Paige
eight
Me.
Hayes. Wants. Me.
The flight was short and I’m still contemplating his one-word answer now that we are in Atlanta and driving in another of his beautiful cars.
The butterflies in my belly have turned into the hummingbirds that visit Mama’s sugar water feeder daily and a flood of warmth washes over me from head to toe as I replay what he said for the ninetieth time.
This accomplished, driven, secretive man wants what I have to offer.
Which is what, exactly? A recent entry into society, domineering parents, a long wait to inherit my family legacy, and no sexual experience to speak of.
What could he do with a virgin? Oh, wait…
I pull my bottom lip into my mouth with my teeth and twist a button on my blouse with worrying fingers.
Hayes drives us through the dark streets of Atlanta in the Mercedes SLR McLaren that was waiting for us at the airport. I had to ask him what it was, just like with the Maybach. I know without Googling that it must be expensive and rare, as that seems to be his taste with automobiles.
Now we’re headed to his house in Atlanta, a place Mama calls a hell hole.
Will he expect me to have sex with him when we get there?
I mean, I’m not against the idea, but it seems a little soon and I’m not prepared for this in the least. I would have gotten a bikini wax and worn pretty lingerie over freshly showered and lotioned skin.
I want my first time to be perfect, after all.
Dropping my panties and crawling into bed with Hayes after learning my parents want to marry me off for a business deal isn’t exactly what I had in mind.
“What’s warping that brain of yours, honey?” he asks, his hand reaching over to find mine and freeing the button from my torture before it comes off in my fingers.
I don’t mind the way he calls me honey. It’s far sexier coming from his mouth than I’ve ever heard it said, and it makes me feel closer to him somehow.
For all I know, he could call every woman honey in order to avoid the faux pas of a forgotten name, but he uses my name just as frequently, so I doubt that’s the case.
A shock of cold breaks through the cozy feelings that have turned my brain to mush.
Thinking of him calling another woman honey, whisking her away, or interlacing his fingers with hers as he does with mine drives a wedge of rage right through my center.
I tighten my grip in my moment of jealousy over a freaking possibility.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking about, or just crush my hand a little more until I can get you home and force you to tell me?” he growls.
I release my death grip, but he doesn’t retract his fingers from mine.
“Are you seeing anyone?” I want to know if he’s sleeping with anyone, but that’s not a polite question for a proper lady to ask, so I work around it. If he is, I need to turn right around and get back to Savannah, because I am not about to ruin a relationship.
“That’s what has your head in knots?”
His thumb smooths over my knuckles and I huff out a breath as I look out my window.
“Paige, look at me.”
I stare at the ceiling of the sports car and take a deep breath before I turn my face in his direction.
“Yes, I want to know if you’re in a relationship.
Or, you know, frequently indulge in a casual kind of thing.
” My words grow more mumbled as I speak, and I fight to not turn away from him immediately in my embarrassment.
“I could lie and say I’ve been a celibate bachelor for years, but I think you actually need the truth. Brace yourself, baby girl.”
He gives my hand a tug, so I glance at him and catch the set of his lips and the intense look on his face. I nod to tell him I’m ready to hear what he has to say.
“I fuck any willing woman I want whenever I feel like it.”
I suck in a breath and want to jump out of the car to get away from the mortification that is burning my skin.
“Thank you for being honest,” I whisper.
“I’m not finished. The women I sleep with see only my Amex black card and what they can get from me, so I treat them in kind.”
“Gotcha.” I try to pull my hand away from his, but he stops me with a slight tightening around my fingers.
“I would love to see every inch of your body trembling under mine as I turn you inside out with pleasure. I want to trace kisses across your body to map your soft skin and find every spot that makes you moan and call out my name.”
By the time he stops talking in his deep, sandpaper rasp, I’m breathing heavily with sweat beading on my forehead, a drop tracing its way down my spine. My thighs rub together, looking to find some relief from the heavy pull in my center that floods my panties with warmth.
“Wow,” I breathe out. When I risk a look in his direction, I catch his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip the same way I’m dying to.
“Does that sound remotely casual to you?” His voice takes on a gravelly quality that continues the barrage of feelings that drag me into his undertow.
I stay silent.
