky grin. I really want to punch it. Not so much because he's tossing out these unbelievable terms, but because I opened the door to it.

"Fine," I say. "Negotiate."

He nods. "In exchange for three million dollars?—"

"Transferred exactly when I say and to exactly the account I identify."

He nods, then continues without missing a beat. "—I will own you, body and soul. I will kiss you, tease you, touch you. When I want. How I want. Body and soul," he repeats, "with only two exceptions. First, I'll stop when you tell me to, but you're only allowed to tell me to stop if you're not enjoying my touch."

He moves to the bed, then bends over and places his hands on the mattress, his full attention focused on my face. "You could lie. I'm giving you that power. I'm gambling you won't use it."

My mouth has gone dry, but I still manage to ask, "What's the second?"

His eyes lock onto mine. "I won't fuck you. Not until you beg me to. Not until you mean it. And when you do, my ownership ends. Do you understand?"

I nod, relieved by his promise not to fuck me. And, to my horror and shame, a little bit disappointed, too.

"As for more specific terms," he continues, "you will not deny me any desire, any whim, any prurient pastime." He looks me up and down, and in that moment, I'm certain that he can see through my clothes and the pillow I'm clutching. That he knows my nipples are hard and that I'm wet with desire.

What I don't know is if he can hear my blood pounding and my panic rising. I want to tell him. To beg him to back off because this is a deal that can't work for me. I may think it can. I may even want it to. But I know better—if he makes me agree to this, it will break me.

But I don't say that at all. Instead, I lift my chin, determined to not show weakness. "Why?"

"I could say it's because I want you, and that would be true. But it's also because I want you to feel powerful." He stands up straight, then motions for me to come toward him. I hesitate before putting aside the pillow and crawling over the mattress to kneel in front of him. As soon as I do, he cups one breast through my shirt. The material of my bra is thin, and my nipple is hard against it. His fingers find the spot and tease me in time with his words. "And because I want to own you," he continues, as threads of electricity zing through my body.

As if he knows about those fiery strands, he traces his fingertip down, lower and lower until he's cupping me over my tailored slacks. "Look at me," he demands, and I realize I've closed my eyes, lost in the gap between longing and fear.

I do what he says, and find myself gazing at his face, and the desire I see there is so palpable I feel it reverberate throughout my body.

"I want to pleasure you," he says, moving his fingers in a slow, deliberate circle, the sensations he's generating making it suddenly hard to breathe. "Mostly, I want to be the man who makes you beg. And I want to be the man who gets you over that wall of fear you've built up inside you."

These last words bring me back to myself, and I scoot backward, clamping my thighs together. "You really are an arrogant son of a bitch."

His slow grin is cocky as shit and wildly sexy. "That's what people say."

I grab up the pillow and hug it again, hating the fact that his touch is so damned arousing. That my body is still tingling. And that even though all I want to do is slap his face, if he were to pull me to him right then, I think I would come in his arms.

I almost beg for him to do exactly that, just to see if I really could go there.

But I say nothing. I'll hold tight to the fantasy. But the possibility of a new reality is far too terrifying.

I draw a breath, reminding myself that despite the way my cells are dancing, he is being an absolute shit. "You're really going to use sex as collateral?"

He simply shrugs, looking as innocent as a schoolboy. Which, frankly, pisses me off.

"I thought I knew you. And now you're using the fact that me and An?—"

His brow furrows. "You and what?"

"That you're a little prick," I snap, furious at myself for being careless almost mentioning Anne. "A little man. A fucking wolf in sheep's clothing and I should never have let myself trust you. Not even a little."

A see a shadow on his face and feel a kick of guilt that I quickly shove down.

"Have you considered that I'm afraid to lose you, and this is the only way I know how to keep you?"

I cross my arms over my chest as I look at him, not at all sure where he's going with this. "Lose me? When did you ever have me?"

He nods slowly, looking cocky as hell. "Good point. Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just a son-of-a-bitch who wants to see you squirm." He pauses, his eyes never leaving my face. "Doesn't matter, does it? Because you need me."

I lift my chin. "I'll find the money some other way."

"Good. I hope you do. My dad would give it to you in a heartbeat." He tilts his head and makes a show of looking me up and down. "Why haven't you asked him?"

"Maybe I will." I don't mention that I don't have the number for the satellite phone. Ash does, and if that's my only excuse, I know he'd give it to me.

He indicates the door. "You know your way around. Go give him a call while I pack."

"Fuck you," I snap, then slide off the bed. I want to race out of there, but I move slowly, as if I don't have a care in the world. Then I ease out of the guest house and hurry to the door that leads from the patio to the first-floor entrance hall.

