Chapter Three

An hour later, I had calmed down a bit, but I still was on edge. Obviously I hadn’t packed, because fuck him. The silence was almost worse than my dad’s empty threats. Bradford’s house for a week? Yeah, right.

A firm knock sounded at my door, making me jump. I didn’t answer. Bradford’s familiar deep, masculine voice said, “Audrina, I know you’re there. I’m coming in.”

Damn it, so Bradford came over after all. Didn’t mean I had to go anywhere. How could I get him to stay out of my room? I shouted, “I’m not decent!”

The door opened, creaking as he pushed it open, excruciatingly slowly. I gasped, couldn’t believe he had opened it even with my warning. Bradford’s hulking body stood there, six foot five with thick styled hair, tanned skin and amber eyes. He was part Spanish or something, sort of giving off the Gaston vibe. He was huge but he seemed like a pushover. He’d always slip me treats when I was a kid. This guy was not about to make me prisoner in his house for a week.

He studied me, dressed in my PJs – a silk tank top and booty shorts– reclined on the bed. I wasn’t naked but I wasn’t totally lying when I said I wasn’t decent. I’m sure he could see my ass cheeks, and the second I stood up he was going to see right through this white tank.

He furrowed his brows. “Audrina, you’re not packed. Not dressed. Did you not believe your father when he said you were coming with me?”

There was something in his voice, an edge that I had never heard before. His words were all slow, deliberate, tinted with danger. Still, I wasn’t about to let him boss me around.

I stretched, faking boredom, and rolled to my side, my hair covering my breasts. “Uhm, no, I didn’t? He’s never punished me in his life. I’m not going anywhere.”

He rushed over in a flash, and his thick hand grabbed my forearm. Half my arm disappeared. His grip was so firm, so...fuck, I didn’t know.

He kneeled down to my eye level, not letting go of my arm, and spoke sharply, in a near-whisper. “Yes you are. You’re coming with me. You’re going to stand up, pack your things neatly and quickly, and come with me. Get. Up.”

My breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t move. His tone had been so insistent. I wanted to mouth off. I wanted to be offended as fuck, because who did he think he was? But I was something else. I couldn’t put my finger on it. 

His hand tugged my arm, not loosening his grip for a second. My cue. Still not breaking eye contact with his honey colored eyes, I rose, like my body had a mind of its own. The second I shifted my legs, I felt it.

I was wet.

Damn it, so that’s what that feeling was.

He let go of me. My wrist burned where he had held it. I wanted him to touch me again. Instead, I stared at him. What the fuck had just happened? What had he done to me?

His eyes flicked down for a split second to my chest, then back up again. Oh my god, my nipples were hard. He’d seen. Worse, part of me liked that he saw, and the other part was ashamed. I didn’t want him to know that I was was enjoying this.

I turned away from him, and stalked into my walk-in closet to find my luggage. I couldn’t fucking believe I was doing this.

I heard him walk toward the closet door, and there he was, arms crossed, watching me pack. God, he was just going to watch me do this? Fine. I had grabbed a bunch of my favorites and deposited them into a carry-on bag I had found.

He nodded. “Now that’s a good girl.”

Those words. Thank god I was already on the floor because my knees would have buckled if I were standing. I shivered, and hoped he hadn’t noticed. No man, no boy had ever had this effect on me. I’d had a couple boyfriends and the sex was...fine. I didn’t understand what all the hype was about. I dumped them both and enjoyed my freedom. But this? How the fuck could this random old man cause me to lose my shit in just a couple words?

I wasn’t about to let him know that, though. “I’m only coming cause I want Daddy to be happy, okay? This isn’t for you.”

He leaned against the doorframe. He practically took up the whole space. “Why would it be for me?”

Damn it, I had screwed myself further. I huffed, as if I was too dignified to respond.

He snapped, “That’s enough, it’s time to go.”

I gaped at him. “But I haven’t even packed all my stuff!”

He moved toward me, stepping into my closet. His voice was controlled like the sharp cut of a blade. “You had a whole hour to pack. Now you’ll have to learn to deal with the consequences of not following directions.”

I jumped up to meet him. Clothes were life. I wasn’t bending on this one. I snapped, “No. I’m not done yet.”

Without warning, his massive hand slid onto the back of my neck, thick fingers gripping my flesh. He growled, “You’re done because I say you’re done.”

I couldn’t move. My chest heaved up and down. I closed my eyes to take in the sensation of all his digits pressing into my skin in such an intimate spot. Fuck. I could feel my skin tightening all over, my headlights poking through my shirt. I opened my eyes, and stared into his. My Dad’s best friend. Searching his face, I tried to look for signs of his arousal. Was he feeling this too, or was it just me?

His expression was still stern, but as he studied my face, I could see hard lines softening the tiniest bit. His lips parted a fraction of an inch. I could see his tongue. I wanted to feel that tongue in my mouth.

Breathlessly, I whispered, “Bradford…”

My voice seemed to shake him, and suddenly he was yanking my neck, and tossed me out of the closet. I squealed in shock. He grabbed my half-packed luggage and pushed me out of the room.

Stopping in place at the foot of the stairs, I protested, “Wearing this?”

His hand gripped the back of my neck again. “Like I said, you had time to change. Deal with it.”

Powerless again with his his fingers placed against my skin, I followed where he pushed me. I searched for my dad as we left our West Village brownstone, but he was nowhere to be found.