“It is.” He looked at me again, and a shiver ran up my spine. “You will not cut yourself again. Do you understand?”
Something about his tone, about how commanding he was being with me, made butterflies swarm my stomach. I thought about how he’d dressed me in my tiny little outfit, how he’d held my hands down at my sides and let his eyes rake up my body.
“You’re not in charge of me,” I said defiantly, raising my chin in the air, daring him to contradict me.
“Oh, I sure as hell am,” he said. He stood up and crossed the room to the bar in the corner, poured himself a drink and took a long gulp. He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe he was being forced to deal with me.
“No, you’re not,” I said.
“Jesus, Olivia, you sound like a child.”
“I sound like a child?” I said. “You’re the one you ran out of here when you found out I was a virgin. Talk about childish and immature.”
His hand tightened around the glass he was holding and I saw something akin to fury blazing in his eyes. But what did he think? That I was just not going to bring it up? Now that my immediate medical concerns had been taken care of, I was pissed.
How dare he send me such horribly mixed signals? He’d dressed me up in this skimpy outfit, he’d made it perfectly clear that he liked what he saw, and then he started kissing me, touching me, making me crazy with want for him.
And then once I decided to give him what he wanted, he stopped. Just because I was virgin? Talk about fucked up.
“I did you a favor,” Colt said. He took another long pull of his drink, draining the glass. “You don’t want your first time to be with me. Trust me.”
“Why not?”
“Because you just don’t.” He closed his eyes tight, and bent over the bar, resting his hands on the side as he hung his head for a moment. His broad shoulders looked tensed and knotted, and I had to resist the urge to go over there and comfort him.
I thought about what I’d seen in the office earlier, how I’d heard him fighting with his uncle, how Colt had slammed his hands against the desk. He looked like a lost kid now, instead of the sexy, confident man who’d held my hips earlier while I’d danced for him, telling me how to move, how to undress for him.
I took a step toward him, no longer able to keep myself from trying to provide some comfort to him the way he’d just done for me.
But before I could, Colt turned around.
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re done as a cocktail waitress.”
“So you said,” I tipped my chin in the air. “I want to be paid for my time.” It was only fair. I’d worked here for the night, I should get the money that was due to me. I wondered how much it could be. A hundred bucks? A hundred bucks could last me a while. A hundred bucks was enough for a food and a few nights in a cheap motel until I could figure out what to do next.
“No.”
“No?” I blinked at him in disbelief. “That’s illegal.”
“You’ll get paid at the end of the week, for the week.”
I shook my head. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ll be my secretary.”
“What?”
“I don’t want you working here as a waitress. It’s too dangerous. You can work in the office with me. I need someone to help with the paperwork.”
“No.” I shook my head. I didn’t need his pity. I didn’t need some stupid job he’d just invented. Paperwork! What did he think I was, some kind of accountant?
“Yes,” Cold said, undeterred by my protests. “You’ll stay with me. At my apartment. When you have enough money saved, we’ll talk about you getting your own place.”
My eyes widened. “We’ll talk about me getting my own place?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not your prisoner.”
“Until I can make sure you’re safe, you are.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why are you so determined to make decisions for me?”
He crossed the room in two long strides. He took my hands in his and turned my wrists over, running his fingers over the bandages. “Because I’ve never been so scared in my life as when I saw you lying here on the floor. And because for some strange, fucked up reason, I can’t seem to stay away from you. I have the need to protect you.”
Emotion flooded my chest, and I forced myself not to look at him. I knew if I looked at him, I wouldn’t be able to say no. And I had to say no. I had to. Because if I didn’t, I was afraid of what would happen.
“Olivia,” he breathed. “Olivia, look at me.”
I was powerless. I raised my eyes from the floor, and he reached out and smoothed my hair from my forehead.
He leaned his forehead against mine, and our lips were just millimeters from touching again.
“Say yes,” he whispered, and I could hear the desperation and want in his voice, how badly he wanted me to say yes to his plan.
“Yes,” I said, before I had a chance to think about it.
His lips tugged into a smile, just for half a second before setting back into a strong line.
I closed my eyes, because I couldn’t take it anymore, the two of us standing here so close, staring into each other’s eyes. It was intimate and confusing. How could I feel so deeply bonded to Colt when I’d just met him? Was this just lust, making me act crazy?
I felt his eyelashes brush against my cheeks as he closed his eyes too, and at that moment, someone in the club decided to turn up the music and the pounding bass line began echoing through the room, pumped in through the wireless speaker system.
The sound was jarring, but neither of us moved.
Kiss me, I thought. Please, kiss me and finish what you started.
I wanted his hands all over me, on my ass, my back, my breasts. I wanted his mouth between my legs, his fingers inside of me there, too. I wanted to feel his hard cock push into my mouth, wanted to know what it felt like to taste a man’s dick.
The rhythm of the music intensified, the tempo like a beating heart. I placed my palm against Colt’s muscular chest, feeling his real heart beat, slow and strong.
He did the same to me, and my breath caught in my chest at the feel of his hand against my breast.
We were locked together, the music swirling around us into a tornado.
Kiss me, I screamed inside. Kiss me.
I tilted my head just the tiniest bit, until my lips barely brushed his. It wasn’t a kiss – in fact, it was far from it. I’d hardly even felt the soft pillows of his lips against mine before he pulled back, almost as if he’d been burned.
“Olivia…” Colt started, taking my hand off his chest and holding it in his. but I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to hear why he was wrong for me, why we couldn’t do this, why it was a bad idea. Because one of the things I’d learned over the years was that when someone had all kind of justifications and excuses for why they couldn’t do something, it was usually just window-dressing. Because the thing was, it usually just came down to one simple fact. People did what they wanted to do.
Colt didn’t want me.
The urge to cut welled inside of me again.
God, you are fucked up, Olivia. You’ve already destroyed your wrists, and now you want to hurt yourself move? Over what? Some asshole who doesn’t even want you? Haven’t you learned enough about investing your emotions in people who could care less about you?