Thankfully, the key code hasn't changed since my last time babysitting, and I'm inside in no time.

I'm not entirely sure why I'm here other than to be contrary. There is no way I'm asking Damien for three million dollars. Aria and I have already gone there, dismissed that.

Which means Ash remains my only shot, and the only reason I have for being in the house is to show him that I'm not a pushover.

Except I am. Because, of course, I'm going to go back to the guest house and agree to every one of his stupid terms.

His stupid, terrifying, enticing terms.

What the hell is wrong with me ?

Raindrops.

Roses.

Whiskers.

Kittens.

I let the mantra fill my head as I climb the grand staircase that leads from the ground floor up to the third floor, which serves as the heart of the house. It boasts a huge living area, the master and other suites, and the family kitchen and dining area. It's not the actual kitchen—that's a massive restaurant-worthy space on the ground floor. Instead, this area was originally planned as a catering kitchen before it became Stark Dining Central.

Right now, I'm only interested in the coffee machine. As my latte finishes brewing, I realize I'm no longer channeling Julie Andrews. And, yes, I'm feeling decidedly less stressed.

With a sigh, I take my latte and head to the sitting area. I glance up at the portrait of Nikki before settling on the sofa. She started her business with the money Damien paid her for that nude portrait in a deal not dissimilar to what Ash has offered me.

Like father like son…

Shit.

With a sigh, I pull out my phone, then put a call in to Teresa, only to get her message that she's out of the country on vacation, but that if it's a crisis I can press nine for an on-call therapist. I start to do that but change my mind and call Aria instead.

"Tell me everything," she says without preamble.

I do, pretty much word-vomiting all over her. I leave nothing out. And when I've given her all the embarrassing, sordid, details, the first thing she says is, "There's nothing wrong with you for wanting to take the deal."

"I don't want to. That's why I'm calling."

"Oh. Right. Gotcha." She sounds unconvinced. I feel an uncomfortable squiggling in my gut. "Have you talked to Teresa?"

"I tried her first. Nothing personal," I add, making her laugh. "She's on vacation."

"Wanna know what she'd say?"

I hesitate, then sigh. Aria's damn good at reading people, and she's gotten to know Teresa pretty well over the years. "Sure."

"Same thing I'm going to say. Take the deal."

"Oh."

She laughs. "Do not even. You called because you're attracted to the guy. You want to sleep with him, but you're scared to sleep with him. And now this guy is basically offering you baby steps and an out clause? It's a no-brainer."

I bite my lip. She's not wrong. "What if I freak out. What if I have a panic attack?"

"Oh, sweetie…" For a moment, there's just silence. Then she says, "For the record, I'm still not convinced that Ash isn't the creep who's blackmailing you in the first place. But assuming he's not, we already know he's attracted to you, right?"

She barrels on, not giving me time to respond. "And he said you could take it slow, which means he's clued-in to the possibility of panic attacks, also right?"

This time, I manage an affirmative sound while she takes a breath.

"Plus, you want him to fuck you."

"No. I?—"

"Do not even. This is me. You want to get past it. I know it. You know it. Teresa knows it. You've been working on yourself for years, and now we know that there's some honest-to-goodness crap locked away in your brain because of what your fucking kidnappers did to you. If getting busy with Ash helps get you past that, then I say Go, Pussycat, Kill, Kill. "

I actually laugh. "You are the weirdest person I know, and I love you to death."

"Back at you. And I'm serious. Honestly, I'm kind of jealous. A hot guy is pretty much offering to give you sex therapy. That's not something to walk away from."

Sex therapy. For some strange reason, thinking of it that way makes the whole thing seem less sordid somehow.

Still strange and sordid… just less so.

"You still there?"

"Yeah. Sorry." I push myself off the sofa and start pacing. "I'm telling myself you're right. But I'm still not sure I can?—"

"You have one other option," she says, cutting me off. "I was about to call you, actually."

"What option?"

"Get the three mil from somewhere else."

"Come on, Ar. We already talked about that."

"That was before I talked to Caleb."

"Oh, please tell me you didn't really." Caleb's her cousin, and though the three of us grew up together—and he's had a lifelong crush on me—I really don't need him knowing my problems.

"Unless you've figured out how to scrounge up three mil, you do not get to bitch about me asking."

I vehemently disagree about that, but I just cross my arms and stare down the phone. Which is entirely pointless since this isn't a video call.

"His grandfather died."

