Colin reached out to wipe the streaks away, but Angela yelped and jumped back, crouching low in the seat.
“I’m sorry!” she whispered. Her tears had dried as a look of animal fear settled on her face. Colin felt a knot in his chest as he remembered how Marco had slapped her face when she cried.
“Fuck, Angela, I’d never hit you! That is…I know I did, and… bloody hell, I’m sorry for that. I’m fucking sorry for it all.” He was stuttering like a lad.
She was still shaking, staring at him. Her head slowly cocked to the side as if working out a puzzle in her mind. Colin could see the moment it all hit her, and his hear sank.
“You.” She spoke quietly. “You’re not…you didn’t even want to do those things.”
Colin said nothing, because he had wanted to do those things. Only not against her will.
She tore her eyes away and a hard shiver ripped through her body.
“I did the only things I could think of to save you.” He hated the way he sounded, defending himself like a God damned bastard.
She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins, burying her face in her knees and whispering, “Oh, my God.” Her breaths came in pants, like she was trying hard not to cry. “I thought you were going to own me.”
“Aye. I understand if you hate me,” Colin said, his voice thick. “You never have to see me again once I hand you off safely to your family.”
Her head snapped up, eyes red and terror-stricken.
“You’re leaving me?”
“What?” His heart jolted with hope he shouldn’t have allowed himself to feel. He reached out to touch her, and she watched as he changed his mind and pulled his hand back. “No, I—”
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. Her eyes filled with moisture and she wouldn’t look at him. She buried her face in her knees again. “I’m sorry you had to touch me. I’m sorry you had to be there and go through all of that for me.”
Her tears spilled over now and she shrunk away from him, wiping them as quickly as they fell.
“Och…” He had no idea what to fucking say. He was confused as he tried to process her words. “Angela, you’ve no need to apologize. I took this case willingly, and I’d do it all again to save you. I’m just…” He searched for the words—he’d always been terrible at voicing his feelings, and really he’d never had a need to do so before. “I’m sorry as fuck that I took advantage of you while you were a slave.”
Finally she looked at him, her eyes wide.
“You didn’t take advantage of me.” She sounded surprised that he thought it, the poor wee lassie. She’d been brainwashed at the villa, and it was time to clear her of those notions, no matter how sordid it caused him to appear.
“Aye, I fucking did.” Colin ground his teeth together and turned to stare out at the white clouds. He fisted his hands, and his knee bounced.
“Mr. Douglas…”
His whole body stilled when he felt her hand on his thigh, accompanying that soft whisper of his name. Her hand moved farther in, and lust clutched him, tensing his hips, hardening his cock. He closed his eyes and grasped her slender wrist.
“My name is Colin.”
“Colin.”
His name in her sweet voice, like she was tasting it, completed the painful erection behind the zipper of his trousers. He shifted, but there was no hiding it.
“Let me take care of you.” Her free hand cupped his hardness through the fabric, and Colin groaned, grasping that wrist, as well.
“No, Angela. You don’t have to do this anymore.”
“I want to.”
With her wrists still being held, she swiftly moved to mount his lap, her legs on either side of him, the dress pushing up.
“Ah, fuck.” He dropped her wrist and grabbed her hips to still her. When he looked in her eyes, it wasn’t lust he saw. It was desperation. Sadness. Fear. Enough to shatter his hard heart.
And then she put her hands on his face and kissed him.
At the feel of her soft, persistent mouth against his, he lost control. His hands fisted in her hair and his mouth took over, owning hers. She moaned and pushed her hips down until her warm * was rubbing hard against him.
Her hands went to his pants, unbuttoning, unzipping.
What the fuck was he doing?
“Wait—”
“I want you,” she breathed against his mouth. “Fuck me, Mr. Douglas, please.”
“Angela.” It about killed him to do it, but he reached between them and grabbed her hand.
She moved against him with renewed, desperate fervor. “Please, master, fuck me. I need you.”
“Ah, shite.” With swift moves he took her by the hips and lifted her off his lap, moving to stand. He felt like a sick fucker for letting it go as far as it had. “I’m not your master, Angela.”
She fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around his legs, pressing her face to his thigh, and crying. “I need you to be my master. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“Angela…” He tried to step back, but her arms bound his legs as she repeated over and over.