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Her face pales. She swallows hard, her shoulders hunching around her ears. “I… You… That was different. We had a contract.”
“Should I draw up a new one?” I advance toward her, and she realizes far too late that she’s hemmed in between the bed, the wall, and the nightstand. There’s nowhere for her to run. “I can be very specific, if you like. ‘Clause 1: In which we, the undersigned, designate the positions we prefer…’”
Laila somehow pulls off a simultaneous angry scowl and nervous swallow. The juxtaposition makes my cock jump in my boxer briefs. “Is this your version of flirting with me?”
I shrug. “It beats fighting with you. Although, at this point, I don’t see much of a difference. One inevitably leads to the other.”
“Blech.”She makes a fake retching sound, but her eyes fall to my chest again. “You have some nerve?—”
“And you seem to be having trouble concentrating,” I lob back. “My eyes are up here,roza.”
“Put a damn shirt on then.”
“You’re wearing my clothes. Care to hand them over?”
She folds her arms protectively over herself. “You have plenty. I saw shelves and shelves full.”
I stiffen. Two days in my house, and she’s already uncovering my secrets.
I hide my discomfort behind a hand raking through my hair. “I like to be prepared. You never know when someone is going to come along and steal from you.”
“You’re the criminal, not me.”
“Good point. Which crime should I commit tonight?”
I take a step towards her, and she wards me off like an evil spirit. “Back off, Arsen.”
“Why? Scared of what you might do if I get too close?”
“I just don’t feel like vomiting on anyone right now,” she says, but her voice shakes.
I chuckle. “You’re not a very good liar.”
“I prefer the truth. Here’s one: you’re an arrogant prick!” Her hair is frizzed around her head in a blonde halo. “I couldn’t never make you believe that I don’t want you, because your fragile ego would probably implode at a realization like that.”
I brush my fingertips against the blush high on her cheekbones. Her eyes dilate as the color from her face spreads beneath the loose collar of my sweatshirt.Roza. My rose.Blooming petals on her cheeks.
It floors me every fucking time.
“I stayed away for eight months because I had to, you know,” I admit in a husky rasp, unsure why I’m telling her this at all. “Not because I wanted to.”
“Because of Natascha?”
“Because you were better off without me around.” My fingers leave her face and settle on her belly.
Her breath catches. “I was worried. I thought you didn’t care about her. About the baby.”
“Of course I care,” I growl. “She’smine.”
“She’s not just your heir, Arsen; she’s your child. And a child needs a father.” Her voice breaks, and I want to smash her phoneinto a million tiny pieces. I want to bury her father in the dirt for no other reason than that he didn’t realize what he had.
“I know that.” I press in closer. This time, Laila doesn’t push me back. “I know what you need, too.”
The flecks of light blue in her eyes turn dark. “You don’t know me.”
“Not yet. Not fully. But maybe I want to.”
Our fight blurs at the edges, bleeding into something else until our lips meet somewhere in the middle. Her stomach is only a mild inconvenience as I grab her hands and pin them against the wall beside her head. I part her legs with my knee, and she moans.