"He was in his late nineties, right?" I'm sorry, of course, but I have no idea what that has to do with anything.

"Caleb inherited the brownstone, and he's already got an offer on it. More than thirty mil. Less after taxes and all that crap, but more than enough to keep him in style for a long, long time. He said he'd give you the money in a heartbeat."

"I wish you hadn't asked that."

"Why? He said yes."

It really is tempting, but Caleb's one of those people who expects something in return for everything. And, yeah, Ash is expecting sex, but that's different.

Except maybe it's not.

Maybe it's only different because I'm intrigued by Ash's demand. And I have no idea what Caleb would hold over my head.

"Tell Ash you thank him for the offer of his fabulous cock, but you just can't go there. And if taking money from Caleb really bugs you," she continues, before I can sneak a word in, "then think of it as a loan."

"Ari—"

"The money's there. All you have to do is call him."

"Okay, fine. Let me think about it. Will you call and tell him thanks for me, and I'll be in touch if I need it?"

"If?"

"Aria…"

"I'll tell him you'll call sometime tomorrow."

I start to argue, but then I remember who I'm talking to. Arguing is pointless.

"I am right, though," she says.

"About what?"

"Ash. Even if you don't take his money, you really should take the deal."

"Aria!"

"Love you! Bye!"

And then she's gone, leaving me standing there staring at my phone.

"Miss Bree."

I jump a mile, then turn to find the Starks' butler, house manager, valet, and all-around Go-To guy, standing behind me.

"Gregory. I'm so sorry to barge in. I was visiting Ash and?—"

I cut myself off with a shake of my head. "Honestly, he pissed me off, so I decided to come get a coffee. I should have buzzed you. Old habits."

"Nonsense," he says as I bend to retrieve my latte from the table. "You're always welcome. Would you care for another?"

"Thanks." I clear my throat as I follow him to the kitchen. "Can I ask you a question?"

He stops in front of the coffee machine and starts it brewing. "Of course."

"Right. Thanks. So, I was wondering. What do you think of Ash?"

Gregory nods, as if organizing his thoughts. "I've found him to be a charming young man. Though I confess it took a bit of time to get there."

We share a smile. Gregory's old enough to be my grandfather, but we became friends when I was working as the Starks' nanny.

"But you've known him as long as I have," Gregory adds. "Is there a particular reason you need my judgment in addition to yours?"

Because I'm a little baby who apparently can't make her own decisions?

True, but I decide not to tell him that part. "I guess—well, I know him, but I'm not sure I know him. I take a seat at the table. "And, well, I have a problem he's said he can help me with." I swallow, then look down, talking to the tabletop instead of Gregory. "The thing is, he wants something kind of major in return."

Gregory puts the fresh latte in front of me, then settles himself across the table, his hands folded in front of him. "I see."

Clearly, he doesn't. Not fully. But I'm not inclined to enlighten him.

"Is he trustworthy?" I ask. "I mean, I know Damien considers him part of the family now. And I know that Ash has apologized for the chaos he dropped when he first showed up."

"He has indeed."

"I guess I'm wondering about his character in general. Will he keep his word? Can he keep a secret? Is he—I mean, is he a guy who keeps his promises?"

Gregory sips his coffee, then puts his cup back down, his fingertip tapping the ceramic. "I confess I was leery when he first showed up, but he has swept all my concerns away. You know about his family situation?"

I nod, then shake my head. "Sort of. I'm not sure I know all of it." Gregory, I'm sure, does know all of it. He's in the know about everything that touches this house. One of the perks of being both trusted and invisible.

"It's not my place to share that with you, but I think it's fair to say that Mr. Stone has overcome at least as much as both Damien and Ms. Nikki. And I would rank his character on par with theirs."

"Really?" That's high praise. "Even if he wants—" I silence myself with a firm shake of my head. The truth is, Damien wanted the same thing, didn't he? It was a huge scandal when the secret of his early relationship with Nikki came out. The fact that Damien wanted Nikki's portrait—nude. And he paid her enough money for the sitting to start her own business. But it wasn't just the portrait he wanted. For the time allotted to finish the painting, he wanted her , and that meant in every way possible.

Unconventional, but it sure worked out okay.

Gregory's brows rise as he studies my face. "Like father like son?"

I take a sip of my latte, certain my cheeks have gone crimson. "I should get going."

I can tell he's fighting a smile as he walks me toward the stairs. "There are secrets you keep, Miss Bree. As you should. But as you navigate whatever arrangement you are negotiating with our Ashton, keep in mind that you aren't the only one with a darkness in your past that you'd rather not share."