Then Possessive Aggression
THEN: POSSESSIVE AGGRESSION
Scarlett is waiting when I step out of the shower.
I saw her silhouette through the steamy glass when she entered the bathroom, but pretended not to notice until this moment.
“You didn’t wait for me,” she whines, slinking toward me.
“Didn’t know I was supposed to.”
My tone is casual as I move around her and run the towel over my wet hair like I’ve done a million times in my life… like she’s not standing a few feet away scouring my naked body with possessive aggression.
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I? I haven’t ordered dinner yet if that’s what you mean.”
Her pout is a dangerous mix of playful and indignant. “Hilarious.”
But there’s nothing funny about the sinister undertone of our interactions.
“Good job today,” I say as I lean over the sink to check an imaginary blemish on my cheek.
My deflection is also the truth. She did do a good job playing her role. I’ve suspected the “shallow blonde socialite” was an act with her since the day we met. Now, I know. The woman is razor sharp, which makes her even more dangerous than I thought.
That also means she isn’t missing my hints that I’m not interested. She’s choosing to ignore them.
“So you’re going to pretend what happened earlier was nothing?” she says in a chilly tone.
I glance over to meet cool warning in her eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
“We practically had sex on the pool deck, Roman. In front of the entire damn resort.”
“We were playing roles.”
“I’ve done this many times. I can tell the difference between an act and real chemistry. You want me.”
“Then, you’ve never worked with an operative as good as I am.”
She winces, her gaze going cold. “So, you’re trying to tell me you felt nothing. What about your dick? Was that acting too? Because it sure felt like it was enjoying our time in Miami together.”
Residual heat fires through me when her hand replays the moment by clenching and unclenching at her side.
She’s not wrong about that part.
I shrug and turn back to the mirror. “I can’t help biology, sweetheart.”
“Fuck you!” she shrieks, flying at me.
Her surprise attack sends me crashing into the towel bar on the wall. Pain spreads along my side, and I catch her wrist to shove her back when she goes to hit me.
“What is your problem?” I snap at her. “This is a job, Scarlett. There’s nothing confusing or ambiguous about any of it. Out there, we’re a couple. In here, we’re nothing.”
“Nothing?! I know what I felt. What I feel now. And it’s not nothing! I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. Don’t you get that?”
My body tenses beneath her pleading gaze. But it’s anger, not desire fueling my rigid muscles.
“Yeah? Well, sorry to disappoint you, princess , but it’s not my problem that this is the first time in your entire damn life you’ve heard the word no.”
Her jaw drops.
Mine tightens as the answer to my nagging question finally penetrates the thick air around us.
What exactly is my objection to Scarlett McArthur?
Nothing, except that she represents the one piece of myself her sadistic father doesn’t own.
I can’t say no to him, but I sure as hell can say no to his daughter.
No.
No.
Fucking never.
“I hate you,” she hisses.
“Probably better that way. I’m going to sleep.” I brush past her. “On the couch.”
I feel the burn of her cold glare in my back, but it doesn’t matter. She can’t hurt me unless I let her.
It’s the last encounter I believe that’s true.