“I’m not a coward,” I managed to say defensively. Though I wasn’t sure why I was defending myself. Or why I was anxious that he might mean good riddance to me when that was probably exactly what I should be wishing he meant.
He glanced up at me, amusement in his features. “No, you’re not. You’re not scared. Or you’re not scared enough.”
I barely fought the shiver that begged to stutter through my body. It was a menacing statement, and I wanted to deny it as well. Tell him that I was definitely scared enough. But what the hell did that mean, anyway? Considering how turned on I was despite everything I’d learned about him, still turned on despite the foreboding in his tone, well, maybe he had a point. I really wasn’t scared enough.
The amusement transformed to what looked more like awe. Then his attention fell back to my leg and I couldn’t see his face well enough to read him. But after he pushed my ankle back so that my knee bent, his touch changed. A single finger traced the line of my inner thigh. Softly. Sweetly. Just as he got to where I so wanted him to go, he abruptly stopped. One second passed. Two.
Then he resumed the firm pressure from before, reclaiming his restraint. For now.
I could wait.
His speech continued, his voice firm, icy. “There are other people, too. Those that respect you. They aren’t necessarily your friends, because they’re also scared – probably even more so than those who keep their distance. They continue their financial support of your endeavors. They invite you to their parties. Their children’s weddings. They look out for you. Because, you see, they’re afraid that if they don’t… well…”
My heart hammered in my ears. Suddenly I was feeling vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with my nudity and everything to do with the frailty of my small frame compared to the strength of his much larger one.
As if to prove that point, Reeve increased the pressure of his kneading, digging his fingers into the flesh of my thigh with a bite that sang and stung. “It’s a very intense form of power, actually. Much like having money. I’m sure you’ve gotten a taste of that with the recent success of your show. Imagine that but multiplied by a billion.”
“Mm-hmm,” I said, a response that served as an answer though it was mostly an involuntary reaction to his hands. He’d reached the top of my limb again. Like before, the tips of his fingers brushed against my folds.
Goddamnit, I was wet. And trembling. And overwrought with anticipation. This time, would he let his touch wander farther up? In?
His hands left me. He pushed my leg down, pulled the sheet back over my leg and pinned me with narrowed eyes. “It’s also not unlike the power of being a very attractive person. Another privilege that you understand.” He scanned the length of my body, the sheet still a barrier between us, and let out an audible breath. “I imagine you must understand it very well indeed.”
It was an accusation. The grit in his voice and the weight of his stare said so. Fucker. Whatever hopes I’d had for this whole scene of his, it was clear now that his intent was not friendly. Punishing, more like. I still wasn’t sure for what exactly. For being in his pool. For using my beauty to draw his interest. For coming on to him without his permission. I’d thought his humiliating body search had been all the reprimand I was getting. Guess I’d been wrong.
My eyes fell. However, a glance at his crotch gave me the slightest smidgeon of satisfaction. He was unmistakably hard. He might be punishing me, but he was punishing himself too.
Reeve headed toward the door, and I feared suddenly he was leaving. Instead he grabbed the stool in the corner and brought it back with him to set above my head. I kept my eyes down. Not closed, but lids lowered because if I looked anywhere but toward my feet, I could see him – he was that close – and it was intimidating. Why had he sat, anyway? Why give up the ability to tower over me? Though when he’d stood, he felt less menacing. It was this new position that made me feel the most vulnerable.
Every one of my senses magnified as I tried not to panic. My mouth tasted like iron, as though I’d bitten my tongue. Maybe I had. The stool creaked – he’d moved. Why? The pump of the dispenser sounded. Then his hands were on me again, massaging my shoulders in small firm circles of his fingertips. Like before, his pressure was perfect, his attention to my knots, precise.
I closed my eyes.
After several long minutes of silence, he spoke again. “There’s one more group.” His voice was low. Soothing. “They’re small and they seem to be… how do I put it? Attracted, that’s it. They’re attracted to the idea of danger. The mystery of it. The intrigue. It’s glamorous to them. I encounter them often.” His hands pushed lower, to the muscles above my breasts. “They want to friend you. They want to fuck you. They want to be fucked by you.”
My eyes flew open and I tilted my head back to see him better. You think that’s me? I wanted to say. You think I’m attracted to you because I think you’re dangerous?
But I said nothing. Because possibly he was right.
Though I was looking at him, his eyes remained on his hands. They trailed together up my sternum to the hollow of my throat, where his touch lingered and I wondered if he could feel the rapid beat of my heart.
When his fingers moved again, they separated outward to slowly glide up the sides of my neck. Every nerve ending in my body whirred with terror. I was still with fear.
“I assure you, Emily, that it’s not nearly as romantic as it all seems.” His voice was so hushed and the blood thrumming in my ears so loud that I had to strain to hear him now. “It’s a façade. It’s the power that attracts you. The idea of violence. Not the actual act.” His hands splayed to lightly cup the sides of my throat. His touch barely there. Tickling at my skin.