First Debt

How wrong I’d been.

Squinting in the sun, I whispered, “What did you do?”

He reared back as if I’d slapped him. “Excuse me?”

Shuffling in the covers, I eyed him closer, trying to figure out what had changed. Nothing outward looked different. He was the perfect resemblance of a country gentleman. But his tone was smooth as silk and just as unbreakable.

“You’ve done something. A few nights ago you looked human…now…”

“Now?”

I scowled. “Now you just look like the cold-hearted robot who came for me at my runway show.”

Before he could answer, another vital question popped into my head. “Why now?”

“What?” His face twisted into a glower. “That doesn’t even make sense. Your questions are really starting to grate on my nerves, Ms. Weaver.” Running a hand through his hair, he said quietly, “If you rephrase that into a coherent sentence, I might answer, if it means you’ll kindly get out of bed.”

There he went all pomp and ceremony again. No curses. No snapping. No spikes of emotion of any kind.

He stayed away to distance himself, regroup.

I had affected him. So much so, he’d needed three nights to deal with it.

A hot douse of power shot through my veins.

“Why did you leave me on my own for days?” I held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. The wait-staff did an impeccable job of keeping me fed, and the downtime was rather welcome after the manic few years I’ve had travelling and working non-stop, but it is a little odd.”

He sedately placed his hands into his corduroy pockets. His eyes were completely unreadable—it was like trying to decipher a damn vault. “Please, tell me what you find so odd. Then perhaps I can help you.”

If I hadn’t seen the passionate man in the forest—if I hadn’t wrapped my lips around his throbbing cock and swallowed his cum—I might’ve shrunk back in reprimand. I might’ve feared the silence more than his temper, because it heralded something terrible coming.

But now…now I saw it for what it was.

It’s a coping mechanism.

We all had them. Mine was permitting my father and brother complete control over me. My only freedom from that was running until I passed out on my treadmill.

Jethro didn’t run, but he did use something extremely effective to push aside the tangled emotions I knew he felt and embraced the glacier he pretended to be.

“Never mind,” I whispered. “I understand.”

Beneath the power in my veins, a small cloud of depression settled. I’d worked hard breaking his arctic exterior. I’d thrown my all into showing him pleasure that he could find by giving in to me. The fact he’d been so affected that he’d had to shut down and hide should’ve pleased me.

But really, it reset everything. I was back at the starting line.

For a second, I slouched in defeat. Did I have the energy to go through the arguing and battle of wills again?

Tilting my head, I stared at him. He clenched his jaw, not giving anything away.

My spine straightened as resolution fortified my defeat. So be it. I would do it all over again. And again. And again. Until he realized he couldn’t win. Not against me.

I was strong enough to break him ten times, a hundred times. I was strong enough to kill him and his twisted family before he dispatched me. I meant to keep my vow that I was the last Weaver they would ever hurt.

Jethro crossed his arms. “Considering you no longer have any more frustrating questions, I presume you’ll oblige and get up, like I ordered.”

Without a word, I shoved back the covers and climbed from the warm sheets. “Where are we going?”

Jethro’s eyes fell on my naked legs. I’d worn black and pink shorts with a matching camisole to bed.

“Did I say you could ask questions?” Moving smoothly, he stepped away. Roaming sleek and sharp around the room, he gathered mismatched clothes that were draped on chairs and a sixteenth-century dressing table then came back toward me. Dumping them at the end of the bed, he said, “Get dressed. I’m going to count to ten. If you aren’t decent, I don’t care. I’m dragging you out of here naked or clothed—it’s entirely your choice.”

I wrinkled my nose at the attire. I had more of an understanding about my enemy, but I still feared him. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I didn’t want to be commanded or dragged—

“One.” His eyes glittered.

He couldn’t be serious.

“Two…”

Quickly, I reached for a peach t-shirt with Victorian lace on the collar and denim shorts.

“Three.”

Shit, how could I get dressed with him standing there? I couldn’t strip so blatantly.

He’s seen you naked. You ran through a forest with nothing on. He’s tasted you, for God’s sake. Seriously, why are you suddenly precious about it?

“Four.”

Biting my lip, welcoming my rational common sense, I hastily tore off the camisole and let it flutter through the air.

Jethro sucked in a breath at my exposed breasts. “Five.”

Tugging the t-shirt over my head, I dropped my hands to my hips.

“Six.”

Locking eyes with him, I shimmied out of the shorts, letting them puddle around my ankles. I had no underwear on.

I searched for the lust that’d burned in his gaze a few nights ago. I sought to witness just a hint of the Jethro who’d wrapped his fingers in my hair and driven his cock down my throat.

He merely cocked an eyebrow at my naked pussy and continued to count. “Seven.”

Anger siphoned through my heart. Stepping into the shorts, I snatched them up and fastened the zipper.

“Eight.”

Remembering Jethro’s tendency to use my long hair as handle bars and worse, as a leash, I quickly smoothed the black thickness into a messy ponytail and secured it with a hair tie from my wrist.

“Nine.”

The diamond collar sat around my neck—ridiculously expensive considering my understated outfit, making my breathing a little irregular. Slipping my feet into a pair of sparkly flip-flops on the floor, I was done.

I smirked. “Finished, oh impatient master.”

Jethro stiffened. “Record speed, Ms. Weaver. I’m impressed.” He held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”