“And what makes you think you’re going to feel safe at your place tomorrow when you go back there and no one has checked it out?”
He had a point, one I hadn’t considered yet because I’d been too busy running, then swimming, then . . . Heat edged out fear at the memory of my cheek pressed to the cool granite countertop as Titan—
I shook it off. Not happening again. Besides, I had more important things to worry about than Lucas Titan.
“I’ll have someone meet me there tomorrow to check it out.”
“Fine,” he said, nodding. “I’ll get your purse.”
He turned on his heel, leaving me in the delicately feminine bedroom, uncomfortably aware that I didn’t belong here, despite the delicious soreness settling between my legs.
Lesson learned from Mama: You could fuck a rich man, but that didn’t mean you’d ever be welcome in the big house. Better never to set foot inside the door.
But I wasn’t a goddamn mistress. I’d never take that path.
Turning away from the door, I studied the bedroom. White lace hung from the windows, and a sleigh bed carved with roses and lilies dominated much of this side of the room. What looked like an antique divan, side chairs, and table made up a small sitting area near the wide bay window. An armoire matching the sleigh bed sat alongside a vanity table.
The room was incredibly ladylike, and it seemed completely at odds with Titan’s overly masculine nature. It must have been like this when he moved in. I couldn’t imagine him choosing any of this. Or maybe it was the work of an interior decorator?
I had very little time to explore before he reentered the room, my purse in hand. The big teal number looked ridiculous in his grip, and I might have imagined it, but he looked slightly amused as he handed it over.
“Thank you.” I set my bag on the bed and had just shoved my hand inside it when he stepped up behind me.
He bent low, speaking into my ear. “You need anything else, I’m right next door.”
I stilled as he leaned against me, the already growing bulge in his pants pressing against the crack of my ass.
Ignore, Yve. Ignore.
My eyes shot to the closed door on the far wall of the room as something dawned on me. This was the suite designed for the mistress of the house, back when husbands and wives slept in separate rooms and the husband visited the wife at night for his marital relations.
He should have put me in the servants’ quarters.
Titan must have followed my glance to the door, because he added, “It’s locked. From your side. Feel free to join me anytime. I’ll be hard as fuck, thinking about taking you in the kitchen.”
His raw words held no subtlety, and neither did the hand that gripped my waist and slid around to the front of the robe.
I could have jerked away, but when his palm slipped inside and covered my breast, I wasn’t sure I even remembered how to breathe. I should hate his touch, but slickness gathered between my legs and would have made me a liar.
“Are you wet for me again, Yve? Are you thinking about how good it felt to have my dick stretching your tight little pussy?”
“I hate you,” I murmured, pressing my ass into his erection and my breast into his palm.
His hand slid lower, fingers splaying out over me. “Fuck. You’re so wet.”
I swallowed back my moan, but couldn’t fight the urge to rock against his hand. My clit was already sensitive, and rubbing against his palm put me right back on the edge within moments. But before I could come, he pulled his hand away and jerked back.
Shameless, I spun around, robe hanging most of the way open. “What the hell, Titan?”
“You want more, Yve? You come to me.”
He strode to the threshold and shut the door behind him. The click barely echoed, but his words repeated through my brain over and over, along with my conclusion from earlier. Lucas Titan is dangerous.
I needed to put what had happened out of my head. Never to be repeated. Ever.
But when I slid naked between the ridiculously soft sheets of the bed, I could think of nothing but Titan. So was it any surprise that I dreamed of him?
No, the surprise was that I wished my dreams had been only of him, rather than peppered with flashes of the man who still haunted me.
“SO YOU DECIDED TO FEND for yourself, but couldn’t manage to put it away when you were finished,” Jerome observed as he tossed the hummus in the trash. No matter how old I was, Jerome could always make me feel like I was sixteen again and had tracked muddy footprints all over a clean floor.
I had no excuse to give the old man; I’d been too caught up in Yve to remember to put the food back in the fridge.
“Actually, it wasn’t for me. It was for someone else,” I replied absently, wondering whether the woman in question would venture out this morning.