Was there someone else?
Why not, though? He asked me to marry him. Doesn’t mean he is going to be exclusive. Of course, not. He has some—make that many—women lined up and waiting for him…this entire time. It’s not like he is going to stop that when we are married. Married? Ha. The entire thing is a bloody charade. A stupid game to please his ego… He’d chosen me because he could. Clearly, that’s the answer I’d get if I asked him, so why bother? And from what I had overheard…? Fuck the man. Did he have to declare the status of our relationship out loud to his friends? Is nothing about our relationship a secret from the rest of the world? There is so much he isn’t telling me…so much unsaid stuff between us. What a pitiful turn of events this is.
I race toward the main doors of the hotel.
"Stop her!" his voice growls from somewhere behind me. I increase my pace. The doorman steps in my path.
"Get out of my way."
"I’m sorry, I can’t."
I race around him, reach the doors, and another liveried man plants his body between me and my exit.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"I have to get out of here."
"Sorry Ma’am," he shifts his weight from foot to foot but doesn’t move.
I feint right, but he moves with me. I brush past, make to step out from under his arm. Another man steps up from outside.
Fuck, I have no way out.
I grit my teeth, "Get out of my way."
He looks up, and past me. His throat moves as he swallows, "Please accept my apologies, but he pays my wages, you understand."
"Of course, he does," I swallow down angry tears, pull out my cell phone, "and if you don’t let me through, I’m calling the police."
"You’re not."
His voice sounds so near, so close. If I turn, I’ll find him at my heels, behind me, close enough for me to lean back and allow my head to fall back against his shoulder...for him to lower his cheek next to mine, wrap his arm around my waist, pull me up against him and—I raise the phone, begin to punch in the numbers. He snatches it from me.
"Hey," I pivot around, and he holds it up and out of my reach.
"Give that back," I scowl.
"Take it, if you can reach it."
I stand up on my tiptoes, swoop up my arms. My fingertips reach halfway up his biceps.
"You’ll have to do better than that," he chuckles.
I twist my lips together. Ridiculous. I am not indulging in this kind of childish behavior. All of this may be a laugh for him, but for me, it is the veritable end of the bloody line. I fold my arms over my chest, draw myself up to my full height. "Don’t toy with me, Saint."
"Oh?" He tosses the phone to his other hand. "Come and get it."
I frown. The only way to get my phone is if I find a way to climb him.
He smirks.
Oh, no, I am not falling for that. "You want my phone? Fine, keep it then."
I turn and march toward the exit.
This time, no one stops me. I stalk out of the hotel and the cold air assails me. Goosebumps pop on my skin. I hunch my shoulders against the wind, walk up the sidewalk. Where am I going? What am I going to do? That jerk was my last hope, and surely, I have blown any chance of having any kind of relationship with him. Why did I have to eavesdrop on that conversation of his? More worryingly, why did it hurt to hear him dismiss me? So, he doesn’t want marriage or kids, and definitely not with me. Tears push at the backs of my eyes. I will not cry, will not. I knew all of this… Nothing is a surprise. Not after how he’d treated me—
He’d treated my body with scant regard, he’d used me for his pleasure, then he’d brought me to the edge, over and over again…until every part of me yearns for his touch. For the rough caress of his fingers between my thighs, inside my cunt, pinching, tugging on my sensitive nipples. I shudder, and it’s not from the cold. My belly aches, and it’s not only because I can’t remember when I last ate. My sex clenches and it’s because… I hate him, I do; and yet, every time he treats me like I am nothing, each time he shows me how little I mean to him…it turns me on. How sick is that? Why do I have to be this attracted to him? Why is it that the more he ignores me…the more I want to throw myself at his feet and ask him to take me…to not give me a choice? Bloody hell. I squeeze my fingers at my sides. Tears fill my eyes, blocking out my sight again. The heel of my stilettos catches on the pavement. I trip forward. The stony surface races up to meet me…then halts.
I’m pulled back and around.
Heat slams into my chest and my nipples are flattened against a hard surface—not the ground where I was headed… No, this is…much worse. I look up and into the burning blue eyes of the man who holds my life in his hands…and who isn’t aware of it. "Saint," his name tumbles from my lips like a prayer… Or a plea for help. How strange.
How could one man be both my worst enemy and the only one I’d trust to have my
