door. I scoop it up and pull out the business card that has my bank account number written on the back.
I cup it in my hand and look back up at him. “What are you going to do with it? I mean…exactly?”
“I’m going to put money in it, Angel.”
I bite my lip and try to think of how to get my point across without coming out and saying that I’m broke. “I need to be sure it’s enough. For me to…do this. And not find another job where I’ll be treated better.” I can feel my cheeks heat a little, and it makes me feel ridiculous. Why does he affect me this way? If I feel this way every time I come here, I’m going to get broken.
“I’m not a hoo ker, you know. I care about my dad, but I’m not having sex any time you ask me to. I’m not that kind of person.”
He closes the distance between us with supernatural-seeming speed. His hands are on my face, bringing my eyes level with his. And his are blazing.
“What kind of person aren’t you, Angel? The kind of person who fucks without a thought? Who spends half of the day flat on her back, being pounded to oblivion? Or is it me? You’re not the kind of person who fucks someone like me?”
I blink, and his hands, on the sides of my face, gentle a little. “It’s not you,” I murmur. “I’m just…not a whore.”
“You’re not a whore. You’re my whore. If I want to pay you for your time, it’s because I take care of what is mine.”
He release s my face, and I stare up at him, searching his Cal Hammond face and finding no trace of the man that was.
“I’m not yours,” I whisper.
“You are mine. You’re about to sell yourself to me.”
“Because I have to. Because…”
“Because you want to. You want this. Why can’t you just admit it, Angel?”
My mouth wants to open—to admit he’s right—but my battered pride prevents it. He’s just so…arrogant.
I hand him the card and fold my arms over my chest, watching as he steps back, leans the backs of his thighs against the desk, and starts jotting down my account number. Now’s the time to say more. When he’s not looking at me, crossing the wires inside my brain.
“What you did to Holt was unacceptable. It was horrible. I don’t care if you are in prison. If you’ve turned into someone…violent. That doesn’t make it right. I can’t handle that.”
He blinks coolly. “I’ll decide what you can handle. Incidentally, I’m not in the habit of hurting those who work with me. Of course,” he says drolly, “I’m not in the habit of being swindled out of just shy of a million dollars, either. Holt is special that way.”
I want to tell him, He was doing it for us . For Mom and Adrian and me. Instead, I nod and look away.
A second later, he hands me back my card . I slip it back into my clutch, and gasp as he wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me off the floor. Heat spears through me, making my entire body tingle as he hoists me over his shoulder and steps toward the door.
“What are you doing?” I cry.
“Getting you out of here ,” he says as he twists the doorknob. “I’ve got a riot to handle, Angel.”
And, to my astonishment , that seems to be true. The hallway he whisks me down is absolutely silent—it’s almost weird; the men won’t even look at him; the guards just nod us past—but from somewhere not so far away, I hear the roar of many male voices.
I open my mouth to ask him if everything will be okay. I’m worried about Holt. Worried about him , even—just a little. But I can tell I shouldn’t speak while we’re in this hall. Everything about the atmosphere is reverent.
I hold onto his shoulders as his long strides eat up the distance between the hallway and the prison’s main entrance. I’m stunned when the woman at the security check point waves us through, and he carries me past two more guards, through two more sets of doors—all the way out of the building.
He sits me on my feet, and I’m double-stunned to see my car pull up
I cup it in my hand and look back up at him. “What are you going to do with it? I mean…exactly?”
“I’m going to put money in it, Angel.”
I bite my lip and try to think of how to get my point across without coming out and saying that I’m broke. “I need to be sure it’s enough. For me to…do this. And not find another job where I’ll be treated better.” I can feel my cheeks heat a little, and it makes me feel ridiculous. Why does he affect me this way? If I feel this way every time I come here, I’m going to get broken.
“I’m not a hoo ker, you know. I care about my dad, but I’m not having sex any time you ask me to. I’m not that kind of person.”
He closes the distance between us with supernatural-seeming speed. His hands are on my face, bringing my eyes level with his. And his are blazing.
“What kind of person aren’t you, Angel? The kind of person who fucks without a thought? Who spends half of the day flat on her back, being pounded to oblivion? Or is it me? You’re not the kind of person who fucks someone like me?”
I blink, and his hands, on the sides of my face, gentle a little. “It’s not you,” I murmur. “I’m just…not a whore.”
“You’re not a whore. You’re my whore. If I want to pay you for your time, it’s because I take care of what is mine.”
He release s my face, and I stare up at him, searching his Cal Hammond face and finding no trace of the man that was.
“I’m not yours,” I whisper.
“You are mine. You’re about to sell yourself to me.”
“Because I have to. Because…”
“Because you want to. You want this. Why can’t you just admit it, Angel?”
My mouth wants to open—to admit he’s right—but my battered pride prevents it. He’s just so…arrogant.
I hand him the card and fold my arms over my chest, watching as he steps back, leans the backs of his thighs against the desk, and starts jotting down my account number. Now’s the time to say more. When he’s not looking at me, crossing the wires inside my brain.
“What you did to Holt was unacceptable. It was horrible. I don’t care if you are in prison. If you’ve turned into someone…violent. That doesn’t make it right. I can’t handle that.”
He blinks coolly. “I’ll decide what you can handle. Incidentally, I’m not in the habit of hurting those who work with me. Of course,” he says drolly, “I’m not in the habit of being swindled out of just shy of a million dollars, either. Holt is special that way.”
I want to tell him, He was doing it for us . For Mom and Adrian and me. Instead, I nod and look away.
A second later, he hands me back my card . I slip it back into my clutch, and gasp as he wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me off the floor. Heat spears through me, making my entire body tingle as he hoists me over his shoulder and steps toward the door.
“What are you doing?” I cry.
“Getting you out of here ,” he says as he twists the doorknob. “I’ve got a riot to handle, Angel.”
And, to my astonishment , that seems to be true. The hallway he whisks me down is absolutely silent—it’s almost weird; the men won’t even look at him; the guards just nod us past—but from somewhere not so far away, I hear the roar of many male voices.
I open my mouth to ask him if everything will be okay. I’m worried about Holt. Worried about him , even—just a little. But I can tell I shouldn’t speak while we’re in this hall. Everything about the atmosphere is reverent.
I hold onto his shoulders as his long strides eat up the distance between the hallway and the prison’s main entrance. I’m stunned when the woman at the security check point waves us through, and he carries me past two more guards, through two more sets of doors—all the way out of the building.
He sits me on my feet, and I’m double-stunned to see my car pull up
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