“Answer me.”
“I-I don’t think so.” My voice is a husky whisper of its proper volume, but I’m unable to give him anything more.
“Trust me, it’s not.”
I simply nod my acceptance because I don’t have the capability of forming a coherent sentence.
“Have you been with a man before?” His question is soft, looking for confirmation.
My cheeks heat and I look down at my lap, my brain going from incredibly intrigued to embarrassed with the flip of a switch. What if he doesn’t want to be my first? I could be too inexperienced, too fragile and new.
He likely wants a woman who knows her way around a man’s body.
I don’t know how to please someone like him. I don’t even know the mechanics of what the first step would be to achieve that. I could never meet his expectations for a lover, and he’s going to hate it if we do sleep together. I’ll be a disappointment.
“Paige, are you a virgin?” he asks again, more directly.
I nod my head, too flustered to speak the acknowledgment.
I hear a groan and think he’s offended, regretting his decision to help me at all, regretting telling me what he would do to me, and wishing he had stayed silent.
I risk a glance in his direction, my cheeks hot with shame now.
He returns my stare, but his mouth is a sensual smile and his eyes are intense.
“I would love to be your first. I will absolutely, and with happiness, ruin you for any other man if it meant you were mine. None of that will happen unless it’s exactly what you want, and when you want it. I won’t touch you until you tell me when you’re good and ready for me.”
He clears his throat and returns his attention to the dark road. The implication that I will be ready for him at some point hangs between us like forbidden fruit. I’m already this close to reaching for it to see how good it would taste, damn the consequences.
He just promised to not only take my virginity but turn me into a sensual creature he’ll worship when I’m ready. Praise Jesus, I just found a man willing to wait until I’m comfortable and begging for him. Sorry, Jesus, I don’t mean to invoke you when it comes to sex, but hallelujah!
“We’re here,” he says a few minutes later, turning into a driveway and pushing a button that causes a heavy wrought iron gate to swing inward and allow our passage.
I lean forward to catch whatever view I can in the flashes of the headlights as we wind back into the heavily wooded property.
“Are we still in Atlanta?”
“Northwest Atlanta, yes. I have a few acres of property, so it feels more rural.”
“I wouldn’t say rural, more like an enchanted forest, but okay, Hayes.”
He slows and I turn back to catch sight of the huge, modern home constructed of glass, wood, and steel.
“What the heck?” I say out loud.
“What’s wrong?” He pulls the Mercedes up along the front of the house and shuts off the engine.
“Nothing’s wrong, exactly. It’s not what I was expecting, I guess.” I look up as I step out of the car. The house is three stories in one section and two in the rest and is very wide with sharp angles everywhere.
“Which was?”
He holds his hand out to me and I take it with a bit of hesitation. We’re about to walk into his house, in Atlanta, hours away from Savannah where my parents expect me to be. I feel far removed by both time and space.
“An estate, I think. I’m not really sure what to expect from you.
I’m used to the Antebellum and Victorian architecture in Savannah, and your apartment there was in a historic building, so I guess I assumed your house would be some classic stone mansion.
Maybe a few gargoyles and definitely split into wings so you would have to tell me to avoid the west wing. Wow, I just up and ran away, didn’t I?”
He chuckles at my non-sequitur. “You’re something else.”
He opens the front door for me, but before I can get a look at the interior, a huge black dog rounds a corner and comes to a skittering halt that blocks our way in.
I do what any stranger in a dog’s face does and freeze.
The dog is muscular and thickly built with ears that are cut to stand up straight from its blocky head and smart whiskey-colored eyes that are focused on me with an intensity that would have anyone peeing their pants.
I tighten my bladder to avoid that fate and the humiliation that would come with it. I swallow with an audible gulp.
“Are you a good boy?” I ask the dog in a soft voice.
He whines and paws at the ground.
“You are a good boy!” I say in my most pathetically indulgent baby voice, because when you have a giant dog in front of you, you better make friends with it, fast. The dog pants and shimmies a few steps back and forth as his butt wiggles in excitement.
“Good boy, Cerb. Sit,” Hayes commands.
The dog obeys instantly, sitting back on his thick haunches, and looking at Hayes for his next instruction.
“He likes you.”